Eloise POV:
My voice was unnervingly calm, a dull, flat tone that belied the earthquake rumbling through me. "I' m talking about the baby, Dawson. The one I just had aborted this morning. Our baby. The second one."
I didn't watch his face. I didn't need to. I knew the shock, the horror, the dawning realization would be there, contorting his features. I didn't care. I barely spared a glance at Campbell, who had frozen mid-gasp, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something akin to greedy triumph. Let them have their moment. It meant nothing to me.
I turned my back on them, walking towards our bedroom. Every step was deliberate, a final, resolute act of severance. The suitcase, still packed from a trip we had planned and then canceled, waited by the closet. I pulled it out, unzipped it, and began to methodically, calmly, pack the few belongings that truly felt like mine. A handful of clothes, my favorite worn-out hoodie, a worn-out copy of a beloved book. The rest, the furniture, the expensive decor, all the trappings of our shared life, now felt alien, contaminated. They could have it.
The silence from the living room was deafening, a thick, oppressive blanket. It stretched, heavy and suffocating, until I heard his footsteps. Dawson stood in the doorway, blocking the afternoon light, casting a long, dark shadow over me.
"Eloise," his voice was dry, cracked, barely a whisper. There was a desperate, pleading quality to it now. "Please. We need to talk. Is... is it true? About the baby? Why didn't you tell me? Why would you do that?"
I zipped up the suitcase with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the silent room. I stood up, slowly, deliberately, and met his gaze. His face was ashen, beads of cold sweat dotting his forehead. He looked utterly lost, utterly broken. And I felt nothing. No pity, no triumph, just a vast, yawning emptiness. He looked pathetic, a performance I was too tired to watch.
"Tell you what, Dawson?'' I asked, my voice flat. "Tell you that I was pregnant, so you could tell Campbell? So you could tell your friends? So you could weaponize it against me when you were 'angry' again?" I shook my head, a bitter smile touching my lips. "What good would that have done? Would you have been there for the doctor's appointments? Would you have helped me pick out baby clothes? Would you have stayed home with me, instead of rushing off to Campbell's latest 'crisis'?"
His pupils constricted, a flicker of raw pain in his eyes. "Eloise, don't say that."
"It's the truth, isn't it?" I challenged, my voice still calm, but firm. "Your heart, Dawson, has been divided for months. A piece for your ambition, a piece for your charity, a piece for Campbell. And what was left for me? For us? A flicker of guilt, a shrug, a sigh of impatience."
"No!" He took a frantic step forward, reaching for my arm. His voice was laced with a desperate urgency. "That's not true! I… I thought the money was just a small thing, Eloise! Fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, it was nothing compared to what she was facing! It was life or death!"
"Life or death for her, Dawson," I interrupted, pulling my arm away. "But what about my life? What about our marriage? What about the life of our child? What good is your 'charity' when you're stealing from your own wife, giving away our shared future to a stranger, and then bringing that stranger into our home to humiliate me?" I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat, the last vestiges of pain. "You know, I understand you, Dawson. I understand your need to be a hero, your savior complex. But I understand myself too. And I understand that I deserve more than what you've become."
