The lost Morrison heiress

Lena's POV

My heart wouldn't stop pounding.

I pressed my palm flat against my knee and held it there. It didn't help. My leg kept bouncing anyway, the plastic chair squeaking under me every time I shifted.

The woman two seats down glanced at me again.

I ignored her.

I bit down on my thumbnail and stared at the door to the doctor's office.

What if it comes back negative? What if I'm wrong about all of this?

"Oh, Lena, knock it off," I muttered under my breath.

I sat up straight. Pulled my hand away from my mouth. Pressed both palms flat on my thighs and breathed.

Six years.

Six years of sitting in rooms exactly like this one, plastic chairs, antiseptic smell, machines beeping behind closed doors, and waiting for news that never went the way I needed it to.

Six years of going to hospitals with Aiden, of undressing behind curtains, of lying on paper-sheeted beds while doctors pressed cold instruments against my skin. Six years of holding my breath in waiting rooms just like this one, rehearsing how I would handle bad news, telling myself I was prepared.

I was never prepared.

And every time, the doctors said the same thing.

Nothing is wrong with either of you. Your reproductive systems are perfectly fine.

Then what was it? What was the word for something that had no cause, no explanation, no name, just an empty space where something should have been?

I knew what Aiden's mother called it.

I knew what Aiden called it when he thought I was asleep.

The waiting room hummed around me. A toddler two rows over was crying, the flat, exhausted kind that had long run out of real energy. A nurse clicked past with a clipboard and didn't look up. Somewhere behind a closed door, a machine beeped its steady, indifferent rhythm.

My husband, who was supposed to stand by me through all of it, had become the loudest voice against me.

He never stopped his mother when she rained insults on me. He stood there and watched and said nothing.

And the women, different ones, over the years, he brought them into our home, into our bed, and dared me to say a word.

I said nothing.

I stayed. Because I didn't know where else to go.

Because I kept telling myself that if I just held on a little longer, things would change.

The door to the doctor's office creaked open.

I was on my feet before he had taken two steps toward me.

He walked across the room with a smile, right hand stretched out, a brown envelope in his grasp.

"Here's your result, Mrs. Lena," he said warmly.

I hesitated for just a second. Then I took it.

"Thank you, Doctor."

He nodded with a smile, turned around, and walked back into his office.

I sat down slowly.

The envelope rested in both my hands. I stared at my name on the front, Mrs. Lena Norman, the ink slightly smudged on the L.

The toddler had stopped crying. The machines kept beeping. The nurse came back past in the other direction, still not looking up.

My hands were trembling.

I closed my eyes. Breathed in through my nose, long and slow. I held it. Let it out. A trick I'd taught myself years ago, back when I still believed that being calm enough, patient enough, good enough would eventually make things turn around.

I opened my eyes.

I tore the envelope open.

The paper inside was folded in thirds. I drew it out carefully. Unfolded the first panel. The second.

Started reading.

The words blurred.

I read the line again.

And again.

I was on my feet before I knew I'd moved. The sound that left my mouth was not graceful or quiet, it cracked straight down the middle and hit every wall in that waiting room. Heads turned. A nurse appeared in a doorway. The toddler went completely silent.

Tears were already pouring down my face. I grabbed my bag and the envelope and walked, then ran, toward the exit. The double doors crashed open and the outside air rushed at me all at once.

I pressed both hands over my mouth.

"Holy Molly, I'm pregnant!"

The word broke as it left me.

"I'm pregnant! After all these years, I am finally pregnant!"

I stood right there on the pavement outside that hospital and I cried and laughed at the same time, the ugly, uncontrollable kind. Tears sliding off my jaw.

Chest heaving. People passing around me on both sides and I did not care about a single one of them.

After six years of being called barren.

After six years of enduring, of staying silent, of swallowing every insult and pretending it didn't reach bone.

After six years of a husband who watched his mother abuse me and turned away.

I was pregnant.

Nobody would ever say that word to me again.

Nobody.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Squared my shoulders. Pressed the envelope against my chest one more time.

Then I walked to my car.

I drove home with both hands on the wheel and my heart still running fast.

I could already see it. Walking through that door.

Pulling out this envelope. Watching Aiden's face change, the guilt, the shock, the apology he owed me for every year of silence, every woman he'd brought home, every time he'd stood there and let his mother tear me apart.

Today everything changes.

I turned into the driveway and parked in the garage.

Cut the engine. Sat still for a second and breathed.

Aiden's car was there.

Another one beside it that I didn't recognize. Sleek, dark, unfamiliar.

I let it go. Got out. Smoothed my clothes. Walked to the front door.

Maria pulled it open before my hand touched the handle, dipping her head slightly.

"Good afternoon, ma'am."

"Maria." I smiled at her, really smiled, the kind I hadn't had a reason to use in a long time. "How are you doing?"

She blinked. Like the warmth surprised her. "I'm fine, ma'am. Thank you."

I squeezed her arm once as I passed and pushed open the front door.

I heard the laughter first.

