I had just closed my eyes when there was a soft knock at the door.
Before I could answer, it opened.
Irene stepped inside.
She wore a loose cream-colored dress, her long hair falling gently over her shoulders. One hand rested on her abdomen, protective, almost reverent. When she saw me sitting on the bed, she smiled—soft, careful, and unbearably smug.
"Eleanor," she said quietly, "you didn't come to the party earlier. Adam was worried."
I didn't respond.
She walked closer, stopping a few steps away. "It's your anniversary but we're the one celebrating," she added gently.
I finally looked up at her. "Then enjoy it."
Her smile didn't fade. Instead, she lowered her voice. "I know this must be hard for you. After all... you've tried for so many years."
My fingers curled into the bedsheet.
"But don't worry," Irene continued, her tone almost kind. "Once the baby is born, Aunt Hillary will finally be satisfied. You won't have to suffer anymore."
I let out a short laugh. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"
She hesitated, then took another step closer. "Adam is very happy," she said softly. "I've never seen him like this before."
Something inside me snapped.
"And that makes you feel proud?" I asked. "Carrying a child that was never meant to be yours?"
Her eyes flickered.
"Maybe," she said slowly, "if you weren't so... incapable, things wouldn't have come to this."
The sound echoed sharply through the room.
I slapped her.
Irene stumbled back, eyes wide in shock, her hand flying to her cheek. For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then the door flew open.
"Eleanor!"
Adam rushed in, his gaze immediately locking onto Irene. She turned toward him instantly, tears spilling as she covered her face.
"I—I just wanted to check on her," Irene sobbed. "I didn't mean to upset her..."
Adam was already beside her, his hand cupping her shoulder. His eyes burned as they turned to me.
"What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "Do you know what you've done?"
"Ask her what she said," I replied, my voice trembling despite myself.
"I don't need to," he said coldly. "You're emotional. I told you to stop overthinking things."
Overthinking...
I stared at him, my chest tightening. "She insulted me."
"And you hit her?" His tone sharpened. "She's pregnant, Eleanor. With my child."
The words hurt more than the slap ever could.
"I'm sorry," Irene whispered, clinging to his arm. "Maybe I shouldn't have come..."
"That's not your fault," Adam said immediately. His voice softened in a way I hadn't heard in a long time. "Go back to your room. I'll come check on you later."
He led her out without another glance at me.
The door closed.
I stood there alone, my hands shaking, my ears ringing with the echo of his words.
With my child.
I sank onto the bed slowly.
That night, everything became clear.
I had once pretended to be an orphan to escape an arranged marriage.
In the end, I lost my husband... and walked straight back into the fate I had tried so desperately to run from.
...
The house was unusually quiet the next morning.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, pale and cold. I had been awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to my own breathing.
Downstairs, there were voices.
When I went down, Irene was already seated at the dining table. A porcelain bowl sat in front of her, steam rising gently. Adam stood beside her, his hand resting on the back of her chair.
"Does it still feel uncomfortable?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "It's better today."
"Good," he said at once. "If you feel even a little unwell, we'll call the doctor."
I stopped at the stairs.
For a moment, I felt like a guest intruding on someone else's home.
I walked over and poured myself a glass of water. Neither of them spoke to me. Irene glanced up briefly, then lowered her eyes again, as if embarrassed.
The doorbell rang not long after.
Hillary, Adam's mother, arrived exactly on time.
