Chapter 7
1630words
My pregnancy was now obvious, impossible to hide with loose clothing. Colleagues offered congratulations, but no one asked about the father. Perhaps my missing wedding ring told them enough.
Alex maintained his distance, never initiating contact. But weekly green tulips still appeared at my doorstep—no card, no message, just my favorite flowers.
I knew they were from him but chose to ignore them. Our relationship had ended. I needed to move forward.
Friday afternoon, while organizing the nursery, my doorbell rang. Victoria Reed stood there holding an elegant gift box.
"Emma," she said with a smile. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Surprised, I nonetheless invited her in. Her gaze immediately settled on the baby items in the corner.
"You're expecting," she said softly, a hint of tenderness in her voice.
I nodded without elaborating.
"I brought something for you," she said, offering the gift box. "For my first grandchild."
I stared at her, stunned. "Victoria, I don't understand..."
"Emma," she looked directly into my eyes. "I know you're pregnant."
My heart raced. "Who told you?"
"No one told me," she said gently. "I saw you at the hospital last week, leaving the obstetrics department while I was visiting a friend."
I fell silent, unsure how to respond.
"Does Alex know?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No."
Victoria sighed. "I thought not. He hasn't been acting like a man who knows he's about to become a father."
"I don't plan to tell him," I said firmly.
"Why?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. "This is his child. He has a right to know."
"This child is mine," I said, stroking my belly protectively. "I can raise them on my own."
Victoria sat down. "Emma, I understand your feelings. Alex hurt you deeply, and you want to sever all ties. But this child changes everything."
"No, Victoria," I shook my head. "This child won't change my decision. I won't use a baby to salvage a broken relationship."
"That's not what I meant," she explained. "I believe Alex has the right to know he's a father. And this child deserves to know who their father is."
I didn't respond immediately. Her words struck home—I'd been focused on my feelings, not considering the child's perspective.
"I need time to think about this," I finally said.
Victoria nodded and stood to leave. "I respect your decision, Emma. Whatever you choose, I'll support you. But please remember—Alex isn't the same person anymore. He's truly changing."
After she left, I opened the gift box. Inside was an exquisite handcrafted baby blanket, soft and warm. Beneath it lay an envelope containing a check—enough to cover childcare expenses for a year.
I returned the check to its envelope, planning to give it back. I didn't need Reed family money—I had my own resources.
But Victoria's words lingered: Did I have the right to keep my child from knowing their father? Did Alex have the right to know about his child?
These questions haunted me until Martha called that evening.
"Emma, the court has approved the divorce," she said. "Starting tomorrow, you'll officially be single again."
I should have felt relieved, but instead felt strangely hollow. Seven years of marriage, ending just like that.
"Thank you, Martha," I said. "When can I get the documents?"
"You can come to my office tomorrow afternoon to sign." She paused. "Are you okay, Emma?"
"I'm fine," I answered, though I wasn't convinced myself.
After hanging up, I stood by the window gazing at the stars. Tomorrow, I would officially part ways with Alex. This was what I'd wanted—so why did I feel so conflicted?
The next afternoon, I went to Martha's office to sign the final papers. Leaving the building, I spotted Alex across the street, apparently waiting for someone, focused on his phone.
I planned to slip away unnoticed, but suddenly felt dizzy. I leaned against the wall for support, but darkness swallowed me as I lost consciousness.
When I came to, I was in a hospital bed with Alex sitting beside me, his face etched with concern.
"You're awake," he said, relief washing over his features. "How do you feel?"
"I'm okay," I answered weakly. "What happened?"
"You collapsed on the street," he explained. "I saw it happen and brought you here."
A sudden worry struck me. "What did the doctor say?"
"They said your blood pressure is low—possibly anemia," Alex replied. "They're running more tests."
I exhaled with relief. The doctor apparently hadn't mentioned my pregnancy.
"Thanks for bringing me here," I said, "but you don't need to stay. I'm fine now."
Alex shook his head. "I'm not leaving you alone. Let's at least wait for the doctor."
Just then, Dr. Wilson walked in. Seeing Alex, she looked startled, then glanced at me questioningly.
"Mr. Reed," she said with a professional smile, "good to see you. Emma's stable now. She just needs rest and better nutrition."
