Divorced Before He Knew I was Pregnant

Aira read the papers slowly, even though she already knew what they said. The words were clear. Too clear. Every sentence neat and final, like the people who wrote them had never loved anyone before. Mutual Agreement for Dissolution of Marriage. She kept going back to the title, her eyes snagging on the word mutual as if it might change if she stared long enough. It didn’t. Nothing about this was mutual. Lucien had decided. She had nodded. That was how most things between them worked. The apartment was quiet in that uncomfortable way that made every small sound feel louder than it should be. The hum of the refrigerator. The faint ticking of the wall clock. Even her own breathing felt intrusive. She sat at the dining table, still wearing the sweater she’d slept in because changing clothes felt like too much effort for a day like this. The table had been her choice. She remembered that clearly. Lucien had barely looked up from his phone when she showe

He came that evening. She heard his key in the lock. For a second, she forgot he still had access. The door opened. Lucien stepped inside like he had never left. The familiarity of it made something twist in her chest. “I’ll be quick,” he said. He walked toward the study. She followed without meaning to. “You don’t need to supervise me,” he added. “I’m not.” “You are.” Their eyes met. The air changed. He gathered a stack of folders from the shelf. Efficient. Controlled. But his movements were slightly sharper than usual. “You look worse today,” he said without looking at her. “I told you I’m fine.” “You’re not.” He turned then. And this time, he didn’t mask it. Concern. Frustration. Something almost territorial. “You don’t get to worry about me,” she said quietly. “Why not?” The question came out immediate. Instinctive. Because you ended it. Because you chose distance. Because I’m carrying something you

He showed up that evening without telling her. No message. No warning. Just the sound of the door unlocking again. She stiffened. “You still have that key?” she asked when he stepped inside. “Yes.” “You’re supposed to give it back.” “I will.” But he didn’t. He stood there for a second too long, looking at her like he was trying to solve something. “You were at a clinic,” he said. “Yes.” “For stress.” “Yes.” He stepped closer. Not aggressively. Just enough to shrink the space. “You don’t look stressed,” he said. She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “What does stress look like to you?” “You’re pale. You’re tired. You’re avoiding me. And you flinch when I get close.” Her throat tightened. “You’re imagining things.” “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not.” There was something unsettled about him tonight. Less controlled. His hair was slightly messy. His tie loosened. Like he had come straight from somewhere without stopping to

The call came the next morning.Aira had just stepped out of the bathroom, her hair still damp, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around her like a fragile kind of peace she didn’t quite trust anymore. Her phone buzzed against the table, the sharp sound cutting through the stillness.Unknown number.She stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.Something about it made her uneasy.Still, she picked it up.“Hello?”“Mrs. Bennett?”Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.That name.It hadn’t belonged to her in a long time, yet hearing it still did something to her chest—something tight, something she didn’t want to examine too closely.“This is the clinic. Your test results came back slightly elevated. It’s nothing alarming, but the doctor would like you to come in tomorrow.”For a second, Aira didn’t respond.The words registered, but they didn’t settle.Elevated.Not alarming.Come in tomorrow.Her throat went dry.“Elevated… how?” she asked, her voice quieter now, mo

Lucien didn’t speak immediately.Not when she stepped outside.Not when the door closed softly behind her, shutting out the quiet hum of the building.Not even when she stopped in front of him.He just looked at her.And it wasn’t the kind of look she was used to.Not sharp.Not assessing.Not searching for control.It was steady.Focused.Unsettling in a completely different way.Because for once—He wasn’t looking at her stomach.He was looking at her face.As if trying to read something there.As if trying to understand something he had already begun to piece together, but didn’t fully trust yet.The air between them felt heavier than usual, thick with everything neither of them had said yet.“You were going to tell me,” he said finally.His voice was quiet.Too quiet.Not accusatory.Not harsh.Just certain.Like a question he already knew the answer to.Aira didn’t respond immediately. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, her gaze dropping for a second before lifting again.