I am pregnant.

Three words. Three words I don’t want to be associated with. Brandon’s hand returns to my knee but it weighs a ton, I shrug it off, I don’t want his support. My lung closes, the pressure in my chest spreads. I wheeze, a cold feeling of fear whips through me. My breath catches in my throat, a strangled sound escapes me. I don’t want to be pregnant.

Reaching for something close to me to keep from drowning in this sea of nothingness, my hand closes around thin air and I gasp. The image of the doctor blurs, I cradle my head in my arms and choke on a sob. I don’t want a baby.

“If you want, we could–”

I jump, flailing my arms in protest, we shouldn’t have come. “I don’t want anything.” My chair clatters to the floor, Brandon hisses, a look at his face shows a nail scratch on his cheek. The thin line turns red, looking scarier than it should because of his pale colour. But I don’t apologise, he put the baby in me. Staring at the wall, I ask, “Can we go now?”

Though I asked that, I don’t wait for their responses before storming to the door. I have nothing with me, my purse is inside the car which is locked and if Brandon doesn’t meet me outside, God help me because I’ll be walking home, far, far away from this building.

“Mrs Stark?” The doctor’s pleading tone is the only reason I turn with my hand closed around the knob. I clear my throat. Brandon hasn’t moved an inch from his seat like he is still processing the new development. I can’t. I don’t want to. “Are you on the pill?”

Casting Brandon a furtive glance, my gaze darts to the doctor and I mutter a shaky, “No.” We spoke about it but I never got a chance to explore my options. My heart leaps into a sprint, thumping so hard I have to cough to cover up the sound. “Is there a problem?”

“Well,” he draws out the word, his eyes shifting between me and Brandon. I can’t shake off that feeling of trouble looming over me especially with my darling husband ignoring me and fear seizes my body. “You have an unusual level of oestrogen and progesterone.”

“What?”

He waves my result, I straighten up with a scowl. He is the doctor, not me. “Hormones. They are found in most contraceptive pills.” My jaw hits the floor, I have to place a hand over my mouth. He smiles kindly at me, my lips twitch, I don’t understand. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of but I suggest you stop taking them now you have a baby on its way.”

Forcing a smile on my lips, I nod. “Yeah, I will. Thank you. Thank you for your time.”

With a moronic elegance, I sashay out of his office with an award-winning fake smile plastered on my lips. Brandon is right behind me so he wastes no time in opening the passenger’s door of the car. I hop in, fasten my seatbelt with shaky hands. Why is he taking so long? I raise my head to see him frozen on the spot with his hand still attached to the door handle. Our gaze meets, he snaps out of his trance and sends me a tiny smile.

My breath comes out in measured rasps, the air in the car seems to evaporate once he enters. I count to ten painfully slow and reach for the dashboard to have support for the answers I might hear. I don’t want to relive those moments inside but I need to ask.

“Contraceptive pills. Do you know anything about that?” I ask in a whisper. His grip on the steering frightens me, blood has drained from his palms. “Please don’t lie to me.”

The answer comes in a solemn voice. “Yes.”

Closing my eyes, I force the next question out. “Was it the supplements you flushed?”

“Yes.”

And my breath ceases. I lift a trembling hand to my lips, dig my teeth into my knuckles. The seatbelt tightens around my chest, my throat closes and a shrill sound spills from me. He is lying. He wants to be a better man. Blood rushes to my ears, I heave, clawing at the seatbelt in an attempt to get out of the car. Away from this man I call my husband.

Goosebumps spread all over my arms, my fists connect with the window. I whimper until my throat dries up. Brandon wrenches the door open, his hands reach for my face. To wipe the tears, snot I didn’t realise was running down my face. But I recoil. He touched me with those hands. Used them to offer me contraceptives disguised as supplements.

My voice is raw with pain. “Get away from me,” I whisper and scramble to the backseat.

In silence he returns to the driver’s seat and the ride resumes. A song comes on the radio, All of me by John Legend. We listened to this song the day I drove him to the office in my car. We made beautiful memories that day. Memories he ruined like he ruined today.

