chapter 7

The Secret She’ll Carry Alone

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and cheap plastic, a sterile scent that clung to the back of Sandra’s throat and made her stomach churn. She walked down the cold marble stairs slowly,

In her trembling hands was a single folded paper. It felt heavier than stone.

Pregnancy Positive.

She had read it three times already in the small, brightly lit lab. Three times, and the words hadn’t changed. The ink wasn’t smudged. The result wasn’t a mistake.

Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure the nurse behind the reception desk could hear it. Happy Sad Terrified, She didn’t know which emotion to hold onto first. How could she feel joy for a child conceived with a man who looked at her like she was a ghost in her own home?

Pregnant for a man who doesn’t have an atom of love for me.

The memory of that night slammed into her without warning cold sheets, the weight of his body, his silence the next morning, She had blamed herself for weeks. For being too trusting. For staying when every instinct screamed to leave. For hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would look at her the way he looked at Jasmine.

Her fingers drifted down to her lower stomach, hovering just above the fabric of her dress. She wasn’t showing yet. There was no roundness, no visible sign. But somehow, it felt different. Tender. Fragile. Like holding a glass bird in her palms.

Three months. That was all she had left of this marriage. In three months, she would file for divorce. She wouldn’t ruin his happiness with Jasmine. She wouldn’t be the bitter ex-wife who tried to trap him with a baby. She wouldn’t do that to her child either to bring them into a war zone of hate and resentment.

I willkeep this a secret. From him. From everyone.

The baby didn’t kick. Not yet. But she swore she felt something a quiet, steady presence answering her silent promise. A tiny heartbeat that belonged only to her.

For the first time in months, Sandra felt something other than emptiness. It wasn’t joy. It was responsibility. And it scared her more than anything Ryan had ever said.

The car rolled to a stop inside the compound, tires crunching against the gravel. Music spilled out through the open front door loud, carefree, mixed with laughter and the clink of champagne glasses. Someone was singing off-key to a popular Afrobeats song.

Sandra cut the engine and sat there, her hands still gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Her face felt numb, like she had been slapped with ice water.

A party On a Tuesday morning

She hadn’t been told. Of course she hadn’t been told. Why would Ryan think to include her in anything anymore?she thought

She stepped out slowly, clutching her handbag to her chest like it was armor. Inside that bag was the folded paper the secret that would change everything. She couldn’t let it fall out. Couldn’t let anyone see it. Not today. Not ever.

Each step toward the house felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself was trying to hold her back. She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t going to beg. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

But the moment she walked in, the entire room fell silent.

Dozens of eyes turned to her guests in designer clothes, Ryan’s business associates, Jasmine’s friends with their polished nails and fake smiles. All of them staring. Judging.

And there she was. Jasmine. Curled up on Ryan’s lap like she owned the place, like she had every right to be there. Her head rested against his shoulder, her manicured fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. She was smiling glowing, radiant, loved.

Sandra’s throat tightened until it hurt to swallow. She forced herself to keep walking, to keep her head held high. She didn’t need to know why there was a party. She didn’t need to care. She didn’t need anything from him anymore.

Stop right there.

Ryan’s voice cut through the room like a blade, sharp and commanding. The authority in it made several guests flinch.

Sandra froze, but she didn’t turn around. Her shoulders were rigid, her jaw clenched.

Where the hell have you been all morning?”he asked, his tone cold and accusing. His fingers wrapped around her wrist before she could move away, his grip tight enough to leave a brust

Pain shot up her arm, but she didn’t cry out. She wouldn’t give him that.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to compose her expression. When she finally turned to face him, her eyes were dry but burning.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, she said, her voice steady despite the tremor running through her body. I went to check the price of foodstuff.”

It was a lie. A small, safe, desperate lie. And it terrified her more than telling the truth would have.

And you can’t even greet your husband as you pass by? Ryan’s eyes narrowed, disappointment and anger mixing in his gaze.

Sandra’s heart melted for half a second the old instinct to please him, to make things right. Then it hardened into stone.

Don’t mind his words. He’s always been a playboy. I won’t let him toy with my feelings anymore. I won’t let him break me again.

She forced a bitter smile, tilting her chin up as she stared straight at Jasmine. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb my husband while he’s with his fake wife. As the real wife, I know my place.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd.

Ryan’s expression changed in an instant. Surprise. Then something else respect, maybe. For the first time in months, he was actually looking at her. Not through her.

Jasmine’s face twisted in fury.Her perfectly sculpted nails clenched into fists. Without warning, her hand shot up, aimed directly for Sandra’s cheek.

Time seemed to slow.

But before Jasmine’s hand could connect, Ryan caught her wrist mid-air, his grip firm and unyielding.

Babe, just let it go this time, he said softly, his voice dropping to that gentle tone he only ever used with Jasmine. He rubbed her arm with his thumb, soothing her like she was a child throwing a tantrum. She isn’t even worth your shoes. Let alone your touch.

The words hit Sandra harder than any slap could have.

Sandra’s breath caught in her chest. Her heart didn’t just break it paused. For one entire second, there was nothing. No sound. No air. No feeling. Just a vast, hollow silence.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. What was the point? He wouldn’t notice. He never noticed.

I always try to stay strong. I always tell myself I’m fine. But one sentence from him and I shatter into a million pieces again.

She couldn’t stay in that room for another second. The air felt thick, suffocating. Every whisper, every stare, every laugh felt like a knife against her skin.

Without a word, she turned and walked toward the stairs, her footsteps heavy against the marble floor. Her vision blurred at the edges, but she refused to run. She refused to let them see her fall apart.

Behind her, the whispers followed her like needles.

she thinks she still owns him

what a disgrace, coming here like that

Ryan should have divorced her months ago

Sandra’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Up. One step. Up. Another step.

Then, a soft rustle.

The pregnancy paper slipped out of her handbag. She didn’t notice at first. It was only when a gust from the standing fan caught it and sent it fluttering through the air that she realized.

No,The word escaped her in a strangled whisper.

But it was too late.

The paper danced through the air in slow motion, white against the polished floor, before landing with a soft whisper right at Ryan’s feet.

The room went silent again.

Sandra stopped on the fifth step, her hand gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white. She didn’t dare look back. She didn’t dare breathe.

Ryan stared down at the paper. His brow furrowed. Slowly, he bent down and picked it up.

Sandra’s heart stopped.

Don’t open it. Please. Don’t open it.

For a moment, the world held its breath.