Eight months pregnant, Anastasia Warren was on her way to her prenatal checkup when her husband got a call and walked out on her without a word.

As she left the hospital, a text popped up from an unknown number:

“Anastasia, I'm back. Your husband is with me.”

Her breath hitched. She texted Nicolas Miller:

“Nicolas, are you done with work? Can you pick me up from the hospital?”

Clutching her phone, Anastasia tried to tell herself it was just some sick prank. But after half an hour of waiting in the biting cold, all she got was one sorry text from Nicolas:

“Sorry, Ana. I'm swamped and can't get away. Can you just take a cab home?”

A wave of pain gripped her abdomen, so sharp it felt like the baby inside her was protesting their father. The word sorry blurred her vision.

Sorry had become all too familiar—ever since Nicolas's affair with Phoenix Garza three years ago. Sometimes his guilt leaked out in his sleep, Phoenix's name on his lips. Other times, he'd serve her Phoenix's favorite dish without thinking, forgetting Ana's allergy.

Blinking back tears, Anastasia squared her shoulders and refused to let them fall.

The unknown number pinged again—with a location:

“Don't think I'm bluffing. Come see for yourself if you don't believe me.”

Trying to quiet her racing thoughts, Anastasia powered off her phone and flagged a cab. When the driver asked where to, she recited the address from the text without thinking.

Might as well see for myself, she thought. Maybe then she could breathe.

The city blurred past the window as she rubbed her aching back, sore from standing too long. She couldn't help but replay three years ago, when she'd caught Nicolas cheating—and lost the baby. Her health had never fully recovered.

The doctors called her lucky. Lucky that, despite the damage, she could still conceive. After that, Nicolas had been careful with her, driven by guilt and love to give her everything she wanted.

But today was different. For the first time in her pregnancy, he'd turned her down.

Unease throbbed in her chest, sharpened by the snow drifting down outside. It reminded her of the winter she first met Nicolas.

He was the “orphan” she'd found on the streets. The first time she saw him, he was in a coat two sizes too small, digging through her family's trash for food in the freezing cold. His cheeks were red—from the cold or shame, she never knew.

After she pressed him, he admitted he was the neighbor's kid, abandoned when his parents split during a fight and left him alone for three months. No food. No money. Scavenging was all he had.

Moved, Anastasia begged her father to help. Bridger contacted child protective services and arranged temporary care with a family friend; he later paid for Nicolas's schooling. Nicolas grew up a few doors away, always at Anastasia's side. He walked her to school and fought off bullies. If she got in trouble, he took the blame first.

For more than a decade, he was her steadfast protector, her loyal knight, so woven into her life she couldn't imagine it without him. She still remembered his wedding vows—his promise to shield her from harm for the rest of their lives.

But that same devoted, sincere man had fallen for his graduate student, Phoenix Garza—while Anastasia was pregnant.

Her tears tasted bitter as the driver announced they'd arrived. Through the window, she saw Nicolas standing outside a flower shop in the swirling snow, staring at the woman inside with naked longing.

Her suspicion was confirmed: Phoenix had been the one texting her. Phoenix wore a plain employee uniform, her old arrogance gone as she arranged a bouquet and murmured apologies to a customer. Her hands were scarred from rose thorns.

Nicolas couldn't help himself. He called Phoenix's name. She turned, her surprise practiced to perfection.

“Nicolas?”

Their eyes locked. Nicolas instinctively stepped back, but Phoenix rushed out and threw her arms around him.

“Nicolas, I thought I'd never see you again…”

His fists clenched. Then he turned and pulled her into his arms.

“I'm sorry about what happened three years ago. You shouldn't have to work like this. Let me give you money—start over somewhere else.”

When he reached for his wallet, Phoenix stopped him. Her tears came faster.

“I want you, not your money. If I can't be where you are, I might as well be dead.”

She rose on her toes and kissed him, her voice cracking with longing.

“Nicolas, I've missed you so much…”

From a distance, Anastasia watched, her heart a toxic mix of bitterness and rage.

It would've been a touching reunion—if the leading man weren't her husband.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and stepped out of the cab.

Phoenix spotted her first. Panic flashed in her eyes as she shoved Nicolas away.

Nicolas turned, saw Anastasia, and panic flooded his face. Tears streaked his cheeks, but even then, he moved to shield Phoenix.

“Ana, I'm sorry, I…”

He stammered, unable to explain, slipping right back into his old routine of apologizing.

Phoenix stepped forward to defend him.

“Anastasia, it's not what you think. We just got overwhelmed after so long apart.”

The fake innocence made Anastasia's stomach turn. She nearly lost her breakfast.

“Overwhelmed? Is that why you're making out with someone else's husband in the middle of the street? Let me help you snap out of it.”

Without missing a beat, Anastasia raised her hand and slapped Phoenix hard across the cheek.

Smack!

“That's for going after a married man—your own teacher!”

Smack!

