I didn’tcare what she thought. I loved the life growing inside me. I foolishly believed Caleb loved it too.
But the night I gave birth—a grueling, terrifying delivery that nearly ended in an emergency surgery—Caleb wasn’t holding my hand. He wasn’t wiping the sweat from my brow. He was in the hospital hallway, pacing, his phone pressed to his ear. Margaret had summoned him. She demanded he meet with her lawyer immediately to “discuss future estate planning” in light of the “new complications.”
He didn’t return until the next morning.
I was holding our newborns, exhausted but filled with that overwhelming, terrifying love that every new mother knows. When the door opened, I looked up, expecting a smile. Expecting tears of joy.
Instead, I saw a stranger.
Caleb stood in the doorway, his designer coat buttoned to the chin, his face pale and expressionless. It was a look I willnever forget—cold, distant, already gone.
