Too Late For Regret, My Love

After a few days of hospital-mandated rest, I immersed myself back into work. Pregnancy was a delicate dance I had to learn, balancing morning sickness and fatigue with client demands. Brett' s leg was slowly healing, the cast replaced by a walking boot. He was still dependent, still spent his days mostly at home, but he was regaining some mobility.

The incident with Leo, Glenda, and the ruined study seemed to have created a temporary détente. Glenda was almost aggressively compliant. She knocked. She kept Leo out of sight, supposedly at a friend's house or after-school care. She cooked meals meticulously free of nuts, checking the laminated allergy card with exaggerated care.

Brett, for his part, was a picture of a doting fiancé. He doted on me, brought me flowers, talked endlessly about the baby, and poured over wedding magazines with an enthusiasm that almost seemed genuine. We spent evenings planning our future, discussing nursery designs, and even debating baby names. It felt like we were repairing the damage, brick by brick.

The final piece of our wedding preparations, our custom-designed invitations and wedding favors, arrived a few days later. They were perfect. Elegant, subtle, reflecting our firm's aesthetic. I had put so much thought into every detail, every embossed line, every silken ribbon. Holding them, I felt a surge of genuine joy and anticipation. This was it. Our new beginning.

I decided to surprise Brett. He was so excited about these. I pictured his face, his genuine delight. My heart, still bruised, fluttered with a tentative hope. Maybe we could still make this work. For us. For the baby.

I drove home early, the box of invitations carefully placed on the passenger seat. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the tree-lined street. As I approached the house, a wave of warmth spread through me. Home.

I opened the front door, the delicate scent of fresh ginger and chicken broth wafting from the living room. Glenda was definitely cooking something comforting. I smiled, imagining Brett relaxed on the sofa, maybe watching a game.

I tiptoed to the living room entrance, eager to surprise him. My smile, already wide, faltered, then died a swift, agonizing death. My heart clenched, a physical spasm of pain.

Brett wasn't on the sofa. He was on the floor, leaning back against the plush cushions, his injured leg propped up on a footrest. Glenda sat beside him, on the floor, a bowl of soup in her hand. She was spoon-feeding him.

He swallowed a mouthful, then looked at her, his eyes warm, intimate. Glenda giggled, a soft, seductive sound, and playfully tapped his chest with the back of the spoon. Not a hard tap, a light, familiar caress. Brett chuckled, leaning his head back, his eyes closing in utter contentment. It was a scene of domestic bliss. A scene I should have been a part of. A scene I was supposed to be a part of.

They looked like lovers. A couple. Two people completely at ease, completely absorbed in each other, an invisible bubble of intimacy surrounding them.

The box of wedding invitations crumpled in my hands. The heavy cardstock bent, the delicate ribbons tore. My vision blurred. The world around me dimmed, the vibrant colors of our living room fading to a dull gray. The air was sucked from my lungs.

My face, which had been beaming with happy anticipation just moments ago, felt frozen, a grotesque mask of betrayal. The carefully constructed hope, the fragile truce, shattered into a million pieces.

Brett opened his eyes, sensing a shift in the air. His gaze met mine. His smile vanished. Glenda, too, looked up, her spoon clattering into the bowl. Her face, previously soft and warm, hardened into a familiar mask of composure.

"Alex?" Brett stammered, his face paling, a flush rising on his neck. "What are you doing home so early?" His voice was laced with guilt, his eyes darting from me to Glenda.

I looked at him, then at Glenda. The scene replayed in my mind: the spoon-feeding, the giggle, the intimate tap, Brett's contented sigh. They weren't just playing house. They were playing our life.

My voice, when it came, was a whisper, cold and flat. "I seem to have interrupted something." I walked to the nearest waste bin, the one usually reserved for junk mail. My hands, still trembling, slowly, deliberately, crushed the box of wedding invitations, crushing our future, crushing my hope, into a mangled ball of paper and silk. I dropped it into the bin. It landed with a soft, mournful thud.

Brett stared at the crumpled box, his eyes wide. "Alex, what are you doing? Why did you ruin the invitations?" He tried to sound angry, but his voice was thin, desperate.

"There's no need for them now, Brett," I said, my gaze sweeping over him, then Glenda. "No need for a wedding. No need for a future. It seems you've already found your new domestic partner."

