Five years later, My Billionaire Ex-husband wants me back

Janet POV

“Congratulations, Mrs. Crawford. You are four weeks pregnant.”

The doctor’s words hung in the quiet exam room, floating between us like something too fragile to touch.

I stared at Dr. Evans, my hands frozen over my stomach. “Are you… are you sure?”

She smiled softly and turned the ultrasound monitor so I could see the tiny speck on the black-and-white screen. “I am completely sure, Janet. Your blood work came back positive, and everything looks healthy. You are going to be a mother.”

Tears burst out before I could stop them. I covered my mouth with both hands, but the sob tore straight out of my chest anyway. Three years. Three long, heartbreaking years of waiting for this exact moment.

“Everything really looks okay?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “The baby is fine?”

“The baby is doing wonderfully,” Dr. Evans said gently, handing me a tissue. “Just get plenty of rest, keep taking your vitamins, and enjoy this. You deserve it.”

When I walked out of the clinic into the cool afternoon air, I couldn't stop my hands from resting over my belly. For three years, this body had felt like a broken promise.

Three years of marriage to Garrett Crawford, and three years of silent shame.

I remembered every single painful fertility test, the endless blood draws that left my arms bruised, and the foul-tasting medications that made my body ache. I remembered sitting on the cold bathroom floor at midnight, staring at dozens of single white lines on pregnancy tests, crying until my head pounded as I prayed to God for just one child.

And then there was Garrett’s family.

His mother, Eleanor, never let me forget that I hadn't given her a grandchild. Every family dinner was a quiet torture session disguised as a polite gathering.

“A man like Garrett needs an heir, Janet,” Eleanor would say, her voice dripping with artificial concern while her eyes cut straight through me. “The Crawford name carries weight. A proper wife builds her husband’s legacy. How much longer are you going to make him wait?”

His younger sister, Vanessa, was even worse. She made sure to drop subtle, nasty hints whenever she could, reminding everyone that Garrett should have married someone from their own high-society circle, someone who wasn't "defective."

The public wasn't any kinder. Tabloids and gossip blogs made me their favorite target. I lost count of how many times I saw my own picture online next to cruel headlines: The Barren Billionaire’s Wife or Is Garrett Crawford’s Marriage Ending Over a Missing Heir?

In the beginning, Garrett was my shield. He stood up to his mother. He threatened to sue the blogs that wrote lies about me. He used to wrap his arms around me in bed late at night and whisper against my hair, “It’s just you and me, Janet. That’s all that matters.”

But over the past few months, the endless pressure had started to break us. Garrett was working eighteen hours a day. He came home late, exhausted and quiet. The warm, easy smiles were gone, replaced by a tight line on his mouth and a permanent shadow over his eyes. The strain of his family’s whispering and his massive workload had carved a silent, icy distance between us. We hadn't truly talked in weeks.

I pulled out my phone as I got into my car. My thumb hovered over his contact name. I wanted to call him right then and scream it through the speaker: I’m pregnant! We did it!

No.

A phone call wasn't enough. Not for this. Garrett needed to hear this in person. He needed to hold the news in his hands.

I drove straight to a small, quiet baby boutique downtown. Walking through the front door sent a wave of heat straight to my heart. For three years, I had walked past stores like this with my head down, hurrying my pace so I wouldn't cry. Today, I walked in with tears of relief in my eyes.

I picked out a tiny pair of soft, white knitted baby shoes. They were so small they barely covered the palm of my hand. I asked the clerk to wrap them in a simple gold gift box tied with a white satin ribbon.

When I got home, I threw myself into making the evening perfect.

I cooked his absolute favorite meal—pan-seared steak, garlic potatoes, and roasted vegetables. I set the dark wood dining table with our best plates and lit two tall candles in the center. I turned off the harsh overhead lights, leaving the room filled with a soft, warm glow. It felt like our early days together, back when we were just two people deeply in love, long before the noise of his money and his family tried to pull us apart.

I sat down at the table, resting the little gold gift box in my lap. My thumb traced the smooth ribbon over and over.

I pictured his face when he opened it. I imagined the disbelief turning into that brilliant, rare smile he used to give me. I imagined him pulling me into his chest, holding me tight, and crying tears of relief right along with me. This baby was going to save us. It was going to silence his mother, shut down the tabloids, and bring my husband back to me.

Eight o'clock passed. Then nine. Then ten.

The food on the stove grew cold, but my heart didn't lose its excitement. I knew he was busy. I knew he carried the weight of an entire business empire on his shoulders. I could wait.

Finally, around ten-thirty, I heard the heavy front door open and shut.

"Garrett?" I called out, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I stood up from the dining table, holding the tiny gold box carefully against my chest, and walked toward the entrance of the room.

He stepped into the light. But the moment I saw his face, my smile died.

Garrett looked awful. His dark suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened, but it wasn't tiredness on his face—it was something far darker. His jaw was locked so hard the muscle flexed beneath his skin. His eyes, usually a deep, warm brown, looked completely hollow. Cold. Almost frightening.

He didn't look like the man who loved me. He looked like a man looking at an enemy.

"Garrett?" I whispered, my pulse racing as a sudden chill settled deep in my stomach. "What happened? Are you okay?"

I took a step forward, reaching out with my free hand toward his arm. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to tell him that whatever went wrong at work today didn't matter anymore because our whole world was about to change.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly, moving closer to him.

Before my fingers could even brush his sleeve, Garrett jerked back violently. He took a harsh step away from me as if my touch was poison, his lip curling into a look of pure disgust.

"Stay away from me," he snarled. His voice was low, rough, and dripping with a hatred so deep it took the air right out of my lungs. "You lying, cheating whore."