Too Late For Regret: My Lost Heir

The bathroom tiles were freezing against her knees. The cold seeped through the fabric of her dress, biting into her skin. Seraphina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took a shaky breath. The nausea had passed, leaving behind a hollow, trembling feeling in her core.

She reached out and opened the vanity cabinet under the sink. Her fingers brushed past the extra towels and the cleaning supplies until they found the small white box hidden in the back.

She had bought it a month ago. Just a suspicion. A hope.

She opened the box with shaking hands. The foil wrapper made a crinkling sound that seemed too loud in the quiet bathroom.

She followed the instructions. Then she set the plastic stick on the edge of the sink and pulled out her phone. She set the timer for three minutes.

She sat on the closed lid of the toilet and watched the seconds count down. 180. 179. 178.

Every second was a heartbeat.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. It wasn't the timer.

A text message notification slid down from the top of the screen. The name displayed was Harper West.

Seraphina's thumb hovered over the screen. She knew she shouldn't look. She knew it was poison. But she tapped it anyway.

It was a photo.

The image was high resolution. It showed a hospital bed, crisp white sheets. On top of the sheets, a man's hand was holding a woman's hand. The man wore a platinum watch. Julian's watch. The woman's wrist was thin, a hospital bracelet wrapped around it.

Below the photo, a caption: Thank you for giving him back to me.

Bile rose in Seraphina's throat again. It wasn't just the image. It was the timing. Julian had left her apartment ten minutes ago. He was already there. Or maybe the photo was old. It didn't matter. The intent was clear.

The timer on her phone went off. A cheerful, chiming alarm.

Seraphina stood up and looked at the sink.

Two pink lines. Bold. Unmistakable.

She was pregnant.

She stared at the test. A laugh bubbled up in her chest, but it sounded like a sob. It was the cruelest joke. On the night her husband ended their marriage for a dying woman, life had taken root inside her.

She touched her flat stomach. No if, he had said.

This child. This tiny cluster of cells. If she told him, what would happen? Would he stay out of duty? Would he resent the child for keeping him from his dying love? Or worse, would he take the child and raise it with Harper?

The thought made her blood run cold. She imagined Harper, with her Vintage Red lips, playing mother to Seraphina's child.

No.

Seraphina grabbed the test. She grabbed the box. She grabbed the ultrasound appointment slip she had tentatively booked for next week.

She looked at the plastic stick. She couldn't leave it in the trash can. The cleaning staff came tomorrow morning. If they found it, it could get back to Julian. He owned everything here.

She wrapped the test in layers of toilet paper until it was a thick, nondescript white bundle. Then she shoved it deep into her purse. She would dispose of it in a public trash can miles away from here. She picked up the cardboard box and the instruction leaflet.

She walked out to the terrace doors. The rain was still pounding against the glass. She slid the door open just a crack. The wind howled.

She tore the cardboard into tiny, confetti-sized pieces. She held her hand out into the storm and let the wind take them. The wet cardboard turned to mush instantly, scattering into the dark, wet night of the city below. Gone.

She closed the door and locked it. Her hands were shaking, but not from the cold.

She went to the sink and splashed freezing water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. The woman looking back was terrified, but her jaw was set.

She picked up her phone and dialed. It was 2:00 AM.

The phone rang four times.

Hello? A sleepy voice answered. Zoe.

Seraphina gripped the phone tight. Zoe, she said. Her voice was steady, stripped of all emotion. I need a favor.

Sera? Zoe sounded more awake now. What's wrong? Are you okay?

I am pregnant, Seraphina said.

There was a gasp on the other end. Oh my god. That's... wait, is it Julian's? Does he know?

He doesn't know, Seraphina said. And he never will. We signed the divorce papers tonight.

What? Zoe shouted. That bastard! He actually did it?

I need an appointment, Zoe. Tomorrow.

An appointment for what?

To terminate it, Seraphina said.

Silence stretched over the line. Heavy and thick.

Sera, Zoe whispered. Are you sure? You've always wanted...

I am sure, Seraphina cut her off. I cannot bring a child into this. Not now. Not with him.

Okay, Zoe said. Her voice switched to professional mode, though Seraphina could hear the tremor in it. I can get you in tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. VIP channel. No records will be public. I'll do it myself.

Thank you, Seraphina said.

She hung up. She walked to the bedroom. She pulled a suitcase from the top shelf of the closet.

She did not pack the designer dresses Julian had bought her. She did not pack the jewelry. She packed jeans. T-shirts. The cashmere sweater her mother had knitted before she died. The old locket with the photo of the Vanderbilt estate.

She zipped the bag shut.

She walked to the bedside table. She took the set of keys to the penthouse-the heavy brass key, the magnetic fob-and placed them on the polished wood.

Her phone lit up again. An email from Julian's executive assistant. Subject: Supplemental Divorce Terms.

Seraphina didn't open it. She held down the power button on the side of her phone. She watched the screen go black.

She lay down on the bed in the guest room. She curled onto her side, her hands wrapping protectively around her stomach one last time. A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye and tracked into her hair.