I watched until tears blurred my vision. Until my legs buckled. Until I was kneeling on the cold floor, the audio loop from my phone twisting like a knife between my ribs.
The man in the footage was Matthew James. I knew every line of his face—the slope of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
The woman beside him? That had to be Julia Fox.
Only when my phone battery died and the room plunged into silence did I finally move. I dragged myself to the bathroom and splashed freezing water onto my face, scrubbing my skin raw. As if I could wash away the exhaustion. The humiliation. The last shred of whatever I'd been clinging to.
The next day, Matthew still didn't come home.
When he video-called, I was in the middle of processing my visa applications. His background was a breathtaking expanse of ocean. He'd even updated his profile picture to a carefully composed shot of the seascape.
He hadn't sent me a single photo.
Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.
"I might not make it back this week," he said, his voice maddeningly casual. "The housekeeper will come by every day to cook for you. Make sure you rest. Don't wait up for me."
*Don't worry.* A bitter smile touched my lips. *I won't wait. Not ever again.*
After he hung up—perhaps out of guilt, or maybe just habit—he casually transferred $200,000 to my account. The attached message made my stomach churn.
*"Baby, as long as you don't say the words, we aren't breaking up."*
I stared at the text in silence.
Then, without a word, I blocked him on everything.
The visa would take a week to process. I spent that time living at the office, throwing myself into the final handover tasks. At night, I returned to Matthew's villa only to pack. I sorted through my life bit by bit, working until exhaustion knocked me out—just so I wouldn't have to think.
I hadn't realized that in five years, even without ever meeting his friends or family, we had accumulated so many memories. Handmade rings we'd crafted together. Pixel-art bead sprites we'd assembled on rainy afternoons. Strips of photo booth pictures capturing smiles that now felt like lies.
There was too much. Too much history.
I packed until my body ached and my mind went numb. I packed until I couldn't stand the sight of anything that reminded me of him.
The day before Matthew was scheduled to return, my body finally gave out.
I fainted in the living room.
The housekeeper found me when she arrived to prepare dinner. She rushed me to the hospital for a full checkup, her worried voice fading in and out of my consciousness.
The results came back in less than an hour.
"Low blood sugar," the doctor said, glancing at my chart. "And you're four weeks pregnant."
The housekeeper's face lit up. She clasped her hands together, beaming. "Oh, this is wonderful news! I have to tell Mr. James immediately—"
"No." I reached out, grabbing her arm. My hand was weak, but my grip was iron. "Don't say anything. There's no need."
She looked at me, confused. "Ms. Henson, this is a blessing. Young Master James will be thrilled."
"We've already broken up." My voice was eerily calm, even to my own ears. "I'm going to abort it."
I looked her in the eye. "Please. Do not tell him I was here today."
It took some effort, but I finally persuaded her to leave. Once I was alone with the doctor, I didn't waver.
"An abortion is hard on the body," he warned. "Are you certain?"
I nodded without hesitation. I booked the procedure for that afternoon.
But fate had other plans.
Midway through the wait, my phone rang. Mr. Swanson, my boss.
"There's a critical error in the project handover documents," he barked.
Panic surged through me. I rushed back to the company, reviewing the files from top to bottom. Sure enough—a massive loophole. Thankfully, my habit of backing up everything saved me. I located the missing data and patched the file.
By the time I finished, the sun had set. The hospital was already closed.
As I gathered my things, Valerie Dickerson sauntered up to my desk. She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with disdain.
"So careless. Who knows what disgusting means you used to get that director position in the first place?"
I hadn't eaten all day. My stomach was already churning, and hearing her voice made the bile rise in my throat.
