In the fifth year of our marriage, Carter McGregor, my husband, and his 'adoptive sister' made their relationship public at a party:

[True lovers finally unite...]

Our mutual friends snapped a picture of them toasting with a cup of wine and posted it online.

Without thinking, I liked it and added a comment:

[Respect, blessings, and tie the knot.]

Almost immediately, my phone rang. Carter’s name flashed on the screen, and his voice was sharp with anger.

“You’re jealous,” he spat. “You’re embarrassing me.”

In the background, I could hear Kierra’s sweet voice asking me, “Sis, you’re not upset, are you?”

A few years ago, I would’ve flooded Carter with calls and texts, demanding an explanation, insisting he come home immediately. But now? Now, I was just… tired.

I didn’t want to fight anymore. I simply didn’t care.

...

When Carter finally stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, I was in the middle of cleaning up the romantic dinner I’d spent all day preparing.

The table I’d painstakingly arranged was still covered in red wine stains, melted candles, and all the dishes I’d lovingly cooked.

Tonight was supposed to be our fifth wedding anniversary.

In the past, no matter how busy Carter was, he’d always make sure to spend this day with me.

But this year?

This year, for the first time, he hadn’t come home, called, or even sent me a text to explain himself.

And I knew exactly why.

Kierra, his "adoptive sister," had come back from studying abroad.

She’d been back for three months, and everything between Carter and me had shifted ever since then.

She’d joined his company right after she returned, and suddenly, I was competing for his attention with her.

Our arguments became more frequent. Carter was always away on business trips or staying late at work with Kierra—sometimes not coming home at all.

Every time, the excuse was the same: "Work."

I had a feeling this year’s anniversary would pass unnoticed, but just two days ago, Carter surprised me.

He told me we had to celebrate it properly. Unlike the other years when we’d go out, he wanted it to be just the two of us at home this time.

I was over the moon. It felt like the first real, meaningful conversation we’d had in months.

So, I spent the entire day preparing a special dinner. I made all of Carter’s favorite dishes, bought his favorite wine, and set up candles. I even filled the house with fresh flowers.

I wore a sexy dress, hoping this would be a night to remember.

But by 8 PM, Carter still hadn’t come home. I started to worry, and then I saw a post from Ronald, one of Carter’s close friends. He shared a picture of Carter and Kierra, glasses raised in a toast, celebrating together.

The caption read: [True lovers finally unite...]

I stared at the post, my heart sinking as our mutual friends liked and commented. Some even congratulated them. The excitement I had felt earlier drained away, leaving a cold, heavy feeling in my chest.

I clicked the like button, then left a comment: [Respect, blessings, and seal the deal.]

But when I refreshed the page, the post was gone.

And just like that, Carter’s phone rang.

“Nadine, what the hell is your problem now? Why are you acting so jealous? How many times do I have to tell you that Kierra is just like a sister to me!”

I could hear Kierra’s voice in the background, sweet as ever. “Sis, you’re not upset, are you?”

I didn’t say another word. I just hung up. I didn’t want to argue anymore. Instead, I turned back to the dinner I had carefully prepared, now feeling completely pathetic as I started cleaning up.

By the time I finished clearing most of the food away, all that was left were the cold, uneaten dishes.

That’s when Carter finally walked in.

He stumbled through the door, smelling of booze. I didn’t even look up. I kept throwing the leftover food into the trash and loading the dirty plates into the dishwasher.

"Why didn’t you wait for me?" Carter asked casually, walking over.

He tossed the dessert I’d made into the trash without even a second thought, then shrugged. “Today’s the first time in three months that Kierra finished a big medical project since coming back to San Francisco. Everyone’s celebrating, and since I’m the CEO and her older brother, I couldn’t just not show up.”

If this were three months ago, before Kierra came back, there’s no way Carter would have made me wait like this. No matter how big a project his company closed, he would never have ignored me—no calls, no texts, no nothing.

But now? Now, everything’s changed.

Whenever Kierra’s around, it’s like I’m invisible. He picks fights over the smallest things, gives me the cold shoulder, and now? Now, he’s out drinking wine, celebrating with her, without thinking about how I feel.

And honestly, I’m done. I don’t want to talk to him anymore.

When Carter realized I wasn’t clinging to him or being cute like I used to, he pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to me with a casual shrug.

"This is for you. Open it. See if you like it."

Inside was a snowflake necklace studded with tiny diamonds. A snowflake.

I hated it.

Carter knew I couldn’t stand anything to do with snow. In the past, whenever it was my birthday, our anniversary, or even just a random occasion, he always got me things I loved. But ever since Kierra came back, he tried to make up with gifts every time we fought.

And every single time, they involved snow.

The first few times, I bit my tongue.

But tonight? Tonight, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I grabbed the necklace from his hand and tossed it straight into the trash.

And I didn’t hold back when I said it—loud enough for him to hear. "Carter, I hate snow the most."

He looked stunned, clearly thinking I was being ungrateful. His "humble gesture" of buying me gifts was clearly misunderstood.

Anger flashed across his face. He threw the box in his hand, and it hit a ceramic vase on the table. The vase shattered into pieces, flowers tumbling to the floor.

That vase. That damn vase...

We brought it back from Europe on our honeymoon. We’d placed it in our home five years ago.

And now? Now, it was shattered, broken into pieces—just like everything else.

The shards glittered under the harsh light above, sparkling almost blindingly.

I felt my eyes sting with tears. Five years of marriage, gone in an instant—shattered, just like that stupid vase.

I tried to hold it together, not wanting to break down. But looking at all the damage—the broken vase, the pieces everywhere—it was like a mirror reflecting the wreckage of our relationship.

I was about to start cleaning up the mess when Carter, unable to handle being ignored any longer, stormed over. He grabbed my arm and tried to yank me up.

