He still hadn't called by morning. Not a single message, not a single inquiry. It was as if I had ceased to exist.
During my routine check-up, the doctor's eyes widened. "Congratulations," she said, a warm smile on her face. "You're pregnant."
My heart gave a painful lurch. I quickly cut her off. "Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Don't tell anyone, especially not my husband." She looked at me curiously but nodded, sensing the urgency in my tone.
It was almost noon when the door finally swung open. He was there. And beside him, my half-sister. And behind her, her mother, her face a mask of false concern. My stomach churned, a familiar wave of nausea, not from pregnancy, but from their presence.
My half-sister, with an angelic façade, rushed to my bedside. "Oh, my poor sister," she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. She even used the word "sister," a term she rarely, if ever, uttered. "Are you alright? My darling was so worried about you all night."
My partner avoided my gaze, a sheepish look on his face. "I'm so sorry, love," he mumbled, a carefully rehearsed apology. "Business emergency. You understand."
My half-sister's mother stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. "Well, isn't this a pity," she sneered, her voice laced with venom. "Always something with you, isn't it? Just like your mother, always creating drama."
My hands clenched under the covers. The old rage simmered, but I swallowed it down. Not now. Not here.
"Darling, a word, if you please," my half-sister's mother said, pulling my partner's arm. She led him out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.
I knew. I knew what was coming. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. I hit record. Just in case.
The moment the door clicked shut, my half-sister's demeanor shifted. The sweet smile vanished, replaced by a sneer. Her eyes, once brimming with crocodile tears, were now cold, hard.
"What makes you think you can keep him?" she spat, her voice low and furious. "He's mine. He always has been." She paced the small room, her anger barely contained. "He spent all last night with me, but he was distracted. You had him wrapped around your finger, didn't you? With your innocent act, your tragic story."
"At least I didn't steal another woman's husband," I retorted, my voice surprisingly steady. "And I certainly didn't orchestrate violence against someone just to get what I want."
She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Oh, that old story? You think I care? You're weak. Always have been. Remember how you couldn't even keep your first fiancé? How quickly he dumped you when things got 'messy'?" Her words twisted the knife, reminding me of the deepest wounds. "You' re nothing but a placeholder, a temporary distraction until I was ready to claim what was mine."
Then, a bombshell. "And speaking of claiming what's mine," she continued, a smug look on her face, "I'm pregnant. With his child. He doesn't know yet, but he will. And then you'll be out of the picture for good." She traced the outline of her belly, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "My husband means nothing to me. I' m divorcing him. We'll be a family. A real family."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, filled with pure malice. "Just like your mother couldn't keep her husband, you couldn't keep yours. You're both pathetic."
That was it. My mother. My blood boiled. "Don't you ever," I seethed, my voice trembling with suppressed fury, "talk about my mother."
She smirked. "What, did I hit a nerve? It's the truth. And look at you. Still wearing that cheap little chain he gave you? You think that means something? He spent a fortune on my gifts. You're barely an afterthought."
I exploded. "You're a monster, just like your mother!"
Her eyes flashed with fury. "You bitch!" she shrieked. Then, in a move so swift, so unexpected, she grabbed a small fruit knife from the table beside my bed, and in one horrifying motion, dragged it across her own arm.
She let out a piercing scream, dropping the knife, then collapsed to the floor, clutching her bleeding arm. "Help! She attacked me! She tried to kill me and my baby!"
The door burst open. My partner stood there, his eyes wide with horror, fixed on my half-sister's "bleeding" arm. "What have you done?!" he roared, his eyes blazing with a dangerous fury directed solely at me.
He lunged past me to her, shoving me hard. My head snapped back, hitting the headboard with a sickening thud. A searing pain ripped through my abdomen, sending stars dancing before my eyes. My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.
"You murderous bitch!" my half-sister's mother shrieked, running to her daughter's side. "You'll pay for this! My grandchild almost died because of you!"
I tried to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn't come. The pain was too intense, a crushing weight in my lower belly.
My partner didn't even glance at me. He scooped my half-sister into his arms, his face a contorted mask of rage and concern for her. "I'll kill you for this!" he snarled at me, his eyes burning with hatred, as he rushed out of the room, shouting for doctors.
Suddenly, the room was filled with frantic nurses and doctors. But their attention was entirely on him, on my half-sister. They followed him out, a chaotic procession, leaving me alone on the cold floor, clutching my aching belly. Not a single person looked back.
I heard his furious shouts echoing down the hallway, "If anything happens to her or my child, I'll shut this damn hospital down!"
I was utterly alone. The pain in my abdomen intensified, a throbbing, relentless agony. I slowly pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest. My mind felt strangely clear, calm even. There was nothing left here for me. Nothing.
