Chapter 2

Evelyn's POV

"But I have nowhere to go," I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it barely sounded like mine. "Ryan, please. Don't do this. Don't divorce me."

I was desperate, drowning in a sea of my own fear. Then, I remembered the paper. The small, crinkled piece of hope that was supposed to be my salvation. I scrambled toward the living room, my hands shaking as I grabbed the report from my bag. I rushed back to him, thrusting it into his view.

"Look!" I cried, my eyes searching his face for a flicker of something, anything. "Ryan, look. I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby. You can’t leave me now. Not like this. For the sake of our child, please, let’s try to make it work."

I held my breath, waiting for the shock to turn into warmth. I waited for him to take the paper, to pull me into his arms, to tell me he was sorry.

Instead, Ryan’s brow furrowed into a deep, clinical scowl. He didn't even reach for the report; he just glanced at it as if it were a boring business memo.

"Pregnant?" he asked, his voice flat and heavy with doubt. "How? We’ve barely spent a night in the same room for months, Evelyn. How could you possibly be pregnant?"

My face burned hot with a shame that felt like physical fire. I looked at the floor, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Two months ago... the night you came home late. You had been drinking. We... we were together, Ryan. You don't remember?"

I didn't tell him that while he held me that night, he was sobbing Daphne’s name into my hair. I didn't tell him that he never once looked at my face. At the time, I was just grateful he wanted me at all. I was even thankful for that drunken mistake because it gave me a chance to have his child.

Ryan let out a long, weary sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking more exhausted than angry.

"Even if it’s true," he said, his voice quiet but final. "It changes nothing. Evelyn, I don't love you. I never have. Staying in a marriage without love is a prison for both of us. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of financially, but you can’t stay here."

"I don't care about the money! I want my husband!" I sobbed, but before I could say more, the front door swung open.

In walked Margaret, Ryan’s mother. She was draped in silk and pearls, her eyes instantly landing on me with sharp distaste. "Are you still here?" she asked, her voice cold. "I thought Ryan made the situation clear."

"Mrs Harrington!" I ran to her (She never allowed me to call her mother), grabbing her hand like a lifeline. " Please help me. I’m pregnant. I’m carrying Ryan’s baby. Tell him he can't throw me out."

Margaret stared at me for a second, and then she burst out laughing. It wasn't a kind laugh. It was a mocking, ugly sound.

"A baby?" she scoffed. "Evelyn, look at your background. Do you really think a child from your bloodline is something this family needs? It’s probably just your trick to get more money. We don't need a 'grandchild' from someone like you."

With a firm shove, she pushed me aside. I stumbled, hitting my shoulder against the wall, but she didn't even look back. Her face instantly transformed into a radiant smile as she looked toward the stairs.

"Daphne, darling! You’re up!"

I watched through a blur of tears as Daphne came down the stairs. She was wearing a silk robe, looking effortless and beautiful. She stepped right to Ryan’s side and slid her arm through his.

"Good morning, Margaret," Daphne said sweetly. "Ryan and I were just discussing the wedding plans. I was thinking of a spring ceremony in France. What do you think?"

"Oh, it sounds divine, dear!" Margaret gushed, patting Daphne’s hand.

The three of them stood there, chatting and laughing, planning a future that had no room for me. They looked like a real family. I stood just a few feet away, invisible and broken, as they walked out the door together without a single backward glance.

The silence that followed was deafening. But I stayed. I refused to give up.

I’m still his wife, I told myself. I haven't signed the papers. If I can just show him how much he needs me, he’ll change his mind.

I spent the entire day cleaning. I scrubbed the floors until my knees were bruised. I polished every piece of silver and reorganized every closet. I made the house sparkle, hoping that when he saw how perfect everything was, he would realize I was the only one who could truly take care of him.

Late that evening, the front door finally opened. I jumped up, smoothing my hair and forcing a smile.

"Ryan! You’re home," I said, rushing to meet him. "I’ve cleaned the whole house, and I made that sea bass you like. It’s still warm—"

"Evelyn. Stop."

Ryan didn't even take off his coat. He walked to the dining table and opened the folder he laid out this morning. The word DIVORCE was printed across the top in cold, black ink. He didn't look angry; he just looked bored, like he was dealing with a stubborn employee.

"Stop doing this to yourself," he said, handing me a pen. "The house is clean, but it's not yours anymore. Sign the papers, Evelyn. Let’s finish this tonight so we can both move on."

I looked at the pen, then at the man I had loved for three years. He wasn't even fighting me. He was just waiting for me to go away.

I stared at the pen, feeling it point straight at my heart.