TWO

The house was dark when she got home.

Not in a peaceful, quiet and comforting way. It was the kind of darkness that made every sound feel too loud, her breathing, the soft click of the door closing behind her, the faint hum of the refrigerator she had cleaned just hours earlier.

She didn’t turn on the lights, she knew this house too well to need them.

Her shoes came off by the door, placed neatly side by side. Habit. She’d learned early that disorder irritated him. Even now, when he wasn’t home, her body remembered the rules.

Her phone was silent. There was nothing from him. No missed calls, messages or even an explanation.

She walked into the living room slowly. The sofa cushions were perfectly arranged, just as she’d left them. The coffee table gleamed, polished until her reflection stared back at her, tired eyes, rounder cheeks, shoulders slumped under a weight no one could see.

She looked older than she was.

She set her bag down and finally allowed herself to sit.

That was when the memory surfaced, the one she tried not to touch because it hurt too much. The day everything had changed.

The pregnancy test had been warm in her hands.

She remembered standing in the cramped bathroom of her old apartment, staring at the result until her vision blurred. Her heart had pounded wildly with fear.

He was no way he wasn't going to misunderstand this. He had always believed that she was a disgusting, scheming sl*t who drugged him to sleep with him.

That was no way he wouldn't think she came up with this pregnancy to tie him down.

She had gone straight to his office with the test. The building had been intimidating, a place where people like her didn’t quite belong. She remembered smoothing her dress nervously, wiping sweaty palms on the fabric as she stepped out of the elevator.

The receptionist had looked her over dismissively. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I need to see Julian,” she’d said softly.

The woman had hesitated, then made a call.

She waited.

When she was finally allowed in, Julian didn’t even look up from his laptop at first.

“What is it?” he’d asked impatiently.

She had swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant.”

There was silence. Then he looked at her. Not with shock, not with concern. But with disgust.

“You’re joking,” he’d said.

“I’m not.”

“Get rid of it.”

The words had sliced through her before she could brace herself.

“I can’t,” she’d whispered. “It’s a life.”

His jaw had tightened. “You’re trying to trap me.”

“I would never ...”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he’d snapped. “And I won’t ruin my future because you, your lies and schemes.”

She had cried. She had begged. She had promised she didn’t want anything from him, no money, no status. Just acknowledgment.

In the end, he had agreed to marry her after confirming the baby was his.

Not because he wanted her but because he didn’t want a scandal.

She closed her eyes now, fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt.

The marriage that followed felt like a tedious chore.

She had learned his routines, memorized his preferences. She woke before dawn to cook breakfast she rarely saw him eat. When he drank too much at business dinners, she made hangover soup from scratch and waited up for him, no matter how late it was.

She brought him meals to the office when he forgot to eat. Ironed his shirts. Organized his schedule when his assistant made mistakes. Listened quietly when deals went wrong.

When she was pregnant, her back aching and feet swollen, she still cleaned the house herself. His mother had once watched her struggle up the stairs and said flatly, “If you’re going to stay here, at least don’t be useless.”

After the baby was born, things became worse.

She barely slept. Her body changed. Her strength faded. And every time she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she felt like she was disappearing.

“You’ve really let yourself go,” Julian had said one night, eyes filled with irritation as he adjusted his tie. “Don’t you have any self-respect?”

That was when he stopped pretending.

He flirted openly, took calls from other women in front of her, smiled at other women the way he never smiled at her.

And tonight, he had finally said it out loud. He never wanted the child and she was a mistake.

Her chest tightened painfully. She stood up abruptly, walked into the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase.

Only the essentials went into the suitcase, her clothes, the baby’s things, documents she had quietly gathered over the years.

Each item she folded felt heavier than the last. Not because of the weight, but because of what it represented. Time. Effort. Love that had never been returned.

She reached for the wardrobe, then paused.

Her phone buzzed suddenly. Her heart leapt before she could stop it.

It was a message from Julian.

"Come back and apologize. You embarrassed me tonight".

Her hands went cold. That was it. That's how it always has been.

Just an order and an expection to crumble and fall back into line. No explanation. No remorse.

She stared at the screen, something sharp and clear slicing through the fog in her mind.

Apologize for being humiliated?

Her grip tightened around the phone. Then, slowly, deliberately, she pressed delete and then block.

The suitcase snapped shut with a final, decisive sound. She didn’t hesitate. She picked up her bag, her child and walked to the door.

Behind her, the door closed with a low thud.