But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared for him to jerk me like that, and I lost my balance.

I fell forward, my knees crashing onto the glass shards. The sharp pain shot through me as the pieces cut into my skin.

My blood—bright red—started dripping onto the floor, pooling in ugly, dark patches.

Seeing the blood seemed to snap him out of his anger. He rushed over, grabbed my hand, and lifted me into his arms, panic flooding his face.

"How could you be so careless?" he muttered, his voice tight. "Come on, let’s get you to the hospital and get that bandaged."

Careless? Seriously? It wasn’t my fault.

It was because he pulled me so forcefully in the first place that I ended up on the floor.

But I wasn’t in the mood to argue.

I just let him carry me to the car.

When he opened the passenger door, we both froze for a second.

On the passenger seat was a white blanket and a pillow. But what really caught my eye was the little white snowman ornament hanging from the rearview mirror.

Every single change—every little detail—screamed that he was living a life with someone else.

Carter quickly shut the passenger door and opened the back seat. He carefully placed me in the back, almost like that would somehow make everything okay.

"It’s on the way to the hospital," he said, his voice casual, like we were having a regular conversation. "Kierra’s place is on the way to ours. She hates the cold and is always making a fuss about it, so I’ve been driving her to and from work, letting her decorate the car."

He added, almost like an afterthought: "She’s still young. Don’t argue with her."

'Still young? Young enough to be drinking wine and celebrating with you?'

But I wasn’t angry anymore. I’d already made up my mind about this marriage. I was done.

"Don’t worry," I said, my voice cold. "I won’t argue. Just get me to the hospital, okay? Getting this bandaged is more important right now."

Carter stared at me, his eyes wide. He hadn’t seen me so calm and indifferent in months. He looked almost taken aback.

I sighed, a note of impatience creeping into my voice. "Can we just hurry up and go to the hospital? If you’re not going to drive, I’ll just take a cab myself."

Carter sat behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel, not even starting the car. He just stared at it, like he was waiting for me to say something.

"Doesn’t it bother you? Aren’t you going to throw it away?" he asked, his voice almost pleading.

I rolled my eyes from the back seat.

Seriously?

We’re on our way to the hospital, and he’s still focused on something so insignificant. I’d already made up my mind to divorce him, and yet, here he was, stuck on some stupid detail.

I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. "Isn’t she your sister? What’s the problem? Just drive."

Maybe it was because I’d been blocking him from seeing Kierra for the past few months.

I’d told him she wasn’t welcome in our house, kept her out of his car, and got upset over every little thing that involved her.

What had he said back then? “Kierra’s like a little sister to me. She doesn’t have anyone else. I can’t just ignore her.”

Fine. They could have their little life together. Let them take care of her for the rest of their lives. I was done.

Just as I was stewing in my thoughts, Kierra called Carter.

He didn’t even try to hide it. He answered the phone like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey, what’s up, baby?" he said, his tone soft and affectionate—the tone he always used with her.

I could hear Kierra’s voice through the phone, sweet and calm, "Carter, is Nadine mad at you? I can explain things to her."

She sounded so calm, so innocent like she actually cared about how I was feeling.

"No, she’s not mad," Carter said, his voice warm. "She’s not the petty type."

'Sorry to disappoint you, but I am petty.'

They talked for a while longer, mostly about nothing important, before hanging up. During their chat, Carter casually mentioned we were going to the hospital like it was no big deal.

By the time the call ended, we had pulled up to the hospital.

This was the closest hospital to our house, but I hated coming here. And not just because of the sterile smell of antiseptic and the cold, clinical atmosphere. The reason was simple. I was terrified of hospitals.

In fact, a few years ago, just before our wedding, I lost our baby.

We’d been talking about wedding plans—Carter and I had been together for two years by that point. After we graduated from college, we decided it was time to get married.

We set the date for the spring, after New Year’s.

But before we could even get the marriage certificate, I found out I was pregnant—about two months along—just before the holidays.

It was a surprise to everyone, especially the McGregors. Carter was over the moon. He was ecstatic.

"Nadine," he’d said, holding me gently, his voice full of wonder, "I’m going to be a dad. We’re going to have a baby."

I was just as happy. The thought of having a little piece of us inside me felt... real, tangible. Our love was becoming something more.

We had the wedding planned for the spring, by which time my belly wouldn’t be showing too much.

And since the McGregors are from up north, it’s always cold and snowy in the winter. So that day, while sitting on the couch, eating fruit and watching TV, Carter’s so-called sister, Kierra, came over.

At that point, I didn’t have a problem with her. I thought she was sweet and understanding.

Moreover, Carter had told me Kierra was the daughter of his father’s old driver. She’d lost both her parents when she was young, and the McGregors took her in like family. Her mother treated her like a daughter, so Kierra was like a sister to Carter.

I always tried to be kind to her, out of sympathy.

But that day was different. Kierra saw the snow outside and insisted we go out and build a snowman. She was only eighteen—still a kid, four or five years younger than Carter and me.

We all thought she was just playful, and innocent. But I was wrong.

What I didn’t expect was for Kierra to deliberately push me down the snow-covered steps outside.

I tumbled hard, landing with a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. And then, there was blood.

My baby.

When I woke up, the first thing I smelled was disinfectant.

I opened my eyes and realized I was lying in a hospital bed. Carter was sitting beside me, holding my hand. He looked exhausted like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a tension in his face that I hadn’t seen before.

"Nadine, baby," he said, his voice shaky with relief, "you’re awake. Thank God."

I had a sinking feeling about what had happened, but I had to ask. I needed to know.

"Where’s our baby?" I whispered, barely able to get the words out. "Is my baby... still there?"