Without thinking, I yank my sneaker and toss it at the radio. The only thing I am willing to give is hate, madness. But the stupid voice doesn’t stop. I throw the second sneaker at it. Brandon isn’t fast enough because my fist rams into the radio, producing a cloud of smoke and I sniff. He doesn’t say a word, the silence encompasses us as he drives home.

Home.

The word leaves a taste so foreign yet so bitter in my mouth. How did we end up here? I peer at the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of him but he avoids my gaze. I need to see his face, to know if he is sorry. Blowing my nose, I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt yank the wig and skull cap. I refuse to cry again for him. This marriage. Enough.

Pulling my knees to my chin, I shake my head and my hair cascades down, forming a curtain for me to hide my face. My body sways, my arms tighten around my legs and I rock from side to side until my heart slows to a calmer rhythm and my mind is blank.

I am the first one to get out of the car, to run up the stairs and into our room. My first stop is our shared closet, I pull out a suitcase I hope is mine and start shoving clothes into it. Gowns. Trousers. Blouses. Jackets. I don’t care. Everything goes into the suitcase.

Until the door bursts open to announce his presence. Instead of the comfort I have come to associate with his scent, my belly knots in disgust. Brandon wraps his arms around me from behind, keeping me locked in his embrace but I don’t want it. I don’t want him.

I am done.

Clothes peek from the suitcase, the zipper gets stuck twice but I manage to close it. His hand returns to my waist when I stand, something wet touches my neck, he sniffs. The part of me that cares about him is buried under my hurt, anger and disappointment. So, I don’t turn to confirm my suspicions. He can’t buy my forgiveness with tears fake as the rest of the promises he has made. I scoff. This man promised a better version of himself.

There are no more tears left to cry for him or, what I am leaving behind. I swipe a finger across my dry cheeks, pinch them. My back is still turned to him but I feel his presence more than ever, the smallest touch. The casual brush of his fingers against my shoulder.

It is hard to ignore him, his powerful aura demands attention. That’s why I focus on the rest of my clothes in our wardrobe, I can come for them later. When I have a plan. Am I supposed to return his gifts? Where do I go? What about my baby? At that thought, my hands wrap around my flat stomach to protect the little one from its daddy. He hates us.

Can he be considered the daddy if he tried to stop it from forming? “Elna. Look at me.”

A dry laugh escapes my lips. He lost his right to make demands from me the moment he gave me those pills. The feel of my hands on my belly offers me a strange form of peace, I sigh.

Staring at my feet, I ask, “Why did you do it?” Maybe this is all a big mistake. “Why?”

His shoes appear in front of my feet, I refuse to look up. “I panicked.” Another round of sadistic laughter tumbles out. “You kept talking about kids, I didn’t want us to fight so I swapped the pills. Sophia promised they wouldn’t harm you. Elna, please look at me.”

The sandals are next, I pack my favourite pairs into a duffle bag, dump a few sneakers and shoes into it. Ripping the clothes from my body, I change into something of mine, an outfit that was bought with my money and start dragging the suitcase to the door.

Blocking my way out, he says, “Please let’s talk about this.” I inhale and look at him.

His eyes gleam with unshed tears, hairs point in different directions like he ran his evil hands through them too many times to count. I shake my head, where did I go wrong?

“Talk? Now you want to talk?” My hands rest on my hips. “Sorry, buddy. Too late.” His facial expression mirrors the riot of emotions going on inside me, I plaster a fake smile. “You can save the talk for Sophia. The woman who is always first to know your business plans. The woman you will always run to with your problems rather than have a talk with me like normal couples do. Why didn’t you marry her?” I scream in his face.

Since he is in standing in front of the door, there is nowhere for him to hide, nowhere for me to run. “I wanted you. I still do. I always will.” His gaze flashes with hurt, plea and concern, I scoff. Such a scumbag. “Don’t go. Please.” Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “Okay. I’ll leave. I’m the one who fucked up. I’m the one who should be inconvenienced.”

“You know,” I start, the corners of my lips lift, “you were right.” My gaze runs over him, I maintain the overly sweet smile. “You have always been right. You don’t deserve me.”