Secret Baby: The Jilted Wife's Final Goodbye
I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant.
But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over.
"Sign it,"
He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise.
I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth.
"It's just cramps,"
I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could.
Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus.
Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down.
He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 7
Getting him into the apartment was a wrestling match. Nancy was sweating by the time she dumped him onto the king-sized bed.
She knelt to take off his shoes. Her stomach still ached where she had hit the table, a dull, throbbing reminder of the night's chaos.
She stood up to leave, to get water, to escape.
Julian's hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist.
"Don't," he rasped.
He pulled. Nancy lost her balance. She fell onto the mattress, landing beside him.
He rolled over, pinning her. His body was heavy, hot. He smelled of vodka and rain.
He stared down at her. His eyes were open, glassy but intense.
"You're here," he whispered.
"I'm here," Nancy said, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was terrified he would hurt the baby, but she was also paralyzed by his proximity.
He buried his face in her neck. He inhaled deeply.
"You smell like... home," he mumbled. "Don't be like her. Don't leave."
He was confusing her with Fiona. He had to be.
"Julian, you're drunk."
"No," he groaned. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His leg tangled with hers.
For a moment, Nancy let herself sink into it. The warmth. The weight. This was what she had wanted for three years. To be held.
Then, a sound cut through the room.
Ring. Ring.
It was a specific ringtone. A harp melody. Fiona.
Julian stiffened. His hand fumbled for his pocket.
Nancy reached it first. She pulled the phone out. The screen lit up the dark room: Fiona Q.
She pressed answer. She didn't speak. She held the phone out.
"Julian?" Fiona's voice was sugary sweet, dripping with fake vulnerability. "Are you awake? My legs hurt so bad. The storm makes it worse. Can you come rub them?"
Julian froze. He looked at the phone. Then he looked at Nancy.
He saw the exhaustion in Nancy's eyes. He saw the wet hair. He felt her body beneath his.
Something shifted in his drunken haze. A flash of clarity.
He reached out. He took the phone from Nancy's hand.
And he pressed the red button. End call.
He tossed the phone onto the floor.
Nancy stared at him, shocked. "You hung up on her."
"I'm tired," Julian muttered. He rolled off her, collapsing onto his back. "Just... turn off the light."
Nancy lay there for a minute, listening to his breathing even out into sleep.
She got up and went to the guest room. She didn't sleep.
The next morning, she woke up scratching.
She went to the mirror and gasped.
The concealer had worn off. The allergic reaction had rebounded with a vengeance. Her neck, chest, and arms were covered in angry, red, raised welts. Her face was swollen.
The door opened.
Julian stood there, holding a cup of coffee. He looked hungover, but when he saw her, the coffee cup rattled in the saucer.
"My God," he said. He crossed the room in two strides. "Nancy? Your face."
"It's nothing," she said, turning away.
He grabbed her arm, spinning her around. "This isn't nothing. You're breaking out."
He pulled out his phone.
"I'm calling Dr. Walker. Now."