Guess Who Failed the Test

Took me less than thirty minutes to wrap everything up. All that was left was to wait three days for the procedure.

We never got legally married. Thank God.

I brought it up plenty over the years, but he'd always dodge it.

"Once I make it big, I'll throw you the grandest wedding."

Sure, he worked hard—always chasing some dream—but all he ever brought home was bad news.

Still, he kept going. Falling asleep at his desk, running on fumes. I saw the spark. That's why I carried the bills, the debt, everything—for his dream.

But turns out, his big "hustle" was just luxury trips with Lillian.

Her latest post? Two hands locked across a fancy table. His ring was right there.

It was always in my face. I just worked too much to notice her little digs.

I shut my phone, climbed out of bed, and got ready to quit my job for good.

At one point, I had ten gigs just to crush the debt. By the end, I was barely functioning.

My last job was at a bar. The second I walked in, the reek of booze smacked me in the face.

One guy glanced over and scowled.

"Peter, this how your bar treats guests now?"

I kept it simple. "Just here to resign."

The guy sneered. "Oh? Quitting? What, some rich sugar daddy finally picked you up?"

I didn't answer. Tried to walk past, but he shoved me into the wall, both hands locking around my waist.

"Feisty. I like that. You're done here anyway—why not come with me? I'll treat you good."

I slapped his hands off, cheeks burning. "Show some respect."

"Respect?" He laughed. "You're just bar trash. You should be grateful I noticed you."

"I'm not!"

Then he leaned in, lips hitting my neck. The stink of alcohol made me gag.

I shoved him down and made a break for it—but I barely got a few steps before he grabbed me and slapped me flat.

Pain shot through me. Heat flooded between my thighs.

He looked down and sneered.

"Damn. Another pregnant bar rat."

I curled up, arms wrapped around my stomach, sweat dripping from my face.

From where I lay, I spotted him through the cracked VIP door.

Jacob. Chilling with a glass of wine, cool as ever, eyes smug and satisfied.

He snapped his fingers. A server handed Lillian a gift box.

He opened it himself—ballet flats. Then he knelt and slipped them on her like it was some fairytale.

Lillian lit up like royalty. The crowd lost it, yelling for her to say yes.

My chest twisted so tight I could barely breathe.

A guy glanced at my tear-streaked face. "What are you staring at? That's Jacob—richest guy in Bayronne City. And her? His childhood sweetheart. Give it up."

I looked down at the blood smeared on my thigh and let out a bitter laugh.

Pulled myself up, hand clutching my waist as I stumbled toward the door. It was barely ten meters, but felt like forever.

The guy didn't follow. Maybe it was the look in my eyes.

Outside, a stretch Lincoln idled by the curb.

I suddenly remembered Jacob flipping through a magazine once, pausing on that exact car.

He lit up just looking at it. I'd wrapped my arms around him and said, "You like it? I'll work hard and buy it for you."

He laughed like it was the best joke he'd ever heard, swearing I didn't have to.

I thought he was touched.

Looking back, he just thought I was pathetic.

To him, that car was nothing—just another toy, like a water bottle I'd grab off the street.

Right then, the hospital didn't matter anymore.

I just wanted my passport and a one-way ticket out.