To My Childhood Sweetheart, See You Never

That hand had once caressed her, held her, wiped away her tears, and slipped a ring onto her finger. But now, that same hand was tenderly resting on Rita's belly.

"You may not want to rest, but the baby in your stomach needs it. Be a good girl, go to sleep," came Grayson's deep, soothing voice.

Hearing his words, the online audience exploded in excitement, filling the chat with pleas for Rita to let her "husband" reveal himself.

Amid the chaos of requests, a solitary comment popped up like a rogue wave in the sea of praise: [Wait... did I mishear, or does that voice sound just like Grayson Bryce?]

The remark barely registered before being drowned in the torrent of other messages.

Rita, her face flushed with coy delight, let Grayson take her hand in his. "My husband isn't the kind to show his face easily," she said, smiling gently at the screen. "He's an important man; please understand."

The viewers didn't press further, instead shifting their focus to Rita's love story. They bombarded her with questions about how she and her husband had gotten together.

Glancing at Grayson, Rita laughed. "He loves me so much," she said. "In high school, he confessed his love by giving me a love letter. He was so nervous he stumbled over his words despite rehearsing the entire day. In the end, I had to take the letter from him and say, 'I do.'"

Her words triggered a flood of adoring comments from the audience, with viewers exclaiming about the sweetness of their romance.

Meanwhile, Wendy's grip on her phone tightened, the pressure bearing down on her trembling fingers. A bitter, unexplainable ache rose within her. Grayson had loved Rita so much—enough to recount their story with such sincerity. Wasn't that the same story he had once told her?

The quiet sound of a tear hitting her phone screen broke her reverie. She looked down, her vision blurry. On the livestream, Rita suddenly announced they were logging off.

The audience, still caught up in the warmth of her tale, protested loudly.

Feigning helplessness, Rita glanced at Grayson again, spreading her hands as if to say, "What can I do?" She laughed lightly. "It's not me; he says it's time for a little couple privacy."

Understanding her implication, the audience erupted into playful screams, teasing and begging to be included.

Rita chuckled, covering her mouth. "I wouldn't dare ruin the innocence of young minds," she said, teasing.

One persistent viewer suggested a compromise: keep the audio on, just turn off the camera.

Before Rita could respond, Grayson's hand reached out and switched off the visuals.

The screen darkened, but an unmistakable gasp slipped through.

"Oh! Careful! The baby!"

The sound sent ripples through the audience, sparking an even greater uproar. But Wendy, clutching her phone in the cold, silent room, heard nothing more. Tears blurred her vision, her body shaking as the indistinct sounds of intimacy filtered through the speaker, each one cutting into her like the jagged edge of a broken blade.

Their voices—tender, teasing—grew louder.

"It's too big," came Rita's coy voice, soft and petulant.

"But you're managing just fine, aren't you?" Grayson replied, his tone coaxing, indulgent.

Wendy couldn't endure it any longer. Her trembling fingers powered off the phone, severing the connection. She lay there in the darkness, her gaze fixed on the darkness of the ceiling.

Time passed slowly. The silence stretched, deep and suffocating, before she finally stirred, moving her stiff hands.

Soon.

Soon, she would leave it all behind.

In the days that followed, Grayson didn't return to the villa. Rita, however, ensured that Wendy wasn't left in the dark. Through her messages, she painted a vivid picture of Grayson's whereabouts.

One photo stood out: Grayson on one knee before Rita, like a first-time dad, his ear pressed gently against her growing belly, listening for the faint stirrings of life within.

Wendy closed her eyes, but no tears came.