“That one's for being bold enough to send me that message and rub your affair in my face.”

Smack!

“And that one's for framing me for your research screwup—and costing me my baby three years ago!”

Phoenix staggered back, face already swelling, tears and snot mingling as she wailed.

Anastasia raised her hand for another slap, but Nicolas caught her wrist midair.

“Enough, Ana. I'm the one who hurt you three years ago. If you want to hit someone, hit me.”

The way he stood protectively over Phoenix made Anastasia laugh—a cold, hollow sound. She lifted her other hand to slap him, too.

“Enough?”

“Nicolas, you're the one who cheated. I'm the one who got hurt. Who are you to decide when it's enough?”

“I haven't hit you yet—not because you're innocent, but because it wasn't your turn.”

Nicolas stood in disbelief, face turned from the blow, as Phoenix rushed to check on him.

Watching them fuss over each other, Anastasia felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her.

After three years of trying to piece her marriage back together, she finally saw the truth: there was nothing left to save.

“Nicolas, let's get a divorce.”

It took Nicolas Miller a second to register the slap. Then he sighed, helplessness bleeding into his expression.

“Anastasia, you’re almost eight months pregnant. For the baby’s sake, can we hold off on the divorce talk?”

“What happened today was a lapse in judgment. I swear, I won’t see Phoenix again. Can you forgive me? Just this once?”

Phoenix Garza stood nearby, eyes welling up. She managed one sorrowful glance at Nicolas, too afraid to say a word. Nicolas tilted his head away, dodging her gaze like he couldn’t bear to meet it.

Between the two of them, Anastasia was the villain—the wife standing in the way of a pair of star-crossed lovers, as if she were the one who’d cheated.

A sharp pain knifed through her abdomen, bleaching the color from her face. Passersby kept stealing glances, hungry for a scene. Nicolas reached for her hand.

“Let’s go home first. We can talk there, okay?”

Anastasia recoiled as if his touch disgusted her, then turned toward the car.

She wasn’t about to stand there and humiliate herself further. But Nicolas lingered, throwing regretful looks over his shoulder as she slid into the back seat. Only then did he drag himself away and get in.

Watching him struggle to leave Phoenix was a knife to the heart. Every glance back was another twist.

Three years ago, she’d already asked for a divorce. Nicolas had jumped at it, ready to rush the paperwork and marry Phoenix—even if it meant walking away with nothing.

Faced with how completely devoted he was, Anastasia lashed out in desperation. She wrecked his office at the university, cornered Phoenix in her dorm—pulled her hair, slapped her—and posted videos online, shoving Phoenix into the ruthless spotlight of campus gossip.

Campus security intervened. Anastasia paid for the office damage through a settlement negotiated by their lawyers, and the university barred her from the residence halls. Nicolas pressured students to remove the videos, while the administration restricted posts identifying those involved in the pending investigation. He couldn't erase the scandal, but he could make her feel like the only person being punished.

Her actions were useless—a fool’s tantrum. It didn’t leave a scratch.

They didn’t bring Nicolas back. They only widened the distance and pulled him tighter to Phoenix.

So Anastasia gave in. Bitterly.

She signed the divorce papers and went to the university to find Nicolas—he hadn’t been home in ages—and get his signature.

But that same day, there was a lab accident involving Phoenix. She was badly hurt.

Phoenix tried to pin it on Anastasia, and Nicolas assured Anastasia,

“You’re pregnant. They won’t come after you.”

“Phoenix worked so hard to get here for grad school. If this accident gets out, she can’t stay in the program. Her entire future would be ruined.”

With their testimony stacked against her, Anastasia got dragged into the investigation.

She'd been outside the lab when the explosion sent fumes into the corridor. By the time she escaped, she'd inhaled enough to collapse. Emergency treatment saved her life, but complications led to severe bleeding. The baby didn't survive.

The safety investigation exposed Phoenix's mistake and her affair with Nicolas. She withdrew while facing disciplinary proceedings and vanished for three years. Nicolas escaped dismissal after a formal reprimand and a suspension from supervising graduate students. The university had accepted his claim that he hadn't knowingly provided false information. Anastasia still had the messages that could prove otherwise.

Nicolas, eaten up by guilt, came back to the family. Anastasia hadn’t laid eyes on Phoenix until today.

And yet, the moment they reunited, he chose Phoenix again. No hesitation.

Anastasia was done. Tired. Worn down from trying to save a relationship that had already died.

Back home, she climbed the stairs and retrieved the postnuptial agreement from the safe.

After the first affair, Nicolas had signed it with his own lawyer present and full financial disclosure. It assigned their jointly built investment portfolio to Anastasia if they separated and confirmed that the house and family-funded property were hers. The terms applied regardless of who caused the separation. It wasn't a magic punishment clause; it was a financial settlement he had accepted to persuade her to stay.

Now she signed the instruction authorizing her lawyer to file for divorce and seek enforcement. She would also release the messages she had withheld from the university three years ago.

