A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and I winced, clutching my stomach. The stress, the anger… it was all too much. My little surprise—our baby—was still inside me, waiting for the moment I had been so desperate to share. But now? How could I possibly bring this child into a world where its father couldn’t even be honest with me?
The next morning, I woke up alone. The candles from the night before had long melted down to stubs, and the wine sat untouched on the table, its once festive presence now a cruel reminder of how the evening had turned out. My heart sank as I looked around the dining room, taking in the aftermath of my failed celebration.
Rozen never came home.
I reached for my phone, hoping to see a message from him—an explanation, something—but there was nothing. He hadn’t even bothered to call, didn’t know, or maybe didn’t care, that our house had nearly gone up in flames because of my frustrations at him. I had caught it just in time, but the scorch marks on the tablecloth remained just like the scars this night had left on my heart.