His Wolfsbane

I had stood in that bathroom for three full minutes before I found the courage to open the door.

The pregnancy test was in my right hand. The white roses were in my left. I kept looking at both of them like they might disappear if I blinked too hard.

Positive.

I already knew.

I had checked it twice, maybe three times, just to be sure. Not because I doubted the result, but because a part of me wasn’t ready to accept what it meant.

My chest felt tight in a way I couldn’t explain. Not fear exactly. Not excitement either. Something in between. Something heavier.

I had rehearsed the words so many times that they no longer felt like words.

Adrian, I am pregnant.

We are going to have a baby.

Simple sentences. The kind that should change everything.

I had even picked the roses carefully.

White.

Adrian had once told me white roses were honest. Red ones were dramatic. Performative. I remembered that, even though he had said it casually, like it didn’t matter. I had held on to it anyway.

Tonight was supposed to be different.

I believed that.

I believed this news would soften him. That it would bring him back to me in a way I had been waiting for since his father died.

Since that day, something in him had changed. He hadn’t been the same man I married. The distance didn’t come all at once. It crept in slowly, in small silences, in conversations that ended too quickly, in the way he sometimes looked at me like he was thinking about something else entirely.

I had told myself it was grief.

That grief built walls.

And that love, if I was patient enough, could break them down.

Tonight, I thought I had found the key.

I took a breath, then another, and finally opened the bathroom door.

The air outside felt different.

Still.

Too still.

I stepped into the living room, and for a brief second, everything looked exactly as it always did. The penthouse was quiet, the lights soft, the city visible through the tall glass windows.

But then I saw him.

Adrian.

He was already standing in the center of the room, not by the window like I expected, but facing the table. His posture was straight, almost rigid. His expression was unreadable.

And on the glass table between us sat a thick cream envelope.

My steps slowed.

That envelope hadn’t been there before.

Behind him stood his mother.

Margaret Blackwood.

She had her hands folded neatly in front of her, her back straight, her expression calm in that controlled way that never seemed to change. I had seen that look before, at family dinners, in conversations that felt more like tests than talks.

She looked at me like she had already finished a conversation I wasn’t part of.

I stopped walking.

Something in the room felt… off.

Heavier.

“Ava.”

Adrian’s voice broke the silence.

It was calm. Too calm.

Controlled in a way that made my stomach tighten slightly.

“What is this?” I asked, even though my eyes had already drifted back to the envelope on the table.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Divorce papers.”

The words landed cleanly.

No emotion. No buildup. Just finality.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

I felt like the air had been taken out of the room without anyone touching anything.

I forced myself to step forward.

Then another step.

Until I was close enough to see the envelope clearly.

My fingers tightened slightly around the roses and the pregnancy test as I placed them both on the table beside it. I moved slowly, carefully, like any sudden movement might make this moment more real than I was ready for.

Margaret’s voice came from behind Adrian.

“It was always going to come to this, Ava.”

I didn’t turn to look at her.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” I said quietly, my eyes still on Adrian.

He said nothing.

That silence told me enough.

I reached for the envelope and opened it.

The papers inside were thick, neatly arranged, professionally prepared. I recognized the structure immediately. Fair terms. Clean separation. Everything written in a way that made it look reasonable on the surface.

I turned the pages slowly.

And then I found it.

Near the end.

A clause that wasn’t spoken aloud.

A non-disclosure agreement.

My eyes moved across the words.

Any information related to the Blackwood family. Their business dealings. Their personal matters. Any knowledge acquired during the marriage.

Any knowledge acquired.

I paused.

My fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the page.

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t look up.

But something inside me shifted.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

I closed the document and placed it back on the table.

When I finally looked up, Adrian was already watching me.

There was something different in his eyes now. Not quite regret. Not quite relief. Something in between that he hadn’t fully settled into.

Margaret, on the other hand, looked completely satisfied.

“I’m sure you understand,” she said calmly. “This family has always had standards.”

I let out a slow breath.

Then I reached for my coat.

I put it on without rushing.

Without arguing.

Without asking for explanations I knew I wouldn’t get.

“I’m not signing the papers,” I said.

Adrian’s expression shifted slightly at that.

“Ava.”

Hearing my name in his voice used to mean something.

Now it just sounded uncertain.

I stopped walking, but I didn’t turn around.

“I came out of that bathroom tonight to tell you something,” I said. “Something important.”

I paused for a second.

Then continued,

“But I think you’ve already said everything I needed to hear.”

Silence followed.

No one stopped me as I walked to the door.

No one called after me in a way that mattered.

I opened the door and stepped out.

The click behind me felt final.

In the elevator, I stood still, staring at my reflection in the metal doors. My hand moved almost unconsciously to my stomach, resting there for a moment.

The test was still in my pocket.

Hidden.

Mine.

The elevator reached the ground floor, and the doors opened.

Outside, the city was exactly the same as it had been before I walked in.

Cars moved. People passed by. Lights stayed on.

Nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

I stepped outside and felt the cool air hit my face.

And for the first time that night, I understood something clearly.

No one was coming to fix this.

Not Adrian.

Not his mother.

Not anyone.

So I started walking.

Because whatever came next…

I would have to face it alone.