Our Anniversary

I did not sleep a single second that entire night. I sat at the very edge of our massive, empty bed in the complete darkness, clutching the small white envelope containing the ultrasound picture tightly against my ribs, still reeling from the glowing text message on Dillian's phone that had shattered my faint hope hours earlier. Every time I closed my eyes, Chloe's name burned into my mind like a hot iron stamp. Chloe was back. She had returned at the exact moment I discovered I was carrying Dillian's child. For three long years, I had convinced myself that Chloe was just a shadow from his past, a ghost of a youthful romance that time would eventually erase. But seeing her name on his phone screen made me realize the cruel truth. She had never left his heart. I had merely been a warm body filling an empty seat, a placeholder keeping his chair warm until the true queen returned to reclaim her throne.

When the morning sun finally filtered through the sheer silk curtains, Dillian was already up and fully dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his silver cufflinks with smooth, calculated precision. He did not even turn around when I stepped out of the adjoining bathroom, my eyes red and swollen from silent tears.

I have an extremely busy schedule today, Sarah, he said calmly, his deep voice completely devoid of warmth or affection. Do not wait up for me tonight. I have an important dinner after office hours.

My heart squeezed tightly in my chest, a dull, aching throb settling behind my sternum. Dillian, do you know what day it is today?

He paused for a fraction of a second, his long fingers lingering on the edge of his left cufflink, before he picked up his silver wristwatch from the mahogany nightstand. It is Friday. I have back to back executive committee meetings all afternoon and an external engagement in the evening.

It is our three year wedding anniversary, I said softly, taking a shaky step toward him until I was close enough to catch the familiar scent of his expensive cedarwood cologne. I thought maybe we could have dinner together tonight. Just the two of us. There is something really important I need to share with you.

Dillian finally turned around to face me. His dark, striking eyes were cold, distant, and completely unreadable, like an icy wall that no amount of heat could ever melt.

We signed a legal business contract three years ago, Sarah. You knew what this marriage was from the moment your signature touched the paper, he said, his tone flat and dismissive. Let us not start pretending we are a normal, romantic couple now. It does not suit you.

He reached into his inner coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black platinum credit card, and tossed it carelessly onto the vanity table between us. It landed with a sharp metallic clatter on the polished wood.

Buy yourself whatever you want for our anniversary, he added, settling his coat over his broad shoulders. A bag, jewelry, a new car, it does not matter. I do not have the time or energy for these emotional games today.

Before I could say another word, before I could even raise the envelope in my hand, he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the master bedroom. A few seconds later, the heavy front door down the hall clicked shut with a sharp, final sound that echoed through the empty house.

I stood alone in the quiet room, swallowing the bitter lump of pain rising in my throat. My fingers tightened around the paper envelope until the edges crumpled. I refused to give up just yet. He was distant, stressed, and icy, but he did not know about the baby. He did not know that a real, fragile life was growing inside me right now. Once he saw the ultrasound, once he realized he was going to be a father, things had to change. They simply had to change.

I dressed quickly in my usual plain corporate attire, a simple navy pencil skirt and a cream blouse, and left for the office. I took a deep breath before stepping out into the morning air, trying to brace myself for whatever lay ahead at work.

When I stepped into the grand, marble floored lobby of the Vance Group skyscraper, I immediately felt a strange, buzzing energy in the air. Groups of employees were gathered in small clusters near the reception desk and security gates, whispering excitedly among themselves while staring down at their smartphone screens.

I walked past the main desk toward the glass elevator bank, keeping my head low and clutching my handbag tightly against my stomach. I tried to ignore the stares and whispers, assuming it was just standard corporate gossip about quarterly quotas or management restructures.

Did you see the morning entertainment news updates? Mark, a junior marketing analyst, whispered loudly to Lisa right as I approached the elevators. The international fashion designer Chloe Vane returned to the country this morning! Look at the press photos that just dropped!

My feet froze mid step on the polished marble floor. My breath hitched in my throat as my blood seemed to run backwards through my veins.

I pulled out my own phone with trembling fingers and opened the city's top trending news application. The bold banner headline hit me like a physical blow to the chest, draining every drop of blood from my face.

THE HEIRESS RETURNS: CHLOE VANE BACK IN CITY, SPOTTED AT AN EXCLUSIVE MORNING BRUNCH WITH VANCE GROUP CEO DILLIAN VANCE.

Below the massive headline was a crystal clear, high definition photograph taken just an hour ago outside a high end establishment.

Dillian was standing outside a private conservatory restaurant, holding a black umbrella over a breathtakingly gorgeous woman with long, cascading chestnut hair. He was looking down at her with a soft, gentle, and fiercely protective gaze, an expression that he had never, not once in three full years of marriage, directed at me.

