9.

I left the clinic with my hands shaking, holding the test results against my chest like they would disappear if I blinked too hard. I kept touching my stomach on the walk back, half in disbelief and half in hope. Maybe this was finally the thing that would fix us. Adrian always said he wanted a family. Maybe he would see me again, really see me.

I walked through the neighborhood smiling to myself like an idiot. I didn’t even care that my shoes were hurting my feet or that I hadn’t eaten all day. I was thinking about names and the color of the room and how I would tell him. By the time I reached our street, I was already rehearsing how I’d tell him.

But everything froze when I reached the house.

The front yard looked like someone had emptied a trash bin onto the grass. Only it wasn’t trash. It was my clothes. My coat was caught on the garden fence. My sweaters were torn down the middle like someone had used scissors. A bucket lay tipped over near the steps, water trickling down the pavement. I bent to pick up my favorite knitted sweater. It smelled like bleach.

That’s when the front door forced open. Adrian stood there with that impatient look he always wore when he wanted to hurt me but didn’t want to waste time doing it.

“Good. Saves me the trouble of calling someone to throw all that away.”

My voice came out small. “Why are my clothes outside?”

He rested his shoulder on the doorframe. “Because just like you, they don’t belong in my house anymore.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Adrian… I’m pregnant.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at me like I was dirt on the ground. The silence stretched until I heard footsteps inside, Kira walked out behind him, tying her hair up. She was wearing one of his shirts, the sleeves swallowing her hands.

She smirked. “So that’s the story now?”

Adrian glanced at her. She nodded slightly, like giving him permission. He stepped forward. “Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying. I went to the hospital this morning. I have the results.” I pulled the folded paper from my pocket. My hands wouldn’t stay still. He slapped it away. It landed in a puddle.

Kira clicked her tongue. “I told you she’d try something desperate. You really will do anything, Emily, you just don’t get tired. First you embarrass the family, then you go around chasing attention. Now a fake pregnancy?”

My chest squeezed painfully at that. I looked at Adrian, searching for something, anything. “Please. Just read it.”

His jaw flexed. Then he hit me so suddenly I couldn’t even breathe. My vision blurred as I dropped to my knees. A second blow came, then a third. My ribs lit up with pain. I curled forward, shielding my stomach, the ground rough against my palms.

“You think I’ll accept some bastard you cooked up with God knows who?” Adrian spat. “You disgust me.”

Kira leaned beside him, arms folded. “Just get her to sign the papers. This is dragging too long.”

He grabbed my hair and yanked me upright. My head spun. He shoved the divorce folder into my chest. “Sign.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s real. I swear. It’s yours.”

Adrian’s eyes flashed, he grabbed my face so hard his fingers dug into my jaw.

“You’re disgusting.”

Pain shot through me as he shoved me back. I stumbled but didn’t fall. Not yet. I barely had time to breathe before his fist slammed into my stomach again. I gasped and folded over, clutching myself, trying to shield the life inside me.

He didn’t stop.

One kick after another, every strike filled with rage he’d pretended for months didn’t exist. My ears rang. My cheek split.

“Sign the divorce papers and get out of my life.”

Blood dripped onto the dotted line as I took the pen. My hand trembled so violently the signature looked nothing like my name. But I forced it out. Not because he scared me anymore. Because I knew the baby wouldn’t survive another blow.

Adrian snatched the papers, skimmed them, then kicked me once—hard—before walking inside without a second glance.

The door shut.

I stayed on the porch for a minute, trying to breathe through the pain in my ribs. I wiped the blood from my nose with the back of my hand and stood slowly. No one came to help. No one saw. No one cared.

I gathered my scattered clothes, shoving whatever I could into a box I found near the trash bins. My fingers kept slipping. Everything hurt.

I dragged the box down the street toward my father’s house. It took longer than usual because I had to stop and rest every few steps.

When I knocked, he opened the door halfway. His eyes skimmed over the bruises and the torn clothes. He didn’t look surprised.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I… I just need somewhere to sleep tonight.”

He snorted. “You think you can leave your husband and come crawling back here? People already talk enough. You want them to think you’re shameless?”

“I’m asking to rest. That’s all.”

He walked inside without answering. I waited on the porch, shivering even though the air wasn’t cold. When he returned, he held an old wooden box.

“This belonged to your mother,” he said, thrusting it at me. “She always kept it for you. Maybe you’ll put it to use seeing how desperate you’ve become.”

He shut the door on my face.

I opened the box. Inside was a necklace. A simple one. Silver chain, soft green stone. I held it tightly.

Vincent’s car sped up the driveway. He braked when he saw me. He stepped out, brows furrowed. “Emily? What happened to you?”

I stood up with difficulty. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Where are you going like that?”

“Away.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “You caused enough drama. Now Adrian moved on. You should too.”

I stared at him, exhausted. “I’m trying to. Let me go.” He grabbed my arm. I flinched from the soreness.

“Emily, you can’t walk around like this. People will talk.”

“People always talk. They always talk about me.” My voice cracked. “They never talk for me, not even you.”

He had no answer.

I pulled my arm away and walked past him, dragging my box. At the end of the driveway, I turned back once.

That house had swallowed every good memory I ever had. My mother’s laughter. Her cooking. Her hugs. All of it buried under years of pain. I wiped my face.

I went to the bus station and bought a ticket with the last crumpled bills in my pocket. I didn’t know where I’d end up.

I only knew I was never coming back.