If the confrontation had been a fire, my mother’s collapse was the smoke that lingered long after. She didn’t faint—she just… sat down too fast, her skin suddenly pale, one hand clutching the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her tethered.

The fight drained out of me instantly. I should have left. Everything in me wanted to. But I couldn’t walk out on her, not like this. Not every time I left a room, she followed me with her eyes like she was afraid I’d vanish. So I stayed.

“How are you feeling, Mom?” I crouched in front of her, scanning her face. Her breath was shallow, uneven.

“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice wavered. “Just… a little dizzy.”

My father shot a look at Nick, and for once, my soon-to-be ex-husband had the decency to lower his eyes. Helga mumbled something about calling an ambulance, but my mother insisted on not calling for an ambulance. The doctor came by that evening. “Stress,” he said simply, after checking her vitals. “She needs rest, and no more shouting matches.” His eyes flicked over the four of us, landing on me a beat too long, as if to say you know who I mean.

Helga didn’t sleep in my old room, thank God. But she was still here—in the kitchen in the mornings, on the porch in the evenings, her voice floating down the hall whenever Nick came by. She played the part of the helpful daughter, making tea for my mother, peeling fruit, washing dishes. I knew it was all for show, but my parents didn’t send her away.

My pregnancy made everything more complicated. I was barely two months along, but my body already felt different—tired more easily, sick some mornings. I told no one. Not my parents, not Shane, and definitely not Nick. This was mine to protect, and I wasn’t letting either of them taint it.

Shane came by the second night. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to see him until I opened the door and there he was—his familiar, steady gaze softening when he saw my face.

“Hey, Mia,” he said, greeting me with an affectionate smile.

I fell into his arms before I could think.

“Breathe,” he murmured, holding me like he’d done a hundred times before—after exams, after breakups, after my father’s heart scare in my third year of college. He was my constant, my proof that not everyone left when things got hard.

We talked in my room, the door closed against the rest of the house. I didn’t tell him everything—just enough for him to understand that Nick and Helga were still in the picture, circling like vultures.

“Why stay?” he asked gently.

“My mom,” I said simply. “She’s not well. I can’t leave her right now.”

He nodded, not pushing, but his eyes said he wanted to drag me out of here himself.

“He didn’t sign the papers?” he asked, handing me a slice of blueberry pie.

“Not yet.” I shook my head and sighed.

We talked for another thirty minutes before he decided to go home. At midnight, I was startled by the low moans and groans coming from the room beside mine. Then I heard Nick’s voice. Low. Close. And Helga’s sultry laugh—light and practiced—followed.

I stayed up, talking quietly to myself, saying sorry to my baby while crying my heart out. After a while, the engine roared to life. I heard the front door shut and Nick’s car pulled away. Still, the silence didn’t bring peace because I knew Nick wasn’t gone for good.

He was still torn—between me, his wife, and Helga, the woman who’d wedged herself into every corner of my life. And as much as I hated it, that meant he’d keep coming back.

Days blurred into weeks.

I felt like I was living in a pit of hell whenever Helga was around. Lurking like a flirty devil as if she truly belonged here. As if she was the legal daughter and I was the nuisance.

That afternoon, my gut told me something was wrong the moment I stepped into my room. The curtains were drawn just enough to let in a narrow slash of sunlight. My bag wasn’t where I’d left it, and the drawer where I kept my toiletries hung open like a gaping wound.

Helga had been here. I didn’t need proof, because her perfume—sweet and sharp, like flowers that had been forced to diffuse in every corner of the room. I sifted through my things, pulse thudding in my ears.

Clothes were rumpled. Books out of order. And there, lying neatly atop my folded cardigan, was the empty box from my pregnancy test. The kit was gone! A cold weight settled in my stomach especially when I noticed the copy of my sonogram strewn on the carpeted floor. The bitch knew my little secret and I hated her more.

I bolted out of the room and found her lounging in the sunroom balcony, drinking her avocado smoothie. “Helga,” I called and she slowly turned to me.

“Yes, sister?”

“Give it back,” I said in seethed breath.

Her arms crossed as she replied, “No, Mia. Finders, keepers.”

“If anyone knows about my—”

“Don’t fret, Nick won't find out your baby is his.” She said before walking out.

Later that evening, Mom requested us to have dinner together. Said we have to bond as a knit-tight family. And when she said family—Nick should not be left behind.

