Chapter Three: He Might Change

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and something faintly sweet, like flowers left too long in water.

Mia sat in the plastic chair with her hands folded in her lap, staring at the scuffed toe of her shoe. The room was too white. Too bright. Every sound echoed—the shuffle of nurses’ shoes, the soft murmur of voices behind curtains that didn’t quite close all the way.

She hadn’t told anyone she was there.

Not Allen. Not a friend. Not even herself, really. She’d just woken up with that feeling again—heavy, insistent. A quiet knowing that refused to be ignored.

The nurse smiled at her kindly. Too kindly. “You can look now.”

Mia’s breath caught.

She looked down.

Two lines.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

“Oh,” she whispered.

The sound came out small. Fragile. Like it might break if she said it any louder.

The nurse said something—congratulations, next steps, dates—but Mia barely heard her. Her heart was pounding too hard, a dull roar in her ears. She pressed her palm flat against her stomach, as if her body needed reassurance before her mind could catch up.

Pregnant.

The word didn’t feel real yet. It floated somewhere between terror and wonder, refusing to settle.

She walked out of the hospital a while later, sunlight hitting her face too brightly, too suddenly. The city moved on around her—cars honking, people laughing into phones, a woman tugging a child along the sidewalk.

Mia stood there for a moment, hand still resting low on her stomach, and thought of Allen.

The thought came uninvited. Unstoppable.

Maybe this will make him care.

She imagined walking into his office, planting herself there in his world, making him look at her the way she remembered. Maybe it would remind him. Maybe it would pull him back.

She hailed a cab before doubt could catch up with hope.

“Downtown,” she said. “Hale Tower.”

The drive felt longer than usual. Every red light stretched. Every turn tightened something in her chest. She rehearsed her entrance, rehearsed her tone, rehearsed the way she would catch his attention. Then she abandoned each idea, one by one.

He’ll see me. He’ll see us.

She stepped off the cab, the city pressing in, all noise and heat, all indifference. She took a deep breath.

The elevator ride to his floor was quiet. Just her reflection staring back at her from the mirrored walls. She looked the same. Maybe a little paler. Maybe older. She didn’t feel invisible anymore.

She stepped off and made her way down the polished hallway, heels clicking softly, each tap a heartbeat she felt in her chest. His assistant looked up, surprised.

“Oh—Mrs. Hale. He’s in a meeting.”

“I know,” she said. And didn’t wait.

Allen’s office door was slightly ajar.

She heard laughter before she reached it.

Not the polite kind. The real kind.

Her steps slowed. Her breath shortened.

She told herself not to assume. Not again.

Then she saw them.

Allen stood near his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Relaxed. At ease in a way she hadn’t seen in weeks. The woman from the restaurant was there—perched on the edge of his desk like she belonged there, her leg crossed over the other, her heel dangling.

She froze.

Allen reached out, brushing a strand of hair from the woman’s face. A gentle touch. Familiar. Easy.

Mia stopped.

The world narrowed to that single motion.

“Oh,” the woman said softly, noticing her first.

Allen turned.

“Mia,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Not yet.

“I… didn’t expect—” he started. His voice had that practiced calm, the kind that implied this is none of your business.

Mia stepped into the doorway anyway, shoulders squared. Her hand instinctively dropped to her stomach, fingers brushing the hem of her dress. She wanted him to notice. She wanted him to care.

The woman’s eyes widened. “I should—”

“No,” Allen interrupted. His voice flat. “It’s fine.”

Fine.

Mia looked between them. Between the casual closeness. The ease. The way his attention hadn’t wavered.

She swallowed. She wanted to speak. She wanted to shake him. She wanted him to see her the way she saw him. But she stopped herself.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked quietly.

Allen blinked. Then smirked. That infuriating smirk. “I don’t see why that’s any of your concern.”

There it was. The shrug of indifference. The I don’t care that made her chest ache.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I can see that.”

He leaned back against his desk, casually, comfortably. Not a hint of remorse. Not a flicker of regret. Just… him.

Mia’s fingers tightened around her stomach again, pressing against the tiny life she hadn’t told him about.

Maybe one day, she thought. Maybe someday he’ll notice what matters.

The woman cleared her throat. “Allen, I should—”

“Yes,” he said. “Go ahead.”

She walked out slowly, and Mia let her go. Watched her go. Didn’t flinch when the door clicked shut.

The room fell quiet.

Allen’s gaze drifted toward her, but it wasn’t soft. Not worried. Not pained.

“You could’ve called,” Allen said finally. Her voice low. Almost conversational. 

“So I wouldn’t have had to walk in here?” Mia asked.

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you would.”

Her eyes flicked to the desk, to the chair, to the space she should have taken. All of it occupied by someone else.

“You don’t care,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

She nodded, slowly, almost imperceptibly. That was fine. She would carry this, she would protect it, she would move through him as if he wasn’t there.

Mia turned. Walked to the elevator. Each step deliberate. Heavy. Determined.

When the doors closed, she pressed her forehead against the cool metal, hand still on her stomach.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I won’t fail you.”

And as the elevator descended, the weight of him, the ease of his indifference, settled on her shoulders—but she didn’t bend. Not yet.

She didn’t need him to choose her. She would choose herself.