CHAPTER 6 That you got her pregnant?

After that day, I walked into my lawyer’s office trying to appear calm. The smell of leather and old paper did little to ease the turmoil inside me. As I signed each document with trembling hands, pretending I wasn’t breaking, my tears fell but I quickly wiped them away, hoping no one would notice. This was it. This was my first real step in cutting ties with Victor Ravencroft, my husband of three years, the man who destroyed everything I cared about along with my sister’s betrayal.

But there’s no secret that could be hidden. Just days later, the media caught wind of the scandal before the ink on the papers dried. My name, once whispered with disdain in social circles, was now dragged across social media even more. Headlines shouted betrayal and scandal, twisting truths into digestible lies. My sister Naomi’s pregnancy with my husband’s child was everywhere, turning our private pain into the city’s favorite afternoon gossip.

Everywhere I went, I felt their judgmental stares. Strangers stared at me in the grocery store—some with pity, others with smug fascination. Some even offered empty condolences, while others delivered thinly veiled judgment. I hated the way they looked at me, as if I had invited this humiliation, as if I was the weak wife who couldn’t keep her husband. But more than that, I hated the silence that grew louder every time I stepped back into our, no, his house.

Was there ever a time I felt at home there?

Then my husband, Victor, came home as if nothing had changed. He walked through the door in his usual designer suit, loosened his tie, and tossed his keys onto the marble counter like it was any other Tuesday. He acted as if the whole world didn’t know he had betrayed me with my own sister. As if he hadn’t destroyed everything we had built together with one selfish choice.

“Alisa,” he said, stepping toward me.

I stayed frozen by the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. My reflection looked pale and fragile against the storm outside, but I wasn’t fragile; I was just exhausted. So very exhausted of pretending I was fine.

Victor sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let me explain, okay?”

I turned to face him. “Explain what? That you slept with my sister? That you got her pregnant? That you stood beside me at dinners and lied to my face for years?”

His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

My laugh was harsh. “Oh? And how was it supposed to happen, Victor?”

He stepped closer and reached out for me, but I backed away. He paused, frustration flickering across his face, then desperation.

“I messed up,” he whispered. “But I love you. You know that, right? I’ve always loved you.”

I stared into his eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Did you ever truly love me at all? In our three years of marriage, tell me?”

What hurt most was his silence. It spoke volumes—louder than the thunder outside.

Victor’s expression crumpled as he reached out again, this time grabbing my wrist with a trembling grip. “Please, Alisa. Don’t leave me. It was a mistake. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. We just did it once, okay?”

His touch burned not with heat but with betrayal. I looked at his hand like it belonged to a stranger, almost laughing at his lie.

“Really, once? Don’t you dare say that excuse to my face. Besides, you’re only sorry because you got caught,” I said quietly, then yanked my hand free. “And it’s too late, you impregnated my sister!”

He stood there, helpless and hollow as I turned and walked away.

The days that followed blurred into one long ache. I stayed in the guest room while Victor roamed the halls like a ghost. We barely spoke. He tried to apologize, but I was done listening. My heart had hardened like glass, too cracked to be repaired.

Meanwhile, the media frenzy escalated. I avoided my phone, the TV, and the internet. My lawyer even advised me to stay quiet, but I knew that silence only fueled speculation. Naomi had disappeared from the public eye, probably hiding under Celeste’s protection. Celeste, Victor’s mother, always had a strange grip on the family, her control subtle yet absolute.

But even Celeste couldn’t spin the whole story. She didn’t hate Naomi; in fact, she probably liked my sister more than me, which might be why she supported the pregnancy. As for me, I didn’t know why I hadn’t gotten pregnant despite being sexually active. We even spent whole nights together without protection, yet nothing happened.

Am I infertile? The thought terrified me.

I found comfort in small things I normally enjoyed: making coffee, folding laundry, watering the flowers. But even those moments felt haunted. I’d catch Victor watching me, sometimes with guilt, sometimes with longing, but he didn’t really make an effort to comfort me.

One night, I stumbled upon an old photo album in the closet. It held pictures from our honeymoon in Hawaii. We looked happy, young, and hopeful. I remembered the warmth of his hands on my back, the way he used to brush my hair from my face like I was something precious. I cried, not for him but for the version of myself that believed in that love.

I closed the album and shoved it back into the box, where it belonged—in the past.

One afternoon, I visited a café alone. A pair of women at the next table leaned toward each other and whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

“That’s her, right? The wife.”

“The sister’s baby. Imagine the shame.”

I met their eyes, and my glare made them look away.

Let them talk. Let them whisper.

I was done being the victim in someone else’s tragedy.

That evening, I packed a suitcase. Just one. I didn’t need the clothes, jewelry, or memories trapped in this mansion. I only needed my freedom. When I zipped it shut, Victor appeared in the doorway like a shadow.

“You’re leaving,” he said flatly.

I didn’t respond.

“Is it because of Naomi?” he asked. “Are you really leaving, seriously?”

My eyes narrowed. “Really? That’s what you want to ask?”

He stepped aside as I walked out.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The air was cool and refreshing. A new beginning didn’t come with fireworks; it arrived in silence and clarity.

I didn’t know what the future held. I only knew this: I was no longer chained to a man who never truly valued me. No longer tied to a name that brought pain. I had signed the papers, burned the bridges, and walked away.

And I wasn’t looking back.