clutches of fate

   

    

      Aira Bennett stared at the thin white stick in her trembling hand.

      

      Two red lines.

      

      For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

      

      Her fingers tightened around the plastic as her chest rose and fell too fast, too shallow. The bathroom light felt too bright. The silence felt loud. Her vision blurred, and only then did she realize she was crying.

      

      Pregnant.

      

      The word echoed in her mind, heavy and unreal.

      

      After three years of silence.

      After three years of distance, cold dinners, and a marriage that felt more like a waiting room than a home.

      

      She was pregnant.

      

      A shaky laugh escaped her lips, half disbelief, half fear. She pressed a hand to her flat stomach as if she could already protect what was growing inside her. A fragile smile touched her face before she could stop it.

      

      Lucien would be home tonight.

      

      For the first time in a long while, hope stirred in her chest. Small. Careful. Dangerous.

      

      Maybe this would change things.

      

      Maybe this would finally make him stay.

      

      She cleaned up slowly, as though moving too fast would break the moment. She set the test carefully in the drawer, washed her hands, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red. Her face pale. But there was something else there too—something she hadn’t seen in a long time.

      

      Expectation.

      

      Waiting had always been her role. Waiting for his attention. Waiting for his warmth. Waiting for him to look at her like she mattered.

      

      Tonight, she would tell him.

      

      The sound of the front door opening sliced through the quiet apartment.

      

      Aira turned just as Lucien walked in.

      

      He was tall, impeccably dressed as always, his suit jacket draped perfectly over broad shoulders. His expression was unreadable, sharp and distant. He didn’t look tired. He never did. His eyes passed over her like she was part of the furniture.

      

      He never looked at her first.

      

      Her heart jumped anyway.

      

      “We need to talk,” he said.

      

      The words hit her like a warning bell.

      

      She stepped forward, her pulse racing. “I—I have something important to tell you.”

      

      Lucien didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his briefcase and placed a brown envelope on the table between them.

      

      The sound it made when it landed felt final.

      

      His voice was calm. Detached.

      

      “I want a divorce.”

      

      The room tilted.

      

      Aira felt the words before she understood them, like a blow to the chest that knocked the air from her lungs. Her ears rang. Her legs felt weak.

      

      “A… divorce?” she repeated softly.

      

      Her gaze dropped to the envelope. Divorce papers. Thick. Prepared. Planned.

      

      So this wasn’t sudden.

      

      This wasn’t emotional.

      

      This was something he had decided long before tonight.

      

      Her hand drifted instinctively back to her stomach.

      

      The timing couldn’t have been crueler.

      

      Lucien watched her then—not with concern, but with impatience. As if this moment was an inconvenience he wanted to be done with.

      

      “I’ve already spoken to my lawyer,” he continued. “Everything is outlined clearly. You’ll be taken care of financially.”

      

      Taken care of.

      

      As if love could be replaced with money.

      

      Her throat burned. She wanted to scream. To cry. To tell him everything. To stop him.

      

      Instead, the words slipped out, small and broken.

      

      “Alright.”

      

      The word didn’t feel real.

      

      Lucien seemed relieved, as though he had expected resistance. He nodded once, already turning away.

      

      Aira stood frozen, her world collapsing quietly around her.

      

      She didn’t tell him.

      

      Not about the baby.

      Not tonight.

      

      As the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, she finally broke, tears streaming down her face as she whispered into the empty room—

      

      “Maybe I was wrong.”