Anna's POV
The room smelled faintly of fresh basil, clean and calming. The paintings on the wall—simple strokes of white on white—mirrored exactly how I felt inside: bare, quiet, untouched.
But under that stillness, something incredible stirred.
I could barely keep the smile off my face as I remembered the doctor's words echoing through my mind.
"Mrs. Max—you're four weeks pregnant."
My breath had caught in my throat. For a second, the world paused. Ten years. Ten long years of tests, prayers, tears, and waiting. And now… this.
The joy that rushed through me felt like sunlight after a decade of stormy nights. It was too big for words.
I glanced up at the wall clock.
12:03 a.m.
Max still wasn't home. Anxiety crept into my chest like smoke—slow, suffocating. I began pacing the floor, my hands trembling slightly, trying to hold on to the joy, to the hope, to the moment.
My phone vibrated on the table, the sudden noise breaking the silence. I grabbed it with a small gasp and answered without even checking the screen.
"Where the fuck are you?" My voice cracked through the receiver before he could say a word.
There was a pause.
"Come open the gate for me," Max replied, sounding unaffected. Cold, even.
I blinked, confused.
Ten years of marriage, and never—not once—had he returned this late. Something was off.
I slipped on my slippers, heart pounding against my ribs, and stepped outside. The air was colder than I expected, or maybe it was just the chill growing inside me.
The headlights of his car cut through the darkness, the engine revving a little too loud. He drove in fast, recklessly. I flinched as he hit the brake hard.
What's going on, Max?
The passenger door opened before he even turned off the ignition.
"What's wrong with you?" a woman's voice snapped from inside the car—sharp, annoyed, entitled.
I froze.
Maybe… a cousin? A sister?
I clung to that thought like a lifeline. But deep down, something twisted in my gut.
Max got out, slamming the door without a word to me. I forced a smile and followed them silently to the parking lot, each step heavier than the last.
The woman stepped out too, her heels clicking confidently on the driveway. Her dress was tight, her lipstick loud, her presence impossible to ignore.
She looked at me like I was the help.
"Won't you help me with my bags?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she leaned against Max's car like she belonged there.
I stood still.
For a second, the world went quiet again—just like earlier at the hospital.
But this silence wasn't filled with joy.
It was sharp, cutting through my skin like glass.
I swallowed hard, holding in the tears that threatened to rise.
This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life.
And yet here I was, pregnant, alone, and being humiliated on my own doorstep.
I took a shaky step forward, the weight of her words still ringing in my ears.
"Won't you help me with my bags?" She repeated.
The nerve. In my own home. On a night that was supposed to be one of the happiest of my life.
I clenched my fists. "Excuse me?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain calm, but the heat bubbling beneath it betrayed me.
The woman scoffed. "You heard me," she said, flipping her hair like a queen addressing a maid. "Or do you want me to ask again?"
My vision blurred with rage.
I turned to Max, my voice trembling. "Who the hell is she, Max?"
Max sighed—sighed—like I was being dramatic for asking a simple, rightful question. He stepped in between us, raising his hand as if to hold me back.
"Don't cause a scene, Anna."
I blinked at him, utterly confused. "Cause a scene?" My voice cracked. "There's a strange woman in our home—disrespecting me—and you're worried about a scene?"
The woman chuckled under her breath. That laugh felt like poison.
Max rubbed his forehead, then muttered under his breath, "She's pregnant."
The words hit me like a slap.
"What...?"
"She's carrying my child," he said, eyes cold, voice flat. "She's my mistress."
A tight silence fell between us. My heart stopped.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
My hands flew to my stomach, instinctively protecting the tiny life growing inside me.
"You... you got someone else pregnant?" My words were barely a whisper, drowning in the flood of emotions rising inside me.
Tears welled in my eyes, burning hot against my cheeks. I couldn't hold them back anymore.
I turned and ran.
I didn't care how I looked or what she thought. I ran past them, through the hallway, up the stairs—back to the room that had smelled like hope, like basil, just minutes ago.
Now it smelled like betrayal.
I shut the door behind me and collapsed on the edge of the bed, sobbing. My shoulders shook violently, hands gripping the bedsheet as if it would keep me from breaking apart completely.
I didn't hear him come in.
But I felt it when he tossed something beside me.
A file. A paper. My name written coldly at the top.
I stared at it through the blur of my tears.
Divorce Agreement.
"Max…" I looked up, my voice barely holding together. "You knew I was pregnant... didn't you?"
He looked at me, eyes empty.
"I figured after your hospital visit," he said. "It doesn't change anything, Anna."
I bit down on my trembling lip, feeling my world shatter completely.
Ten years. Ten years of loyalty. Of fighting for us. Of dreams. Of waiting.
And this was how it ended?
With her bags in our home, and a contract on my bed?
I didn't even have the strength to scream. I just cried. Cried for the years I gave. Cried for the baby I'd have to raise alone. Cried for the woman I used to be—before Max crushed her under his feet.
I stared at the divorce papers like they were written in a language I couldn't understand.
Everything blurred—my tears, the shaking in my fingers, the roaring silence of betrayal pressing down on me like a storm cloud.
This wasn't a nightmare.
It was real.
Max stood across the room, checking his watch like he had somewhere more important to be. Like he hadn't just destroyed ten years of love and marriage.
"I don't have all night, Anna," he said coolly. "Sign it."
I swallowed hard.
There was no apology. No guilt. No fight. Just coldness. Cruelty. Closure.
My eyes dropped to the paper again.
The baby growing inside me fluttered gently, as if reminding me I wasn't alone.
I picked up the pen.
And I signed it.
Every stroke of ink across the page felt like it carved another scar into my heart.
When I finished, I stood. My legs felt like they could barely hold me up, but I stood tall.
I walked over to him, handed him the file, and met his eyes—his cold, betraying, beautiful eyes.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Max raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For setting me free."
He scoffed and turned away, tossing the file on the table like it meant nothing.
But to me, it meant everything.
Because in that moment, something inside me cracked wide open. Not just from pain—but from something deeper. Older. Stronger.
A fire.
Later that night
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping the tears from my swollen eyes.
My reflection stared back at me—broken, bruised, betrayed.
But beneath the pain, I saw her.
The woman I used to be.
Before Max.
Before the begging. The longing. The years of being told I was never enough.
And now… I was carrying a life inside me.
Not his legacy.
Mine.
I touched my belly gently. "It's just us now," I whispered.
My voice trembled, but it didn't break.
And somewhere in that trembling... I felt power.