"Thank you, doctor." Alex stood. "Anything else we should know?"
Dr. Wilson caught my subtle head shake. "Nothing special. Just standard rest and nutrition advice."
Alex looked relieved. "Good. Can I take her home now?"
"Of course. I'll prepare the discharge papers." Dr. Wilson left the room.
Alex turned to me. "I'll take you home."
"That's not necessary. I can manage on my own," I said.
"Emma, you just collapsed. You shouldn't be alone." He insisted. "Let me take you home safely, then I'll go."
After a moment's consideration, I nodded. Refusing seemed petty, and I did feel weak.
While waiting for discharge, Dr. Wilson pulled me aside in the hallway.
"Emma," she whispered, "Mr. Reed doesn't know about the baby?"
I shook my head. "No, and I'd like to keep it that way for now."
She nodded. "I understand. But you need to prioritize rest and nutrition. Today's episode is likely pregnancy-related anemia."
"I'll be more careful," I promised.
Back in the room, Alex had gathered my belongings. He helped me to the car, maintaining a respectful distance throughout.
We drove mostly in silence. As we neared my apartment, Alex finally spoke. "Emma, I know you finalized the divorce today."
I glanced at him, unsure how to respond.
"I just want you to know," he continued, "that I respect your decision. But my feelings haven't changed. I'll wait for you, however long it takes."
I didn't answer, turning to look out the window instead. This conversation felt too weighty for my current state.
At my building, Alex insisted on walking me up. Given how I felt, I didn't object.
Inside, he poured me water and made sure I was comfortable on the sofa.
"Can I make you something to eat?" he offered.
"No, thanks," I replied. "I just need to rest."
He nodded and headed for the door. At the threshold, he turned back. "Emma, if you need anything, call me. I know we're divorced, but I still care about you."
"Thank you," I said simply.
After he left, I exhaled deeply and sank back into the cushions. What a day—finalizing the divorce, fainting in public, and nearly revealing my pregnancy to Alex.
My hand drifted to my abdomen, cradling the life within. Victoria's words echoed: Did Alex have the right to know about his child? Did my baby deserve to know their father?
I didn't have answers. But I knew one thing—whatever I decided must serve my child's best interests.
That evening, Dr. Wilson called to confirm my condition was stable, again stressing the importance of rest and proper nutrition.
"One more thing, Emma," she added before hanging up. "I know it's not my place, but as a doctor, I'd suggest telling Mr. Reed about the baby. The father's medical history can be important for the child's health."
I thanked her but made no promises. This decision required careful thought.
The next morning, a knock woke me. I opened the door to find Alex holding a bag of food and fresh green tulips.
"Good morning," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I thought you might need breakfast, so I brought some."
After a moment's hesitation, I let him in. He set the food on the counter and began preparing breakfast with surprising competence.
"You don't have to do this, Alex," I said.
"I know," he continued working, "but I want to. The doctor said you need better nutrition."
I sat at the table, watching him work. The scene felt both familiar and strangely foreign.
"When did you learn to cook?" I found myself asking.
He smiled. "After you left. I realized how dependent I'd been on you—couldn't even handle basic life skills. So I learned to cook, do laundry, clean... all the things you always did for me."
I didn't respond, though something stirred inside me. Alex was changing—no longer the self-centered, helpless man I'd known.
Breakfast was surprisingly good. We chatted comfortably, carefully avoiding sensitive subjects.
After eating, Alex cleaned up without being asked, then prepared to leave.
"Thank you for breakfast," I said.
"You're welcome," he smiled. "If you don't mind, I'll come again tomorrow. You need rest, and I can help with shopping and errands."
I sighed.
"We're divorced now, Alex."
His expression froze, but I needed to establish boundaries.
"I just want to help—nothing more," he said. Then, before I could object further, he left.
For the next week, Alex visited daily, bringing food, necessities, or simply checking on me.
He never overstepped, always maintaining appropriate distance and respecting my space.
I found myself growing accustomed to his presence, even anticipating his visits.
This feeling was both comforting and unsettling, leaving me confused and increasingly anxious.
Because my pregnancy was becoming more obvious by the day.
