My supervisor approved my four-year research application to Nord within a day.
When I read the confirmation email, my hands shook—not from excitement, but relief.
For the first time in years, I saw a door open.
A way out.
A way to breathe again.
To be honest, I had tried to fix things with Zayne.
When Jane first came back, I told myself I was overthinking it. That they were just close friends.
But every smile he gave her was a knife I couldn’t pull out.
Every quiet dinner, every inside joke—they carved little holes in me until there was nothing left to hold.
And I realized something cruelly simple.
Zayne wasn’t cruel by accident.
He was cruel because he was happy.
Just not with me.
The morning I decided to leave, I woke before dawn.
The house was silent, washed in pale winter light.
I folded my clothes, my books, my life into a single suitcase.
When I walked into the living room, my eyes landed on the crystal photo frame—our wedding photo.
Zayne’s hand on my waist. My smile bright, almost foolish.
I stared for a long moment before dropping the frame into the trash.
The glass cracked, splitting our faces clean in half.
Five years of marriage, gone in one quiet click.
For a week, I threw myself into my thesis and experiments.
I didn’t answer Zayne’s calls. I didn’t go home unless I had to.
Oddly enough, silence felt like peace.
Then one evening, as I was packing up my notes, my phone buzzed.
“Wendy, are you done?” His voice was low, familiar. “I’m outside. I’ll drive you home.”
I froze. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he said simply.
Half an hour later, his black car stopped at the gate.
He was in a dark suit, hair slightly messy like he’d rushed over.
For a second, I almost forgot how much he could still make my heart ache.
“Been busy lately?” he asked as we drove.
“Mm. Lots of experiments,” I murmured.
He nodded, then after a pause said, “Jane’s moving out next month. She said she doesn’t want to bother you.”
I looked out the window. “Tell her it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
Zayne’s hands tightened on the wheel.
He didn’t expect that answer.
He glanced at me, as if he wanted to say something—but stopped.
So I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up nauseous.
I blamed stress, skipped breakfast, and went straight to the hospital.
But when the doctor returned with my test results, his tone was too careful.
“Mrs. Ford, congratulations. You’re two and a half months pregnant.”
The room blurred. My fingers went cold.
Two and a half months.
Before Jane came back.
For a moment, I wanted to laugh—because fate was playing a joke that wasn’t funny.
I walked out of the examination room in a daze, clutching the ultrasound photo.
That tiny heartbeat on paper—it should’ve felt like hope.
Instead, it felt like punishment.
I called Zayne’s number. It rang once—
Then I saw him.
He was walking through the hospital doors with Jane beside him.
She was wearing his jacket, her hand resting on her flat stomach.
And I heard the doctor’s voice from behind them, cheerful and oblivious:
“Miss Dunn, congratulations. Please avoid heavy lifting. The baby looks healthy.”
The sound hit harder than any slap.
Jane… was pregnant too.
My breath caught. The world tilted.
Zayne froze when he saw me, shock flashing across his face before he walked over quickly.
“Wendy? What are you doing here?”
I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Nothing. Just… a check-up.”
His gaze dropped to the folder in my hands. “You look pale. What’s wrong?”
“Headache,” I said quietly. “It’s nothing.”
He reached for me, but I stepped back, clutching my bag so tightly the ultrasound photo bent inside.
“I have to go.”
“Wendy, wait—let me explain.”
“Explain what?” My voice cracked, sharp and broken. “That she’s carrying your child too?”
He flinched. “It’s not—”
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t touch me.”
Jane’s voice broke through, trembling but soft, like a dagger wrapped in silk.
“Zayne, you promised me… Don’t let anyone find out, please…”
Her fingers curled around his sleeve.
He froze, torn between us.
That was all I needed to see.
I turned away before my tears could fall.
The wind outside was sharp, cutting into my cheeks.
I pressed a hand over my stomach and whispered to no one,
“Don’t worry, little one. We’re leaving soon.”
The city blurred around me.
And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of being alone—
I was afraid of staying.