The world around me began to tilt and spin rapidly. The excited chatter of the surrounding employees warped into a loud, distorted roar in my ears. The bright fluorescent ceiling lights overhead danced violently, and an overwhelming, crushing wave of nausea and dizziness rushed through my skull. My vision blurred as the photo of Dillian and Chloe swam before my eyes, burning itself into my memory.

Hey, Sarah? Are you okay? You look like you are about to pass out! Mark's voice echoed, sounding like it was coming from the end of a long, dark tunnel.

My knees gave out completely under my weight. My handbag tumbled from my grasp, spilling its contents across the floor, and the cold marble floor rushed up to meet me before my vision snapped to complete blackness.

When my consciousness slowly returned, the harsh, sharp smell of rubbing alcohol and medical disinfectant filled my lungs.

I opened my eyes to find myself lying on a narrow cot inside a stark white hospital room. An intravenous fluid line was taped securely to the back of my left hand, dripping clear liquid slowly into my veins with a dull, rhythmic pattern.

A female nurse stepped into the room holding a metallic clipboard, her expressions softening with pity as she saw me awake and alert. Ah, you are conscious, Mrs. Weston. You suffered a sudden syncope episode brought on by extreme emotional stress, physical exhaustion, and low blood sugar. You need to stay in this bed and receive proper hydration.

My baby, I rasped out, my voice raspy and desperate as I tried to sit up immediately. Is my baby alright? Please tell me the baby is okay.

The fetus is stable for the moment, the nurse reassured me gently, placing a hand on my shoulder to keep me still. However, your blood pressure is dangerously low, and your uterine tissues are under severe strain. You must lie down, rest, and avoid any emotional shock. Stress right now is extremely dangerous for your pregnancy. If you push yourself any further, you risk severe complications.

No, I cannot stay here, I insisted, my panic rising like a tidal wave. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed despite the intense wave of nausea that surged through my head.

Before the nurse could stop me, I reached over and peeled the medical tape from my hand, wincing as I pulled the IV needle straight out of my skin. A dark bead of blood welled up instantly on my knuckles, but I ignored the stinging pain, grabbing my handbag from the bedside chair.

Ma'am! Stop! You are in no condition to leave! the nurse shouted, calling out for assistance in the hallway. You are risking your health!

I have to go! I cried out, breaking past her outstretched arms and stumbling into the busy hospital corridor.

I needed to see Dillian right now. I could not wait until tonight. I needed to look him in the eyes, hand him the ultrasound photo, and force him to look at the reality of our child before he made a mistake that would destroy us forever. I needed him to know that we were a family now, whether he wanted it or not.

I hailed a yellow cab outside the hospital doors and ordered the driver to speed directly back to the Vance Group headquarters. The entire drive was a blur of gray buildings and rain slicked streets. I sat in the backseat clutching my abdomen, praying silently that my body would hold together long enough to reach my husband. I did not care about corporate protocol anymore. I did not care about keeping my secret identity as an ordinary, low level staff member. I was his legal wife, I was carrying his heir, and I needed my husband.

Fifteen minutes later, I marched into the towering glass lobby of the Vance Group skyscraper. My clothes were wrinkled, my hair was unkempt, my skin was deathly pale, and my heart was hammering violently against my ribs like a trapped bird. I walked straight past the security turnstiles, completely bypassing the visitor check in line, and headed directly for the private executive elevator bank that led to the top floor CEO suite.

Hey! Excuse me! Stop right there! a sharp, unpleasant voice barked behind me.

Brenda, the head receptionist who had always treated junior staff with open condescension, stepped out from behind the front desk and blocked the elevator doors with her arms crossed over her corporate suit.

Sarah Weston? Brenda snapped, eyeing my disheveled appearance with deep disgust and disbelief. Where do you think you are going? The top floor is strictly restricted to executive board members and invited VIP guests. You know the rules.

I need to see Mr. Vance immediately, I stated, my voice shaking with raw emotion but ringing loud enough to draw the attention of nearby guards. It is an urgent personal emergency. Stand aside, Brenda.

Brenda let out a cruel, mocking laugh, looking at me as if I had completely lost my sanity. A personal emergency? You are just a junior auditor from the finance department! Mr. Vance is currently hosting Miss Chloe Vane in his private office. He certainly does not have time to be disturbed by nobody employees throwing tantrums. Go back to your cubicle before I call security and have you terminated on the spot!

Get out of my way, Brenda! I yelled, pushing right past her shoulder into the opening elevator car. I have every legal right to see him! You have no idea who I am!

Stop her! Brenda shrieked to the heavy security guards standing by the entrance doors. She has lost her mind! Grab her before she gets on!

Two broad shouldered security guards lunged forward to grab the doors, their heavy footsteps echoing off the high ceilings, but I frantically jammed my thumb against the top floor button. The heavy, tinted glass doors slid shut just in time, cutting off their shouting as the elevator surged smoothly upward toward the CEO's top floor sanctuary, leaving the chaotic lobby behind as I prepared myself for the devastating confrontation waiting for me behind those private executive doors.