His Boss, Her Secret

The house was perfect White marble countertops gleamed under warm pendant lights. Fresh flowers rotated twice a week. A home straight out of lifestyle magazines, with captions like #Goals and LivingTheDream.But perfection had nothing to do with how I felt.I stood in my kitchen, staring at the anniversary dinner I’d spent three hours preparing. Herb-crusted salmon, his favorite. Roasted vegetables arranged just so. A chocolate soufflé waiting in the oven, timed to rise at exactly 8 PM.It was 9:47 PM. My phone sat face-up on the counter, screen dark. No missed calls. No apologetic texts. I’d called twice. Both went to voicemail.He’s busy, I told myself the same lie I’d whispered six months ago when I found the hotel receipt. the same lie three months ago when “Jennifer from Accounting” texted at 2 AM. The same lie last month when I smelled perfume on his collar.The salmon had gone cold. The soufflé had collapsed an hour ago.The garage door opened at 10:13 PM.Marcus walked in, tie

I cooked while he settled on the couch, beer in one hand, phone in the other. I could hear him laughing at something a low chuckle that used to make me smile but now just made me wonder what was so funny.Who was so funny.When I called him to dinner, he came but kept the phone face-down beside his plate. We ate in near silence, the TV filling the void with some crime show neither of us watched."This is great, babe," he said around a mouthful of penne. "You're such a good cook.""Thanks." I pushed my own food around, appetite gone.His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.He glanced at it. His expression shifted just slightly. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth."Work?" I asked, keeping my tone casual."Yeah. Jensen freaking out about tomorrow's presentation." But his fingers moved fast across the screen, typing something that required his full attention.I watched him over the rim of my wine glass. Watched the way his eyes softened at whatever he

The new password on his laptop now. How he'd started taking calls outside, on the balcony, claiming it was work but speaking in that low, intimate tone I recognized.I noticed him smelling like unfamiliar perfume again.I noticed everything and said nothing, because what was the point?He was lying. I knew he was lying He knew I knew.But acknowledging it would mean making a choice. And I wasn't ready for that choice.Not when I was thirteen weeks pregnant and already showing. Not when I'd just scheduled my twenty-week anatomy scan. Not when I'd finally told my parents we were going to be grandparents and heard the joy in their voices.So I played my role. The mother-to-be planning a nursery. The woman who pretended her marriage wasn't dying while her baby grew.One night, I was folding laundry in our bedroom when Marcus came up behind me, hands sliding around my waist, resting on my small but visible bump."Hey, beautiful," he murmured against my neck.I stiffened. I couldn't help it

I gasped, doubling over one hand flying to my stomach."Eleanor?" Marcus's voice changed, fear creeping in. "What's wrong?""I don't" Another cramp, stronger this time. Radiating through my abdomen in waves that made my knees buckle. "Oh god."I felt it before I saw it. Wetness between my legs. Warm and wrong.I looked down.Blood.Soaking through my dress Running down my legs."No." The word came out as a whimper. "No no no no.""Oh my god." Marcus grabbed me as my legs gave out. "Eleanor, we need to get you to a hospital"The baby." I clutched his shirt, my hand leaving bloodstains on the white fabric. "Marcus, the baby""I know, I know Come on." He was already pulling out his phone, calling emergency services, but his voice sounded distant. Everything sounded distant.Another cramp, vicious and relentless.I felt something shift inside Something ending."No," I sobbed. "Please no. I'm sorry I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry""An ambulance is coming," Marcus said, and was he crying? I c

Eleanor woke to sunlight stabbing through unfamiliar curtains and a headache that felt like her skull was being split open with an axe.For a disorienting moment she had no idea where she was. Then the details filtered in Tasha’s minimalist living room, the grey couch she was lying on, the throw blanket that smelled like lavender fabric softener.She sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. The room spun. Her stomach lurched.“Oh good, you’re awake.”Eleanor turned her head carefully, so carefully to see Tasha standing in the doorway of her open-concept kitchen, already dressed in fitted jeans and a white t-shirt, looking annoyingly put-together for someone who’d been at a club until 2 AM.“You look like absolute hell, by the way,” Tasha added, not unkindly.Eleanor opened her mouth to respond and discovered her tongue felt like sandpaper. “What time is it?”“Almost noon. You’ve been out for nine hours.” Tasha moved into the kitchen, pulling out a pot. “Don’t try to get up yet. I