Erin POV
The word was still burning on my tongue. End it. I had said it. Now I had to mean it.
Chloe half-carried me into an empty on-call room, the door clicking shut behind us. She flicked the lock, creating a small pocket of silence in the hospital's chaos, and guided me to a worn-out armchair, pressing a cup of hot tea into my hands.
My fingers trembled so violently the ceramic rattled against my teeth. Hot liquid sloshed over my knuckles. I didn't feel the burn. Every nerve ending felt frayed, a live wire humming with a pain that had no single source and was everywhere at once.
"Here, let me," Chloe said softly, taking the cup. She blotted my hand with a paper towel, her touch infinitely kind. She didn't ask questions, just sat on the edge of the desk, a silent, steady presence.
A shrill buzzing cut through the quiet. My phone lit up the small table beside me.
Aiden.
The name was suddenly foreign, monstrous. I stared at it, the letters blurring, like looking at a snake coiled to strike. My stomach churned.
"Do you want to get that?" Chloe asked.
I shook my head, a small, jerky movement. I let it ring, the sound grating on my raw nerves until it fell silent. The quiet lasted only a few seconds before the buzzing started again, more demanding this time.
I took a deep, shuddering breath. With a resolve that came from some unknown well, I reached for the phone, my movements slow, deliberate. I swiped to answer and pressed the speakerphone icon.
Aiden's voice filled the small room, tight and frayed with irritation. "Erin, are you done with your little drama? You have no idea the scene you just caused. Where are you?"
I said nothing, the warmth in my chest hardening into a small, cold stone.
He continued, his tone shifting to the condescending patience he used when he was about to tell me I was overreacting. "Look, I know you're pregnant and your hormones are all over the place, but you can't be this unprofessional. I have a very important client I need to be with tonight. This is about our child's future, the trust fund we talked about."
Our child. The words were poison on his tongue. A dry, humorless smile twisted my lips.
Two months ago, I had been doubled over the toilet at 3 a.m., shaking with morning sickness so violent I'd burst blood vessels in my eyes. Aiden had stood in the bathroom doorway, scrolling through his phone, the blue light illuminating his bored expression.
"My colleague's wife ran a half-marathon when she was pregnant," he'd said without looking up. "Can't you just be a little tougher?"
I had apologized to him. Apologized. For being sick with his child.
I had believed I was weak. Now I understood. It wasn't a critique. It was contempt.
He must have mistaken my silence for acquiescence. His voice softened, dripping with a false sincerity I now recognized as his primary tool. "Okay, baby, stop pouting. It's not what it looks like. Debbra is just a... a friend. She needed help. As a doctor, you of all people should understand that. You shouldn't be so judgmental."
"About this baby," Aiden said, his voice shifting, turning casual in a way that made my skin prickle. "Maybe we should reconsider. Your career is really taking off, and I don't want you to be so stressed."
He had been planting these seeds for months. Little comments wrapped in the guise of concern. Are you sure you're ready? I just want you to be happy.
He didn't want me to have a baby. He just didn't want his baby with me.
The storm inside me broke. In its wake was a terrifying, absolute calm. A landscape of cold, sharp clarity.
"Aiden," I said, my own voice surprisingly steady. "You're right."
A pause. He sounded relieved, smug. "See? I knew you'd understand. Now, just go home and wait for me. I'll be back late, but we can—"
"I mean," I interrupted, my voice flat, devoid of all emotion, "you're right about the baby. I shouldn't have it."
The silence on the other end was heavy, charged.
"So," I continued into the void, "I've made a decision."
A new edge sharpened his voice. Alarm. "What decision? Erin, don't do anything stupid."
I didn't answer. The pieces clicked into place. His indifference, his lack of interest in buying furniture, his constant "late nights." It wasn't neglect. It was a sustained, deliberate rejection.
Aiden was shouting now, a torrent of accusations. I was childish, manipulative, using the baby to threaten him.
My thumb moved, ending the call. The silence that fell was a mercy. I opened my contacts, found his name, and pressed "Block this Caller." The world became blessedly quiet.
But in the silence, something stirred. A whisper at the back of my mind.
The vitamins.
He'd started bringing them to me every morning, a month ago. He'd insisted on opening the bottle himself, shaking a single pill into his palm, handing it to me with a kiss on the forehead. I'd thought it was love. I'd thanked him for it.
Now, sitting in the quiet on-call room, I remembered the way he'd watched me swallow. Not with tenderness. With something else. Something I couldn't name.
I shook my head, pushing the thought away. Paranoia. Grief playing tricks on me.
But the whisper wouldn't die. And I was about to discover that the worst betrayal hadn't even revealed itself yet.