Her hand shook around the pen. Tears hit the page, one after another, and she wiped them away before they could smudge the ink.

Her heart felt dead, and still—still—a dull ache sat heavy in her chest.

Over two decades together, and she still couldn’t understand what had pulled Nicolas so obsessively toward Phoenix in just one year.

When she finished, a sound came from behind her. Nicolas rested a hand gently on her shoulder and asked, softly,

“What are you doing?”

Anastasia's heart lurched as she slipped the agreement and her signed instructions under a stack of papers. Her lawyer had a copy, but she couldn't bear another confrontation before she got out.

When his fingers brushed the stack, her heart slammed against her ribs. Then Nicolas's phone rang, yanking his attention away and giving her one precious second of relief.

Standing close by, she could hear Phoenix Garza's voice clearly through the line. “Please—don't break anything! Those flowers are imported. They cost a fortune, and I can't afford to replace them! I'll leave the city. I won't interfere with Nicolas's marriage... Just please don't push me— Ah!”

A series of crashes followed Phoenix's startled cry, and the line cut off with a burst of static.

Nicolas shot to his feet, his expression turning to ice as he rounded on Anastasia. “I promised I wouldn't see Phoenix again. So why are you pushing her to the edge? Why did you send people to drive her out of her shop?”

“You rushed upstairs the second you got home—just to pull something so deceitful!”

The accusation knocked the breath out of Anastasia. She shook her head, trying to explain. “I didn't—”

But Nicolas cut her off, already turning his back on her, taking Phoenix's side just like he had three years ago.

Tears slid down Anastasia's cheeks, cold and unrelenting. She wiped them away, pulled the postnuptial agreement and her signed instructions from the pile, and snapped a photo to send to her lawyer.

[Uriah, can you verify whether this agreement is still valid?]

[If it is, please start the process as soon as possible.]

Minutes later, a reply lit up her screen: [Ms. Warren, we have strong grounds to enforce the financial terms. I'll file the divorce petition, arrange formal service, and request temporary control of the house and restrictions on moving the disputed funds. A judge must approve those orders. The final divorce will take longer, but we can start protecting you now.]

With the confirmation in hand, Anastasia felt a quiet sense of closure.

Then a phone rang—unexpected, muffled—from the desk drawer. Her brows knitted together as she opened the hidden compartment and found a phone she'd never seen before.

Curiosity got the better of her. She answered. An unfamiliar middle-aged man's voice came through:

“Professor Miller, I'm really sorry, but I can't keep renting you the apartment near the university. My mother has fallen ill, and I need to sell the property to cover her medical bills.”

“The lease expires this week. I've been sending notices to this phone and your rental email for two months. You authorized our movers to return everything to your home but never confirmed a pickup date. The boxes are on their way now.”

A bad feeling settled in Anastasia's gut.

Just as she feared, the items the caller mentioned arrived soon after.

Hands trembling, Anastasia opened box after box.

Six of them. Packed with photos of Phoenix, personal keepsakes, and even a small piece of clothing with unmistakable signs of a man's use...

Nausea slammed into her. She bolted to the bathroom and heaved over the sink.

Disgust rolled through her.

The entire ‘return to family’ had been a sham.

Three years ago, Nicolas had rented that apartment near the university for secret meetings with Phoenix—and he'd kept the lease ever since.

For three years, he'd pretended to stay overnight for work, using it as an excuse to visit and indulge in Phoenix's presence.

To keep it hidden, he'd even stashed a spare phone in his study.

If she hadn't been sorting through papers today, she might never have uncovered his secret.

Collapsing onto the bathroom floor, Anastasia sobbed, finally releasing years of pent-up humiliation and grief.

Charlie, the housekeeper, rushed in, confused by the scene, and tried to comfort her. But Anastasia, overwhelmed, could only point at the boxes:

“Burn them. Burn every last one—in the backyard!”

The emotional spiral sent sharp cramps searing through her abdomen.

While Charlie handled the task, Anastasia went pale. Fumbling for her phone in a panic, she instinctively called Nicolas:

“Honey, my stomach hurts. Please come back...”

His cold voice cut her off:

“Anastasia, you're truly heartless. Do you even understand that Phoenix was pushed down the stairs by the people you sent? She's unconscious in the hospital.”

“She needs care, and yet you're trying to use the baby as a lure to get me back?”

Cold and shaken, Anastasia felt her heart shatter.

She hadn't orchestrated this. But Nicolas didn't bother to investigate. He put blind trust in Phoenix's story.

As she tried to explain, she realized the call had already ended.

Her grip tightened on the phone. Tears fell freely, blurring her vision as they splashed onto the screen.

Before she lost consciousness, she collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor. Charlie rushed to her side; in the distance, ambulance sirens wailed.

As Charlie told the dispatcher she was pregnant, Anastasia tried to hold on. She couldn't know whether her baby was safe. Then everything went dark.