Roses and Ruins

Serena's POV

“Okay, I'll have everything prepared by the end of the week, Mrs Whitmore. Then, we'll schedule a proper meeting to go over the terms.”

“That's fine. Thank you, Mr Lawrence.”

The call ended.

For a moment, I just stood there on the pavement with my phone still warm in my palm. A woman pushing a stroller brushed past me without apologizing, but I barely noticed.

“Mrs Whitmore.”

Three years.

Three years of carrying that name like it was something precious.

Serena Whitmore.

Back then, it had felt like a fairytale ending. To be chosen by a man like Damien Holt and have the whole world know it.

Now, the name tasted bitter in my mouth.

Like something rotten.

I started walking again.

************

A day earlier.

I was over the moon when the pregnancy test turned positive.

For almost thirty minutes, I remained locked inside the bathroom, staring at the result with trembling hands pressed against my mouth.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

After three miscarriages, hope had become dangerous. Fragile.

But this was real.

I got dressed almost immediately and rushed to the hospital for confirmation.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said with a smile after checking the results. “You're three weeks pregnant.”

The moment those words left her mouth, tears flooded my eyes.

Finally.

Finally, Damien.

Our wait was over.

The doctor looked startled by my reaction.

“Are you okay, miss?” she asked carefully.

I nodded quickly, laughing through tears I couldn't stop.

“I'm fine. I'm just…” My voice broke. “I'm just really happy.”

Her expression softened.

“Well, I guess that took a turn,” she joked lightly.

I laughed shakily and wiped my face.

Damien was going to lose his mind.

For three years, we had prayed for this baby.

Three years of hospital visits. Medications. Disappointment. Silent crying in bathrooms. Empty nurseries I secretly imagined but never dared prepare.

The last miscarriage had broken him the most.

He became quieter after that.

Colder.

I thought he was grieving with me.

I took the report from the doctor and left the hospital already imagining his reaction.

“Baby, we're finally having a baby?”

“Am I really going to be a father?”

“What if it's a girl?”

I smiled to myself the entire ride home.

For the first time in months, I felt light.

Hopeful.

Unfortunately, life has a cruel way of ruining beautiful moments.

I stopped at the bakery opposite the café beside the hospital and bought a small cake.

Nothing extravagant.

Just something for the two of us.

A quiet celebration.

Forty-five minutes later, I arrived at our apartment building.

I handed the driver some extra cash.

“Thanks, miss,” he said gratefully.

I nodded absentmindedly before heading inside.

The first thing I noticed was the door already unlocked.

A small frown crossed my face.

Damien again.

I had told him countless times not to leave the door open.

I shook my head with a tiny smile.

My childish husband was about to become somebody's father.

The thought warmed my chest.

I walked into the kitchen and carefully placed the cake on the counter before heading toward our bedroom to freshen up.

I was still smiling when I heard it.

A woman's voice.

Soft.

Urgent.

I froze instantly.

Damien's office door was shut but not fully closed. His voice drifted through the narrow opening.

“You need to lower your voice.”

“Don't tell me to lower my voice.”

My brows pulled together in confusion.

Had he brought a colleague home?

“This is yours, Damien. You know it is.”

My entire body went still.

Something cold crawled down my spine.

“I can't—” Damien exhaled heavily. “This isn't something we can just—”

“Why?” the woman snapped. “Because of her?”

I slowly lowered the dish towel in my hands.

Then I heard the name.

“Rose.”

My heartbeat stopped.

“I'm keeping it, Damien,” Rose said firmly. “I can't sit around and watch her have you all to herself.”

My mind struggled to catch up.

What were they talking about?

I moved closer quietly, my stomach tightening with every step.

Then Damien spoke again.

“Rose, I can't be the father of your child. I love you, but it won't happen. You're my sister.”

The world tilted beneath me.

My fingers slipped against the wall.

No.

No.

Not Rose.

Not his adopted sister.

My husband of three years— the same man who once held me after every miscarriage and promised he didn't care if we never had children— was standing in that room discussing another woman's pregnancy.

And not just any woman.

Rose Whitmore.

The woman he called family.

“By adoption, Damien,” Rose shot back immediately. “Stop hiding behind that.”

“You still won't have my child. That's— that's insane.”

“It's not like your wife has successfully given you one.”

The words sliced through me.

I stumbled backward slightly, one trembling hand flying to my stomach.

Nausea rose violently in my throat.

“Look at me, Rose—”

I looked up just in time to see Damien cup her face gently.

Tenderly.

His thumb wiped away the tears on her cheeks.

And then—

“I love you.”

I stopped breathing.

Not because he said the words.

But because of the way he said them soft and careful. Like a man confessing something sacred.

My vision blurred instantly.

Damien had never looked at me that way.

Not even for once.

“Why can't I be the one beside you?” Rose whispered brokenly. “Why does Serena get to have all of you?”

She clung to his shirt.

“She can die for all I care,” she continued bitterly. “I'll still have this baby. A symbol of our love.”

My chest tightened so painfully I thought I would collapse.

“She doesn't need to know,” Rose whispered. “I'll keep our baby hidden. From her. From everyone.”

“Don't cry,” Damien murmured softly, pulling her closer. “I'll take care of us.”

Us.

That single word destroyed something inside me completely.

I turned away before I could hear more.

There was no point.

I already had everything I needed.

I walked back toward the bedroom numbly, one hand pressed tightly against my stomach.

My baby.

Our baby.

Just hours ago, I had been ready to do anything to fix my marriage.

I thought if I loved Damien harder, prayed harder, stayed patient a little longer—

Things would return to normal.

I was wrong.

I stopped in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection.

The woman looking back at me seemed unfamiliar.

Exhausted.

Humiliated.

Heartbroken.

And suddenly—

Done.

Completely done with this mess.

“Damien,” I whispered shakily, tears finally spilling down my cheeks, “I will never forgive you.”

Not today.

Not ever.