Jeremy clung to me that night, his arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe. He was like a scared puppy, whimpering, rambling apologies and promises into my hair.
"I'll go with you to your prenatal check-up tomorrow, Chelsey," he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and regret. "I promise. No more mistakes. Ever. I can't wait for this baby. Our baby."
He held me, trembling, until morning.
I woke to an empty bed. A single, cold note lay on his pillow: "Urgent company matter. Had to leave. See you tonight. Love, Jeremy."
My finger twitched. I knew. I just knew.
I scrolled through my feed. Donnie Decker. A new post, just minutes old. Her face, tear-streaked but defiant, was framed by the chaos of a public altercation. In the background, unmistakable, was Jeremy, mid-punch, his face a mask of primal fury. The caption read: "My hero. Always there to save me, no matter what."
He was playing the hero again. For her. While I lay in our bed, pregnant, waiting for him.
I laughed. A dry, humorless sound. Then, I got dressed. Alone. I drove myself to the hospital. Alone.
The nurse, kind and gentle, prepped me. The anesthetic spread through my spine, a cold, numbing wave. I felt a part of me, a tiny, nascent life, slip away. A single tear traced a path down my temple, a silent testament to love, to hate, to everything lost. But mostly, it was relief. A vast, overwhelming sense of release. I was finally free. Whatever Jeremy did, wherever he went, it no longer mattered. I no longer cared.
I dragged my exhausted body home late that night, the city lights blurring through the rain-streaked windows of the taxi. I just wanted to fall into bed and forget everything.
I unlocked the front door. The living room light was on. And there she was. Donnie. Sitting on my sofa, wearing my fluffy house slippers. My favorite tea cup, the one Jeremy had given me for our first anniversary, sat on the coffee table, a half-empty mug of herbal tea beside it.
The air in the room was thick, suffocating. Jeremy, who was standing awkwardly by the fireplace, stammered, "Chelsey, baby, it's not what it looks like. I swear."
He gestured vaguely at Donnie, who suddenly looked small and timid. "I... I finished up at the office, and I just happened to run into her. She was so upset. I just... I felt sorry for her. Her flight was canceled. I just let her stay for one night."
Donnie sprang up, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Oh, Chelsey, I'm so, so sorry! I really didn't mean to intrude. It's all my fault. Jeremy was just trying to be kind." She lowered her gaze, wringing her hands, but her eyes, when they briefly flickered to mine, held a glint of triumph, a defiant spark.
I didn't even look at her. My gaze remained fixed on Jeremy, my face a mask of utter indifference.
"It doesn't matter, Jeremy," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Who you bring home, who you sleep with, it has nothing to do with me anymore."
My eyes moved to the coffee table. The divorce papers, still where I had left them that morning, lay untouched.
"I came back for one reason only," I continued, reaching for the documents. I picked them up, then slammed them down on the table, the sharp thwack echoing in the silent room.
I looked Jeremy dead in the eye. "I had the abortion today. The baby is gone."
"Sign the papers, Jeremy."
