001

Sophia

I stared at the brown envelope sitting on the dining table—the miracle I never thought I’d have. A baby.

I couldn’t believe it, not after years of being told it was impossible. And now, with this life growing inside me, I held on to one desperate hope, maybe this baby could bring Alexander back to me.

I wasn’t just fighting for our marriage anymore. I was fighting for our family and for a future I had dreamed about since the day we said our vows.

“It’s a miracle, Mrs. Sophia De Santos. You’re two months pregnant,” Dr. Dexter had said with disbelief earlier at the hospital. Two years ago, that same doctor had told me my chances of conceiving were slim to none.

For hours that day, I worked on dinner, setting the table perfectly. I knew deep down he probably wouldn’t eat it, just like he hadn’t the last dozen times. But tonight was different. I had news that might just save us.

I looked at the envelope again, my hands trembling. Was I stupid to hope? My chest tightened with fear as I glanced at the clock. He would be home soon.

Even though I couldn’t shake the memories of how cold he had been lately, how distant. But maybe, just maybe, this baby would change everything.

The front door soon opened, and he stepped in, briefcase in hand, and his suit draped over his arm. I lost my nerve the moment I saw him. I sometimes forget how devilishly handsome he could be, with his raven-black hair and ocean-blue eyes. Even after three years of marriage, he still managed to steal my breath away.

I got up quickly, my palms already growing sweaty as I moved to take his suitcase. “Let me help you with that,” I said softly.

He brushed past me, his frown barely noticeable. “I’ve got it,” he muttered, throwing the suitcase onto the couch. He didn’t even look at me before heading upstairs.

“Was your flight stressful?” I asked, following him nervously.

He didn’t answer. Only his heavy footsteps echoed in the silence.

Usually, when he was in a bad mood, he'd slide my blonde hair through his fingers, play with it, and then head for the stairs.

“Are you having a bad day?” I tried again, my voice wavering slightly.

Still nothing.

I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, watching him retreat. “Would you like me to bring dinner up? Or will you come down after your bath?”

It was only then that he stopped, making me tremble involuntarily as he turned to look at me with cold eyes. "Food, food, food! That's all you know how to do. Don’t you have anything more important than food and eating?" he spat before going to slam his door shut.

The familiar ache settled in my chest as I grasped the railing for support.

Exhaling, I went back to the dining room to sit, my eyes were red-rimmed now as I sniffled back my sob, wiping the corner of my eyes with my finger.

He would come down after his bath. I was sure of that. Because Alexander had always been like this—shutting me out whenever he was in one of his moods.

Just like he did just now. And sometimes, he'd tie my hands, blindfold me, and touch me in ways that left me trembling—not just with excitement, but with fear.

I’d always been afraid of the dark, but it never stopped me from giving in to him. Not when I loved him so much that I ignored everything else.

After a while, I heard his footsteps coming down. I turned to see his intense face, and I gulped, clutching the envelope tightly in my palm. This is it... this is it.

Gulping, I began slowly, "Alexander… I have to tell you something."

“Did you receive a call from my lawyer?” he cut me off in a frosty voice.

“Yes, I did receive a call from him.”

He sighed heavily, walking closer, but his eyes held disgust and hatred. "Then why are you still here?"

“I—I wanted to talk to you,” I stammered. “There must be some misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” he cut me off, setting the glass down harder than necessary. He scoffed afterwards, then opened his briefcase, pulling out a brown envelope and revealing a paper I recognized from earlier at his lawyers. “Here. Sign it.”

"I won’t sign it."

"Name your price," he sneered.

“I…”

“A million? Ten? Twenty? Just fucking name it and sign the damn papers!” he yelled in frustration.

"Do you really think I'm with you because of your money? I don't want a cent from you! And I won’t sign any papers. You're not getting rid of me without any tangible reason after all these years—" I said, my tears now brimming in my eyes.

His expression didn’t waver. “I don’t love you, Sophia. I haven’t in a long time. Let’s stop pretending this marriage means anything because it doesn't.”

How did it come to this? Just after we got married, Alexander started changing—coming home less, growing more distant and cold. I thought that if I was patient, if I loved him enough, he’d eventually come around.

I had given up everything for Alexander—my career, my identity, even the person I used to be—all for the faint hope that one day he would look at me the way he once did. But that hope had died a long time ago, and I’d been too blind to see it.

Three years of pretending, of hoping, and this was where it led me—begging for scraps of affection from a man who had always been indifferent to me, except for when it came to sex, where he would have me cover my face with a mask or blindfold.

"Look, Sophia, we aren’t meant to be, and I can’t love you, so you really don’t have to make this hard for yourself, or me. I’ve signed my part of the paper. Sign under your name and pack your things. You’ll get an alert soon. Just take the money or walk away with nothing."

"You can't do this to me... Alexander, I'm...I'm..." I choked on my sobs. I wanted to tell him about the baby... I wanted to say it... I wanted to… but the words wouldn't come out of my mouth.

“You’re what?” he frowned, then shrugged. “To whom does that matter?” he mumbled.

“Anyway, I'm going out right now, and when I’m back, all I want to see is the signed papers. So make sure you get yourself and your baggage out of my house.” He hissed, pushing past me, and I fell on the couch as the tears slid down my cheeks.