A Reason to Believe

The forgotten anniversaries. There had been three of those. Three times she had dressed up nice and made dinner and waited and waited and waited until finally getting a text that said "working late sorry" with no exclamation points, no emojis, no nothing.

The cruel comments. Those were worse.

"You know, my mother thinks you only married me for the money."

"Sometimes I wonder what we even talk about. You don't know anything about my world."

"My ex-girlfriend used to wear dresses like that. But she had the legs for it."

And then the new ones. The ones that cut deeper.

He looked at her across the dinner table one night, his lip curling. "That color doesn't really suit someone your age, does it? Maybe try something less... hopeful."

Another time, she planned a weekend away. Booked the hotel. Packed his bag. He walked in, saw the suitcase, and laughed. "Seriously? You still expect romantic gestures like a little girl? Did I marry a princess?"

She stood there holding his favorite shirt. She didn't say anything. She just folded it and put it back in the drawer.

He had a way of making her feel small. Like her hopes were embarrassing. Like wanting to be loved was something to be ashamed of.

*

*

*

Here was the thing about Kier. He wanted her in the kitchen. He wanted dinner on the table. He wanted her there when he came home, waiting, smiling, ready to serve.

But he didn't want to sit across from her.

Because sitting across from her meant looking at her. And looking at her made him feel something. He didn't know what. Guilt, maybe. Or inadequacy. Or the uncomfortable feeling that she expected more from him than he could give.

So he avoided dinner. Avoided eye contact. Avoided anything that felt too much like a real marriage.

He wanted a wife who cooked and cleaned and shut up. He didn't want a partner who asked questions like "How was your day?" and really meant it.

*

*

*

The business dinners. He always chose those over her.

She would plan something special. Something romantic. Something to try to reconnect. And he would call at the last minute. "Emergency." But it was never an emergency. Just another deal with his client with excuses to be somewhere she wasn't.

She stopped planning after a while. It hurt too much to be canceled.

*

*

The way his mother treated her. Vivienne Thornwell with her perfect hair, perfect clothes and perfect manners that somehow managed to be perfectly insulting.

"Oh, dear, you're wearing that?"

"The help can handle the groceries, Celestine. That's why we pay them."

"Kier always had such sophisticated taste. I wonder where that went."

And Kier just sat there. Letting it happen and he never defended her.

*

*

*

The way his sister Camille laughed at her. Behind her back. Sometimes right in her face. At family dinners. At charity events. At the country club.

"Remember that time Celestine tried to order wine and couldn't even pronounce the vintage?"

Then that horrible laugh. Like a hyena with a stuffy nose.

*

*

Nine hundred and ninety nine times. That's how many times she swallowed her pride, took a deep breath, and chose to forgive.

Nine hundred and ninety nine times she reminded herself of her promise to Alistair. Of the goodness she was supposed to believe in. Of the marriage vows she took in front of God and everybody.

And now, standing in the bathroom with a positive pregnancy test in her hand, she felt like maybe she wouldn't need to get to one thousand. This baby was going to be the miracle that brought Kier Thornwell back to life.

*

*

She looked at herself in the mirror. Old t-shirt and leggings. No makeup. Hair in a messy bun. She didn't look like a Thornwell wife. She looked like Celestine. Just Celestine.

The apartment was nice. Floor to ceiling windows, expensive kitchen and three bedrooms mostly empty. The Thornwells gave it to them as a wedding gift. Vivienne made sure everyone knew.

"Our gift to the happy couple," she announced at the reception, loud enough for all four hundred guests to hear. "Because every marriage needs a solid foundation. And we wouldn't want dear Celestine to feel like she's slumming it."

Celestine furnished it modestly and it was on purpose, no designer furniture nor any fancy art, partly because Kier didn't care. He was never home long enough to notice anyway.

*

*

She walked out of the bathroom, the pregnancy test still in her hand. She needed to hide it before Kier came home. But she also wanted to do something special. Something he would remember.

She found a small gift box in the drawer. Leftover from Christmas. She lined it with tissue paper. Then she placed the pregnancy test inside, carefully, like it was something precious.

She tied a ribbon around the box.

Then she went to the florist downstairs and bought a bouquet. Red roses. His favorite color. She didn't know why. She just wanted everything to be perfect.

She came back to the apartment and set the gift box next to the flowers on the kitchen counter. She would give them to him after dinner. After she told him the news.

*

*

*

But then she remembered something.

Two days ago, she was looking for a pen in his study. The drawer was open. The one he always kept locked. Inside, there was a small velvet box.

She shouldn't have opened it. She knew that. But her fingers moved before her brain could stop them.

Inside was a necklace with a tiny diamond pendant on a thin gold chain. The exact one she had pointed out in a magazine months ago. The one she said was beautiful. The one she never thought he noticed her looking at.

She had closed the box quickly. Put it back and pretended she didn't see it.

But she did see it. And her heart had swelled.

He was planning something. A gift for her. Maybe for their anniversary.

She had been floating on that secret happiness for two days. Every time she looked at him, she thought about the little velvet box hidden in his drawer. She imagined him handing it to her. She imagined his arms around her neck, fastening the clasp. She imagined feeling special, chosen and loved.

Tonight, she would give him her gift. The pregnancy test in the pretty box. The news that they were going to be parents.

And then, maybe, he would give her his gift. The necklace. The one she wanted.

She touched her stomach and smiled.

"Tonight," she whispered. "Tonight, everything changes."