So… casually. As if that child meant nothing. As if that loss was insignificant.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to rest on my stomach.
“This baby is more important,” he said, his tone softening slightly.
I flinched.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll buy new clothes. Plenty of them.”
My throat tightened.
“For girls,” he continued. “Let the cats have the old ones.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think. Because in that moment, I realized something terrifying.
He never mourned that child. Not even once.
And if... If something happened to this baby…
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. Would he care? Or would he simply move on again?
Stephanie’s POV
Today was supposed to be mine.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the fall of my dress with careful hands. The fabric draped elegantly over my body, soft yet structured, chosen not just for appearance but for presence.
The reflection staring back at me looked composed. But I knew better. Because beneath the surface, everything was already crumbling.
I inhaled slowly, my hand drifting down to rest over my stomach.
“We’re almost there,” I whispered softly. “Just a little longer.”