The tears hit before she could reach me.
“I need… I need air,” I choked, turning away before she could touch me.
“Hadley, wait...”
But I was already stumbling toward the house, one hand gripping my stomach as my vision blurred, guests parting awkwardly around me like I was radioactive.
....
I barely made it into the downstairs bathroom before collapsing against the wall, sobs ripping out of my chest so violently it scared me. My breathing turned jagged, shallow, my belly tightening painfully as the baby shifted in response to my panic.
The door slammed open behind me.
Zariah locked it quickly.
“What. The. Fuck.”
“She always wins,” I choked. “Every single time. He always chooses her.”
“He doesn’t...”
“He does, Zariah!” My voice cracked into something raw. “Maybe not romantically. But emotionally? She owns him. She always will.”
Zariah crouched in front of me, grabbing my hands.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I whispered, pressing my palm against my belly as another painful tightening spread across it. “I can’t keep fighting ghosts. I can’t compete with trauma bonds and history and guilt. I’m tired.”
She stared at me carefully.
“What are you saying?”
“After the baby comes… I’m leaving,” I whispered. “I’ll take whatever settlement he offers and I’ll go. I’ll raise this baby somewhere that doesn’t feel like I’m constantly proving I deserve to exist.”
Zariah exhaled slowly, sitting back on her heels.
“I’ve seen him improve,” she admitted reluctantly. “Tiny… emotionally constipated… baby steps. Maybe wait until after birth before making permanent decisions.”
I stared at the tiled floor.
Because deep down…
I wasn’t sure I had that much fight left.
....
By the time the last guest left and laughter faded into hollow silence, I sat alone beneath the tent surrounded by unopened gifts and half-deflated balloons swaying in the evening breeze.
Tiny clothes.
Soft blankets.
A stroller.
A life waiting to begin.
And I had never felt more alone in my entire life.
