He Abandoned Me While I Was Pregnant

Eight months pregnant, Anastasia Warren was on her way to her prenatal checkup when her husband got a call and walked out on her without a word.

As she left the hospital, a text popped up from an unknown number:

“Anastasia, I'm back. Your husband is with me.”

Her breath hitched. She texted Nicolas Miller:

“Nicolas, are you done with work? Can you pick me up from the hospital?”

Clutching her phone, Anastasia tried to tell herself it was just some sick prank. But after half an hour of waiting in the biting cold, all she got was one sorry text from Nicolas:

“Sorry, Ana. I'm swamped and can't get away. Can you just take a cab home?”

A wave of pain gripped her abdomen, so sharp it felt like the baby inside her was protesting their father. The word sorry blurred her vision.

Sorry had become all too familiar—ever since Nicolas's affair with Phoenix Garza three years ago. Sometimes his guilt leaked out in his sleep, Phoenix's name on his lips. Other times, he'd serve her Phoenix's favorite dish without thinking, forgetting Ana's allergy.

Blinking back tears, Anastasia squared her shoulders and refused to let them fall.

The unknown number pinged again—with a location:

“Don't think I'm bluffing. Come see for yourself if you don't believe me.”

Trying to quiet her racing thoughts, Anastasia powered off her phone and flagged a cab. When the driver asked where to, she recited the address from the text without thinking.

Might as well see for myself, she thought. Maybe then she could breathe.

The city blurred past the window as she rubbed her aching back, sore from standing too long. She couldn't help but replay three years ago, when she'd caught Nicolas cheating—and lost the baby. Her health had never fully recovered.

The doctors called her lucky. Lucky that, despite the damage, she could still conceive. After that, Nicolas had been careful with her, driven by guilt and love to give her everything she wanted.

But today was different. For the first time in her pregnancy, he'd turned her down.

Unease throbbed in her chest, sharpened by the snow drifting down outside. It reminded her of the winter she first met Nicolas.

He was the “orphan” she'd found on the streets. The first time she saw him, he was in a coat two sizes too small, digging through her family's trash for food in the freezing cold. His cheeks were red—from the cold or shame, she never knew.

After she pressed him, he admitted he was the neighbor's kid, abandoned when his parents split during a fight and left him alone for three months. No food. No money. Scavenging was all he had.

Moved, Anastasia begged her father to help. Bridger contacted child protective services and arranged temporary care with a family friend; he later paid for Nicolas's schooling. Nicolas grew up a few doors away, always at Anastasia's side. He walked her to school and fought off bullies. If she got in trouble, he took the blame first.

For more than a decade, he was her steadfast protector, her loyal knight, so woven into her life she couldn't imagine it without him. She still remembered his wedding vows—his promise to shield her from harm for the rest of their lives.

But that same devoted, sincere man had fallen for his graduate student, Phoenix Garza—while Anastasia was pregnant.

Her tears tasted bitter as the driver announced they'd arrived. Through the window, she saw Nicolas standing outside a flower shop in the swirling snow, staring at the woman inside with naked longing.

Her suspicion was confirmed: Phoenix had been the one texting her. Phoenix wore a plain employee uniform, her old arrogance gone as she arranged a bouquet and murmured apologies to a customer. Her hands were scarred from rose thorns.

Nicolas couldn't help himself. He called Phoenix's name. She turned, her surprise practiced to perfection.

“Nicolas?”

Their eyes locked. Nicolas instinctively stepped back, but Phoenix rushed out and threw her arms around him.

“Nicolas, I thought I'd never see you again…”

His fists clenched. Then he turned and pulled her into his arms.

“I'm sorry about what happened three years ago. You shouldn't have to work like this. Let me give you money—start over somewhere else.”

When he reached for his wallet, Phoenix stopped him. Her tears came faster.

“I want you, not your money. If I can't be where you are, I might as well be dead.”

She rose on her toes and kissed him, her voice cracking with longing.

“Nicolas, I've missed you so much…”

From a distance, Anastasia watched, her heart a toxic mix of bitterness and rage.

It would've been a touching reunion—if the leading man weren't her husband.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and stepped out of the cab.

Phoenix spotted her first. Panic flashed in her eyes as she shoved Nicolas away.

Nicolas turned, saw Anastasia, and panic flooded his face. Tears streaked his cheeks, but even then, he moved to shield Phoenix.

“Ana, I'm sorry, I…”

He stammered, unable to explain, slipping right back into his old routine of apologizing.

Phoenix stepped forward to defend him.

“Anastasia, it's not what you think. We just got overwhelmed after so long apart.”

The fake innocence made Anastasia's stomach turn. She nearly lost her breakfast.

“Overwhelmed? Is that why you're making out with someone else's husband in the middle of the street? Let me help you snap out of it.”

Without missing a beat, Anastasia raised her hand and slapped Phoenix hard across the cheek.

Smack!

“That's for going after a married man—your own teacher!”

Smack!

“That one's for being bold enough to send me that message and rub your affair in my face.”

Smack!

“And that one's for framing me for your research screwup—and costing me my baby three years ago!”

Phoenix staggered back, face already swelling, tears and snot mingling as she wailed.

Anastasia raised her hand for another slap, but Nicolas caught her wrist midair.

“Enough, Ana. I'm the one who hurt you three years ago. If you want to hit someone, hit me.”

The way he stood protectively over Phoenix made Anastasia laugh—a cold, hollow sound. She lifted her other hand to slap him, too.

“Enough?”

“Nicolas, you're the one who cheated. I'm the one who got hurt. Who are you to decide when it's enough?”

“I haven't hit you yet—not because you're innocent, but because it wasn't your turn.”

Nicolas stood in disbelief, face turned from the blow, as Phoenix rushed to check on him.

Watching them fuss over each other, Anastasia felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her.

After three years of trying to piece her marriage back together, she finally saw the truth: there was nothing left to save.

“Nicolas, let's get a divorce.”