From Wife to Boss: His Greatest Regret

THE paper in Alessia’s hands trembled just slightly. It was not enough for anyone else to notice, but just enough.

The doctor was still talking. His voice was calm and measured and professional. Words layered over words, explanations following explanations, but none of it was landing. None of it was staying.

Because all she could see… were the lines on that sheet, as they stood clear, definite and likely unarguable.

Her eyes ran over them again, but slower this time, as if reading them differently might change something. As if there had been a mistake, a mix-up, something, anything. Because they just had to be.

But there was nothing. No errors, no doubts, just truth, the underlying truth, and it didn’t match the life she had been living.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the report.

Four years.

Four years of quiet shame. Of careful silence. Of swallowing questions before they could even form. Of pretending not to notice the looks, the whispers, the way conversations would pause when she entered a room.

Four years of believing…

She dragged in a breath, but it didn’t feel like it reached her lungs.

“Mrs. Cross?”

The doctor’s voice came again, a little closer now.

“Are you with me?”

She didn’t answer, she didn’t even blink. Her gaze had stopped moving across the page. It was fixed now, locked onto a section she hadn’t meant to focus on. A detail she hadn’t expected.

Her chest tightened. Something wasn’t right. Or maybe… everything was.

“Mrs. Cross,” the doctor said again, more gently this time, leaning forward slightly, “if you have any questions, I can explain—”

Explain?

Explain what?

That everything she had believed about herself… wasn’t real?

That the blame she had carried so carefully, so quietly… had never been hers to begin with?

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Because what was there to say?

How do you ask questions about a life that suddenly doesn’t make sense?

‘So,’ she began in her thoughts, ‘if what is contained in this paper is true, then how— how is she pregnant… for him?’

The room suddenly felt smaller, too bright and loud. And yet, strangely distant at the same time.

Alessia lowered the paper slowly, her movements almost mechanical. Her face gave nothing away— no tears, no anger, no visible reaction.

Just stillness, too much of it.

The doctor hesitated, watching her now. Concern flickered across his face.

“Mrs. Cross…?”

She abruptly stood up. The metal chair shifted slightly behind her with a faint scrape against the floor.

The doctor paused mid-sentence.

“Mrs. Cross, wait—”

But she was already turning. Already walking.

The door opened before he could say anything else.

“Mrs. Cross!”

His voice followed her out, but it didn’t reach her, or maybe it did, but she just didn’t let it cut through.

The hallway stretched ahead, long and bright and unfamiliar. People passed by— nurses, patients, voices blending into a low hum, but none of it registered.

Her steps were too steady. Like if she stopped, even for a second, something inside her might crack open in a way she wouldn’t be able to control.

So she didn’t stop, she kept walking. Out of the corridor, out of the building and out into the open air.

Only when the hospital doors closed behind her did something shift, just slightly in her chest. A tightness. A pressure.

But still no tears came out, not even a sound.

She reached her car without remembering the walk, opened the door and got in. The paper was still in her hand, now crumpled at the edges. She stared at it for a second longer, then looked away.

Her hand moved automatically— keys in ignition, engine starting, the low hum filling the silence.

And then, she zoomed off. Fast like lightning.

***

The door clicked softly as Alessia pushed it open.

She stepped in, closing it behind her with the same quiet care, like nothing in the world had shifted just minutes ago. Like her hands weren’t still trembling from what she held. Like her chest didn’t feel… off.

The house was too silent.

For a second, she thought, good. He wasn’t back yet.

She took one step forward, and it halted her— his voice.

“You are back.”

Alessia froze.

Her grip tightened slightly around her bag as her eyes lifted.

Damien was there.

Seated on the couch like he had always been there, one arm stretched along the backrest, his tie loosened, his expression already edged with irritation. Watching her, and waiting for an explanation.

She hadn’t expected him, not this early, and definitely not like this.

“Oh…” she blinked once, forcing her voice to come out steady. “You are back quite early… Damien.”

The wrong thing to say. She knew it the moment the words left her mouth.

His jaw tightened.

“Where were you?”

That was it. No greeting, no pause, just straight to it.

Alessia shifted her weight slightly, closing the distance between them by a step, her fingers unconsciously curling behind her back.

“I… stepped out for a bit.”

“For a bit?” he repeated, his tone flattening dangerously. “You left this house.”

A beat.

“Without my permission.”

There it was. The familiar and expected tone.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on her shoulders, urging her into that same small, careful space she had lived in for four years.

But something inside her resisted. It was not enough to be obvious.

“I wasn’t feeling too well,” she said, keeping her voice soft and controlled. “I just needed some fresh air. That’s all.”

The lie dropped.

Damien stared at her for a second longer than necessary, like he was deciding whether or not to push further.

Then he scoffed.

“Next time, you inform me before you step out. I don’t like coming home to an empty house.”

He said it like it was normal.

Like it made sense.

Like she wasn’t a grown woman standing in front of him.

Alessia nodded slightly.

“Alright.”

And just like that, he lost interest, dismissing the talk. As if she had already taken up too much of his time.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair before speaking again, this time more casually, like what he was about to say didn’t carry any weight at all.

“Get the guest room ready.”

Alessia’s brows drew together slightly.

“For who?”

“For Vanessa.”

The name landed between them, flat and heavy.

“She will be moving in tomorrow,” he continued, already reaching for his phone like the conversation was over. “The pregnancy is almost due, and I’m not having my child somewhere I can’t see it.”