Divorced: Her Ex Husband’s Regret

The pregnancy test trembles in my hand.

Two lines.

Dark. Undeniable. Real.

For a moment, I just stare at it, afraid that if I blink too long, it might disappear. Like the countless negatives before it. Like hope that never stayed long enough for me to trust it.

But it doesn’t fade.

My chest tightens, breath hitching as the truth finally settles in.

I’m pregnant.

A soft, broken sound escapes my lips before I can stop it — somewhere between a laugh and a sob. I press a hand to my mouth, but the joy bubbles over anyway, filling the bathroom until I’m grinning like a fool at my reflection.

I actually pinch my arm.

“Ow,” I hiss, then laugh again.

It’s real.

I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, clutching the test like it might vanish if I let go. My heart races, already leaping ahead to Elijah. To his face when I tell him. To the way his eyes will widen, the way his arms will wrap around me.

We’ve been trying for so long.

Months of disappointment. Of hopeful smiles that slowly fell each time the test read negative. Elijah never blamed me — not out loud — but I saw it in the tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze would briefly drift away when I apologized for something that wasn’t my fault.

I hated that look.

Hated feeling like I was failing him.

Our marriage hadn’t been bad… but it hadn’t been effortless either. Something subtle had shifted between us in recent months. A distance neither of us named. I asked him once if we were okay, and he smiled, kissed my forehead, and told me not to worry.

So I tried not to.

This baby will fix it, I tell myself.

This will make everything better.

I carefully tuck the pregnancy test into the bathroom drawer, hidden beneath folded towels, and stand. My legs feel light as I head downstairs, excitement propelling me forward.

Tonight is supposed to be perfect.

I gave the cook the day off. I wanted to make dinner myself — something intimate. Something just for us.

But halfway down the stairs, I freeze.

There’s movement in the kitchen.

Frowning, I step closer, already confused. The cook isn’t here.

Then I see her.

Alice Griffin stands at my stove, calmly stirring a pot as if she belongs there.

My mother-in-law.

She turns just as I enter, lips curving into a wide smile that looks so foreign on her face, it nearly makes my skin prickle.

“Ah, there you are,” she says warmly.

For a second, I wonder if I’ve walked into the wrong house.

Alice never smiles at me.

Not once in three years of marriage.

She despises me — never bothered hiding it either. From the moment Elijah introduced me, she decided I wasn’t worthy. Too poor. Too insignificant. A gold digger, in her words.

I once overheard her telling Elijah I would ruin him.

Still, I force a polite smile and step fully into the kitchen. “Hi, Alice. I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

She tilts her head. “Really? Eli must have forgotten to tell you.” She gestures to the counter. “I’m making dinner. Could you set the table?”

I blink.

This is surreal.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly, reaching for the pot. “I was actually planning to—”

“Nonsense,” she cuts in smoothly, gently moving my hand away. “It’s already done. Just set the table. I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk.

My stomach tightens.

“About…?” I ask cautiously.

“Over dinner,” she replies with a light chuckle.

Every instinct tells me this is wrong, but years of trying to please her override my discomfort. I nod and set the table while she plates the food.

When I mention waiting for Elijah, she waves it off. “He called. Said he’d be late. Told me to have you eat without him.”

That surprises me — Elijah usually tells me things like that — but I push the thought aside.

I sit.

She serves me pasta that smells incredible.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

She watches as I take my first bite, eyes sharp and expectant. When I nod, she smiles again.

“It’s delicious,” I admit.

“I’m glad,” she says softly, finally taking a bite herself.

Relief loosens my shoulders.

Maybe she’s trying.

Maybe this is her way of extending an olive branch.

“So,” I say, lifting my fork again. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I know we haven’t always gotten along,” Alice begins. “And I admit… I haven’t always been kind to you.”

I set my fork down.

Then the room tilts.

A sudden wave of exhaustion crashes over me, heavy and disorienting. I blink hard, my vision blurring.

That’s strange.

I yawn…. wide and uncontrollable.

“Scarlet,” Alice says sharply. “Are you even listening?”

“I—yes,” I mumble, words thick on my tongue. “I’m sorry, I just… feel really tired all of a sudden.”

My limbs feel like lead. My eyelids burn.

Alice’s mouth tightens.

“This is incredibly disrespectful,” she snaps. “I’m trying to make peace and you—”

“I need to lie down,” I whisper, panic creeping in as my knees wobble. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t wait for permission.

I barely make it up the stairs before my strength gives out. I collapse onto the bed, the ceiling spinning above me.

Something’s wrong.

But my thoughts dissolve before I can grasp them.

Elijah’s face flickers in my mind.

The baby.

I’ll tell him when he gets home.

Just a short nap, I promise myself, as darkness pulls me under.

I fall asleep with a smile on my face to the imaginations of my husband’s reaction when I finally deliver the good news.

I’m elated. Consumed with immense joy for what our future will hold.