CHAPTER 14 — The Pregnancy Secret

POV: Claire

The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across the kitchen floor. I stirred my tea absentmindedly, staring out at the street below, but my mind was elsewhere—tangled in fear, desire, and a growing, undeniable truth.

It had been a few weeks since Ryan and I had last met in that hotel room. The memory of his hands, his lips, his scent… it lingered like a phantom, impossible to shake. I tried to convince myself that it had been a one-time mistake, a moment of weakness fueled by loneliness and despair. But my body whispered otherwise, hinting at consequences I had not yet dared to confront.

At first, I had ignored the subtle changes—the nausea in the mornings, the inexplicable fatigue, the way my clothes felt tighter around my waist. I chalked it up to stress, to sleepless nights, to the weight of living under Margaret’s scrutinizing gaze. But then the proof became undeniable: a small, innocuous test, the kind you could buy at any pharmacy.

I stared at the two lines blinking back at me, disbelief and terror crashing over me in equal measure.

I was pregnant.

The thought was at once thrilling and horrifying. Ryan’s child. The child of the man I had betrayed Sophie for. The consequences of this secret could destroy everything—our family, Sophie’s trust, my relationship with my daughter, and the fragile peace I had tried to maintain.

The first few days were a blur. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat properly, couldn’t think straight. Every time I saw Ryan, my pulse quickened, a mix of longing and guilt tearing at me. I wanted to tell him, to confess everything, but fear paralyzed me. Fear of his reaction, fear of Sophie finding out, fear of Margaret’s inevitable interference.

And Margaret… she was already watching. Her sharp eyes, the way she lingered a second too long when I entered a room, the subtle questions about my health, my diet, my habits—they were all signs that she suspected something. I could feel her judgment pressing down on me, even when she wasn’t in the room.

I had to be careful. I had to hide it. Every cough, every sudden flush of heat, every faint nausea had to be disguised. I smiled when necessary, laughed when prompted, and kept my distance when Ryan’s eyes lingered too long. But the tension between us was electric, a wire strung taut, ready to snap.

That night, I found myself standing by the window, staring out at the city lights. My hand instinctively went to my abdomen, almost as if I could shield the secret with my touch. But the truth was growing inside me, alive and undeniable.

A message buzzed on my phone.

Ryan: Can we meet? I can’t stop thinking about you.

I hesitated. My finger hovered over the screen. Could I risk seeing him again? Could I handle the danger of our desire colliding with the truth growing inside me?

Claire: I… we can’t.

I hit send.

Immediately, a reply came:

Ryan: I know. But I need to see you. Just once. Please.

I sank into the armchair, gripping my tea so tightly my knuckles turned white. One meeting could change everything. One encounter, one touch, one look, could unravel the carefully constructed facade I had built.

And yet… part of me ached for him. Ached to feel the heat of his hands, the pull of his lips, the reckless abandon we had shared. I was trapped between morality and desire, between self-preservation and the intoxicating pull of forbidden passion.

Days passed, and my symptoms intensified. Morning sickness became a daily battle. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm me at work, at home, even in casual moments with Sophie. I found myself canceling plans, avoiding Ryan when I could, retreating into a world of quiet fear and longing.

Margaret noticed. Of course she noticed. Her gaze followed me more closely than ever, her questions became sharper, tinged with suspicion.

“You seem… off lately, Claire,” she remarked one evening, her voice casual but her eyes sharp. “Everything okay?”

I forced a smile. “Yes. Just tired, I suppose.”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine. “You’ve been drinking more tea than usual. And it seems you’ve… changed a bit.”

I froze. The warning was clear—she suspected. My secret was teetering on the edge of exposure.

And then there was Ryan. I could feel his presence, the weight of his longing pressing down on me even when he wasn’t there. Every time we met at family gatherings, every brush of our hands, every lingering glance, was a reminder that our connection hadn’t been broken. And now, with the pregnancy, the stakes were higher than ever.

I knew I had to make a decision—soon. How long could I hide the truth? How long could I endure the tension, the desire, the guilt? The secret was growing, and with it, the danger of everything I cared about collapsing around me.

For now, I would continue to hide it. Continue to smile, continue to laugh, continue to pretend. But inside, a storm was brewing—a storm that would soon break, and there would be no turning back.