My parents sat stiffly at the head of the table, my mother pale but determined to keep her seat. Nick sat across from me, scrolling on his phone, and Helga had a smirk tucked behind her polite smile.

We ate in silence but the food was bland. I couldn’t appreciate it no matter how hard I tried. Every movement, every sound was like a slow execution to death.

Halfway through the meal, my mother set her fork down and started a topic. “I’m glad you made it tonight, Nick,” she softly said, casting a warm smile.

“Well, Helga convinced me to come over. Said she’s telling something urgent and important,” Nick explained before glancing at Helga.

She met his eyes and yelped. “Of course. I have some good news!” She let out a soft, demure laugh that almost made my eyes roll.

“Tell us,” my father urged in a flat tone.

“I’m pregnant,” Helga bluntly said, putting the test kit on the table, as her gaze slid to mine. “Nick and I—well, it happened sooner than we thought.”

My mother’s fork clattered to her plate. My father stared at Helga like she’d sprouted horns. I felt like it shrunk into a small box as I looked at the smeared lipstick on a particular part of the kit.

I took the test in the airport's bathroom back then. I was too excited and nervous that I bit it's corner while looking at myself in the mirror. I was rattled. Now I know why she stole my kit!

But Helga wasn’t finished. She tilted her head, feigning concern. “Of course… pregnancies is such a tricky thing. You never really know who the father is until you check.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Isn’t it, Mia?”

A flush of heat shot up my neck. Nick’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t defend me.

Helga leaned closer to him, her voice soft but carrying venom. “I think it’s time you signed those divorce papers, Nick. For everyone’s sake. Especially… for the kids.”

Plural. She’d done it on purpose. And then Nick nodded and said, “You’re right. Let’s not prolong the agony and settle this once and for all.”

“Good. Then we can all move forward now. What do you say, Mia?”

I didn't answer. And when Nick finally looked at me, his eyes were empty. Not even empathy nor pity remained.

The next day, I had to deal with a document before I could eat breakfast. My father gently slid a thin envelope on the night table.

“It’s for you,” he said quietly then left.

My fingers felt numb. The envelope was heavy in the way only bad news could be. I opened it with care. I scanned straight to the last page—Nick had signed the divorce papers. His name scrawled across the line where our marriage ended.

I shouldn’t cry but the tears came hard and fast, slipping down my cheeks before I could stop them. My chest tightened until breathing felt impossible. My hands trembled, the paper crumpling at the edges.

I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep quiet, but the sound still escaped—small, broken, humiliating. That’s when the cramps started.

Sharp, twisting pains deep in my stomach, so sudden I doubled over. Fear surged hotter than the grief. I couldn’t risk anything happening to the baby—not now, not ever.

I grabbed my bag and called a private car, giving the driver the address of my destination.

_______________________________________________

St. Clarisse Wellness Center

The clinic was one of the city’s most discreet, high-end clinics—frosted glass doors, manicured hedges, and an entrance so private it could have been a luxury hotel.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of jasmine, the lighting soft, the marble floors gleaming. Patients in tailored clothes sat with glossy magazines. I checked in under my maiden name and sank into one of the leather chairs, my hands still shaking.

Then the glass doors opened. A familiar feminine laugh was the first thing I heard—Helga. She wore a cream silk dress, her hair pulled into a sleek knot, one manicured hand confidently resting on Nick’s arm as they walked in.

And my ex-husband, immaculate in his suit, went straight to the reception desk. “She’s here for her prenatal appointment,” he said, nodding toward Helga.

The receptionist smiled and handed her a clipboard. Nick turned then, and his eyes landed on me. His stride faltered in a snap.

“Mia?” His voice cut through the soft music.

Helga turned too, her lips curving into a perfect, poisonous smile. “What a coincidence.” Her gaze swept me from head to toe, stopping at my midsection. “And what brings you here, hm?”

“Consultation,” I said evenly.

Her brows lifted, her tone dripping with feigned innocence. “For what exactly?”

I didn’t answer. Nick’s gaze shifted between us, something uncertain flickering across his face.

Helga tightened her grip on his arm. “Come on, Nick. We shouldn’t keep the doctor waiting.”

But as they walked toward the private suites, Nick glanced back. Once. Twice.

And for the first time since I saw his signature on those papers, I caught the judgment and doubt in his eyes.