Low and easy, the kind shared between people who feel completely at home.

I stepped into the sitting room and stopped.

My boxes were on the floor.

Every suitcase. Every bag. Everything I owned, piled in the middle of my sitting room like luggage at a departure gate.

Aiden was on the couch.

With a woman on his lap.

She was beautiful, I clocked that the way you clock oncoming headlights. Long dark hair, red nails, a dress that cost more than my monthly allowance. Her hand rested on his chest. She was laughing, head tilted back.

His hand was on her waist.

He was laughing too.

He didn't even notice me come in.

"Oh, right on time."

My mother-in-law's voice floated across from the armchair in the corner. She sat with her ankles crossed and a glass of wine in her hand, watching me the way a cat watches something cornered.

"The barren witch is back."

I didn't look at her.

I couldn't look away from my husband and the woman in his lap and my entire life stacked in boxes on the floor.

"Fucking bitch." Her voice dropped low. "I'm talking to you."

She crossed the room in three steps and her palm cracked across my face so hard I stumbled into the wall. The sound of it rang out. Pain spread across my cheek, down into my jaw, up into my ear. I pressed my hand over my face and looked up at her.

She was smiling.

I was still holding the envelope.

She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me toward the boxes, flinging me down beside them.

"Babe," My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

"What is going on? Who is that? Why are my boxes here?"

My heart was hammering so hard I could barely get the words out. My chest ached like something inside it was pulling apart stitch by stitch.

Aiden looked at the woman on his lap.

"Sweetheart, sit here a minute. I'll be right back."

She slid off him like it was nothing. Moved to the far end of the couch. Sat down, crossed her legs, and settled her gaze on me with a small, patient smile.

Aiden stood.

Adjusted his shirt.

Tucked his hands into his pockets and walked toward me like he had nowhere to be.

He stopped a few feet away and looked down at me on the floor.

"Lena." His voice was cold. Controlled. The voice he used when he wanted you to know there was nothing left to argue about. "First, I'm not your babe. Second, that woman right there?" He tilted his head toward her. "That's Vanessa. She's my fiancée. And she's pregnant."

He said it without blinking. Without flinching. Like it was just information.

My world dropped out from under me.

I was trembling. Crying. Trying to think straight. The words wouldn't come. My mouth opened and nothing came out because what do you say to six years, six years of loving someone, enduring someone, staying for someone, when it ends like this?

"And I'm done with you," he said. "I want you out of my house."

"Yes," his mother said from behind me. "Get out, you wench."

My chest, my eyes, my whole body burned.

Vanessa stood up.

She walked over slowly and crouched down in front of me. Took my jaw in her hand and lifted my face up.

Her grip was tight and deliberate.

Her blue eyes looked straight into mine.

"Sweetie." Her voice was almost gentle. "Stop crying. It's not going to do anything." She tilted her head.

"This is my home. I'm carrying Aiden's child, the thing you couldn't do for years. Get yourself together and get out. Because if I have to tell you again, I will make things much worse for you."

She released my jaw and shoved me back.

I hit the floor.

I looked up at Aiden.

He was watching. Arms folded. Expression unchanged. Waiting for me to be done.

She looked beautiful. Polished. Put together. Long hair, good clothes, the confidence of a woman who had never been made to feel small.

And there I was on the floor of my own home, looking like everything I had been made to feel.

"Baby, please." The words tore out of me before I could stop them. I was already moving toward him, reaching. "Please don't do this. I've given you everything…."

He stepped back so fast you'd think my touch would burn him.

"Don't." His voice went sharp and low. "Don't you dare touch me. Can you buy these shoes? Can you buy these trousers? Can you provide for yourself for even one day?" He stared down at me. "You have nothing. You came to me with nothing and you're leaving with nothing. Get up. Get out. Don't ever come back to this house."

His mother laughed out loud.

Vanessa just watched.

I wanted to tell him.

It rose up in my throat, pregnant, Aiden, I am carrying your child, look at this envelope, look at it, and I pressed my lips together hard and pushed it back down.

No.

He didn't deserve to know. He didn't deserve this child. He didn't get to take one more thing from me.

He grabbed my arm.

Dragged me toward the door, grip hard enough to print bruises. His mother and Vanessa were behind us, dragging my boxes across the floor, tossing bags out ahead of us.

"You're hurting me. Let go," He opened the door.

Released me.

I stumbled out onto the step.

My boxes landed around me one after another. Rain hit immediately, cold and heavy, soaking through my clothes in seconds.

The door closed.

His mother's laughter was the last thing I heard.

I stood in the rain with everything I owned scattered around my feet and the envelope pressed against my chest inside my bag.

I picked up two handles.

Straightened my back.

And I walked.

The rain came down harder. The street was getting dark. I had nowhere to go, no money, no family, nothing but the wet pavement under my feet and the sound of my boxes dragging behind me.

But I had said something on that doorstep.

And I meant every word.

"He will regret this," I said quietly, to the rain and the dark and no one. "They all will.”