Betrayed by My Fiancé: Left Pregnant in the Rainforest

Four hours had passed since Serena paraded into the penthouse with her ridiculous cake samples.

"These are for the rehearsal dinner," she had announced, her high-pitched voice echoing off the marble walls. She had linked her arm through Lucas's, completely ignoring my dripping, shivering presence in the foyer.

Lucas hadn't even looked at me. "Take them to the kitchen, Serena. Let's see what you brought."

He had ushered her away, leaving me to peel off my ruined dress alone. My bare feet had left muddy prints all the way to the guest bathroom.

I didn't know when she left. I didn't care.

I lay in the dark bedroom, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Heavy footsteps crossed the plush carpet. The mattress dipped behind me.

An arm draped over my waist. Lucas pressed his chest against my back, his large palm flattening over my swollen stomach.

"You and the baby are fine, right?" he whispered, his voice pitching into a soft, feigned tenderness.

"Yeah." I kept my eyes closed.

His fingers stopped moving against my skin. He shifted, pulling back just enough to break the warmth. "Just 'yeah'?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I expect a little more warmth, Elena. I sent Serena home so we could have a quiet night."

"You want a medal for that?"

"I want you to stop acting like a victim." He yanked his arm back. "I let you cool off. I gave you space. Now turn around and look at me."

I didn't move. "I'm tired, Lucas."

"You're always tired lately. Or angry. Or plotting some new way to ruin my friends' lives."

"Serena scammed people."

"Serena made a mistake!" he snapped, his voice rising. "You didn't have to blast her lab reports all over the internet. You did it to be vindictive."

"I did it because three women lost their hair!" I pushed myself up, finally turning to face him. The dim light of the streetlamp filtered through the blinds, casting harsh shadows across his sharp jawline. "Why are you defending her?"

"Because she's my friend. And you're supposed to be my wife."

I stared into his dark eyes. They held no warmth, no regret for leaving me in the forest. "Do you love me?"

He blinked. The question caught him off guard. His jaw tightened. "Where is this coming from?"

"It's a simple question. Do you?"

"Of course I do." He answered instantly, the words snapping out of his mouth without a second of thought. "I love you. Now go to sleep."

His phone vibrated on the nightstand. The screen lit up the dark room, flashing a photo of Serena.

Lucas snatched it before the second ring. He swiped the screen.

"Serena?"

"Lucas..." Her voice pierced the quiet bedroom, thick with tears and ragged breathing.

He sat up instantly. His posture went rigid. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I had the dream again." A loud sob echoed through the speaker. "You left me. You walked down the aisle with her and you never looked back."

"Serena, calm down. It's just a dream."

"It felt so real, Lucas. I can't breathe. My chest hurts so much. Please don't get married. Please."

Lucas swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabbed his jeans from the floor, his movements frantic. "Serena, don't be afraid. I'm coming over right now."

"You promise? You won't leave me alone?"

"I'm already getting dressed. Lock your doors. I'll be there in ten minutes."

He ended the call and shoved his arms into a dark sweater.

I pushed myself up against the headboard. "You're leaving."

He didn't look at me as he grabbed his car keys. "She's having a panic attack, Elena. Have some sympathy."

"I'm your pregnant fiancée. I walked miles in the freezing rain today because you abandoned me."

"Stop throwing tantrums." He paused at the doorway, his silhouette imposing in the hall light. "I said I'd marry you and I won't break my promise. Take care of yourself and the baby."

The bedroom door clicked shut.

His heavy footsteps faded down the hall. The front door slammed, rattling the picture frames on the wall.

I pushed the heavy duvet off my legs. The chill of the empty room bit into my bare arms.

I walked to the closet and pulled down the white memory box from the top shelf. I dragged it to the center of the bed and ripped the lid off.

Inside sat dozens of polaroids. Our first year together. The year before she came back.

I flipped through them, tossing them onto the mattress one by one.

Lucas smiling at the pier, the wind catching his hair. Lucas kissing my cheek at a New Year's party, his arms wrapped tight around my waist. Lucas holding up my first sonogram, a bright, genuine grin on his face.

I checked the dates scrawled in black ink on the bottom borders.

January. March. May.

Serena moved back to Seattle in June.

I dug deeper into the box, tossing aside movie tickets, dried roses, and old restaurant receipts.

There were no photos after June. Not a single one.

"You never took another picture of us," I whispered. My voice sounded hollow, swallowed by the massive, empty room.

I grabbed the New Year's photo. My thumbs clamped down on the glossy paper.

I tore it in half. The thick cardstock ripped with a sharp, satisfying snap.

I picked up the pier photo. Ripped it.

The sonogram picture. Torn into four jagged pieces.

I gathered a handful of the remaining photos. I twisted and pulled, forcing the thick paper to yield. I wanted to destroy the evidence that he had ever looked at me with love.

A sharp sting bit into my index finger. I gasped, dropping the mangled pile.

A bright bead of crimson welled up on my skin. A paper cut.

Then I noticed the burning on my palm. Another cut. My thumb throbbed with a fresh, stinging line.

I had shredded the memories so violently that the sharp edges had sliced into my hands.

Tiny, stinging wounds.

Just like the ones Lucas left on me every single day.

He didn't stab me in the chest. He just gave me a thousand little cuts, assuming I would bleed out quietly.

"Take care of yourself," he had said.

I wiped the blood on my white nightgown. It left a rusty, jagged streak across the cotton fabric.

The digital clock on the nightstand flashed 3:00 AM.

Sleep wouldn't come. My chest felt hollow.

I grabbed my phone from the side table. The screen glared in the pitch-black room.

I opened Instagram. Serena's profile sat at the top of my search history.

A purple ring glowed around her profile picture. A new story.

I tapped it.

The video started with a shaky shot of a dashboard. The streetlights blurred past the windshield, painting the car interior in flashes of orange.

Serena's giggling voice played over the speakers. "Look who's driving across the city at two in the morning because I craved Lady M cake."

The camera panned to the driver's seat.

Lucas.

He had one hand on the steering wheel. A soft, genuine smile played on his lips.

"You're a menace, Serena," he said, his voice laced with affection.

I tapped the right side of the screen. The next story loaded.

A brightly lit kitchen. Serena's kitchen.

Water boiled in a silver pot on the stove. Lucas stood at the counter, chopping garlic.

"The cake shop was closed," Serena's text caption read over the video. "So he's making me midnight pasta instead."

In the background of the video, Lucas turned around. "Do you want extra parmesan on this?"

"Always," Serena answered from behind the camera.

I stared at his relaxed shoulders. The easy way he moved around her kitchen, opening cabinets he already knew by heart.

When I was sick during my first trimester, I begged him to make me toast. Just a single slice of dry bread.

He told me to order delivery. He said he was too busy with work to play nurse.

He wasn't busy. He wasn't incapable of effort.

He just didn't want to try for me.

He always told me he loved how independent I was. How I never demanded his time like other women.

He didn't prefer independent, understanding women. He just used my independence as an excuse to neglect me. He didn't like me enough to be inconvenienced.

I locked the screen. The room plunged back into darkness.

My phone buzzed in my hand. A text message lit up the glass.

It wasn't from Lucas.

It was an unknown number.

*He makes the best garlic pasta. Thanks for letting me borrow him tonight. See you at the wedding!*

Attached was a photo of Lucas, asleep on Serena's couch, her legs draped over his lap.

I stared at the image, my thumb hovering over the screen.

*Thursday, 8 AM,* I reminded myself.

I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my contacts and blocked Lucas's number.