The master bedroom door was ajar, light spilling out. I pushed it open.
Natalie had her back to me, standing at the open closet door, folding clothes and placing them into an open suitcase at her feet.
"What are you doing?" I leaned against the doorframe, keeping my voice casual. "I don't recall us planning a honeymoon anytime soon."
Natalie seemed to just notice me. She placed that red lace nightgown—the one I'd made her change out of—into the suitcase before looking at me.
Her face looked terrible.
"We'll never have a honeymoon, Richard." Her voice was soft. I almost worried she'd collapse any second. "And if we did... it should be with you and Olivia. Or some other woman."
I couldn't believe she'd say that. The words just came out.
"You hid your pregnancy from me because of Olivia?"
The instant those words left my mouth, I regretted them. Wrong thing to say right now. Too much of a bastard move.
Then Natalie looked at me quietly, a mocking smile on her face, blue eyes fixed on mine.
"Richard, if you'd let me finish talking yesterday when you were screwing me in the dressing room, if you hadn't gone to your damn meetings when you got home last night, if you'd come to the hospital with me today... God, I didn't hide it from you. You never gave me a chance to tell you."
My throat moved. I wanted to argue but found I had nothing to say, because Natalie was right. Every word.
The guilt surged again, stronger this time, almost drowning me.
I looked away, down at her flat stomach beneath the blanket—where my child was growing. My heir.
Between Natalie and me, beyond the contract marriage and family interests, we finally had something truly inseparable.
"This..." I started again, my voice softer. "We can talk about this later. Right now, you need rest. I'll have Dr. Howard come, you need—"
"Not necessary."
Natalie cut me off.
She turned around, holding a manila envelope. The last of the evening light streamed through the window behind her, outlining her in hazy gold but leaving her face in shadow.
But those blue eyes were startlingly bright. No emotion in them, though, just a cold calm that made my chest tighten.
"This is the divorce agreement I had drawn up. Sign it, Richard." She held out the envelope. "I'm strictly following the prenup. I won't take a penny of Winston family assets."
I stared at that envelope like it might turn into a snake and strike.
"Natalie, this joke's gone too far. How can you talk about divorce?" I stepped closer, trying to regain control, but the tightness in my voice betrayed me. "Because of this afternoon? Because I didn't go to the hospital with you?"
I took a deep breath, forcing my tone to soften. The guilt from the drive home surfaced. "Look, Natalie, I'm sorry about today, but I swear it'll never happen again. Let me make it up to you and the baby, okay? I'll—"
"You're out of chances."
Natalie interrupted again. This time, she pulled a paper from the envelope and held it in front of me.
A medical document from Ethelred Hospital. Official seal and all.
Patient name: Natalie Winston.
Diagnosis: Eight weeks pregnant, insufficient progesterone, early miscarriage.
I stared at that paper, feeling all the blood in my body rush to my head, then freeze solid the next second.