"Alex, that's not fair!" Brett struggled to stand. "Glenda was just helping me with my soup! She's been so kind, so attentive because you're always busy, always working!"

Glenda, ever the actress, chimed in, "Ms. Hardy, I would never! I respect you and Mr. Parker. I was simply following his instructions to help him eat, as his leg is still recovering." Her voice was smooth, innocent, but her eyes held a defiant gleam.

"Don't insult my intelligence," I said, my voice rising, losing its composure. The words tasted like ash. "I know what I saw. And I know what this looks like. You two are a little too comfortable, aren't you?"

"That's enough, Alex!" Brett bellowed, finally standing, leaning heavily on Glenda. "You come in here, make accusations, throw away our invitations! What is wrong with you? Why are you always so dramatic?"

"Dramatic?" I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "You want to talk about drama, Brett? Let's talk about the drama of a fiancée betraying me in my own home, with the hired help, while I'm pregnant with your child!"

He flinched, his face paling again. Glenda' s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark in their depths.

"Glenda," I said, my voice dangerously low, my eyes fixed on the spoon still clutched in her hand. "Do you enjoy feeding my fiancé? Do you enjoy being his 'attentive' little helper?"

Before she could answer, a piercing, desperate shriek cut through the air. It wasn't human. It was Apollo. A guttural, terrified cry.

My head snapped towards the sound. It came from the back patio, near the shed. My heart leaped into my throat. Apollo. I hadn't seen him since I'd come home.

I pushed past Brett and Glenda, ignoring their startled gasps, and rushed to the patio door. It was slightly ajar. I flung it open.

There, in a small, rusty dog crate, usually used for transporting small animals, was Apollo. He was curled into a tight ball, trembling violently. His once sleek ginger fur was matted and dull. His usually vibrant green eyes were wide with terror, rimmed with dark circles. His water bowl was bone dry, his food dish empty and covered in dust.

And then I saw it. A dark, ugly bruise blooming beneath his left eye. A fresh, angry red scratch marred his nose.

No. This wasn't possible. Apollo was the sweetest, gentlest cat. My beloved companion, our shared pet. He never made a sound like that, never looked so terrified.

"Apollo!" I cried, my voice choked with horror and fury. I fumbled with the latch, my fingers clumsy with shock. It was stiff, as if it hadn't been opened in days.

Finally, it clicked open. Apollo scrambled out, not toward me, but away, trying to hide behind a planter, his whole body shaking.

Brett had hobbled out onto the patio, Glenda right behind him, a smug, unreadable expression on her face.

"What is this, Brett?!" I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. "What have you done to Apollo?" I finally managed to coax my terrified cat into my arms. He was lighter than I remembered, his small body rigid with fear. He felt like a bundle of bones.

"Oh, the cat," Brett said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "He's been a little... aggressive lately, Alex. Scratching at Glenda, trying to get into Leo's room. We had to put him in time-out. Glenda said it was 'animal training.' He's fine, Alex. Just being a cat."

"Aggressive?" I choked, clutching Apollo to my chest. He pressed himself against me, digging his claws into my shirt, his purr a low, raspy rumble of fear. "Apollo has never been aggressive! And what is this?" I pointed to the bruise, the scratch. "Did you hit him, Brett? Did you hit my cat?"

Glenda stepped forward, her voice surprisingly sweet. "Oh, Ms. Hardy, he's just being dramatic. He was very naughty. And pregnant women shouldn't be around cats, you know. Toxoplasmosis. We were just trying to keep you safe. Maybe it's time to... find Apollo a new home? For the baby's sake."

Brett nodded, his expression serious. "She's right, Alex. We should probably rehome him. For the baby."

The world spun. My baby. My cat. My fiancé. My home. All of it, twisted and defiled. They had neglected him. Abused him. And now they wanted to get rid of him. For my safety. For their convenience.

I looked at Brett, at his indifferent, almost condescending expression. He had chosen. He had chosen her. And he had chosen to hurt my beloved, innocent cat.

My chest tightened. The rage I felt was cold, absolute. It eclipsed every other emotion. Every hurt, every betrayal, every disappointment. This was unforgivable.

I gently lowered Apollo, who immediately darted behind me, seeking refuge. I looked at Brett, my eyes burning. "You want to rehome him?" I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Fine. But I'm taking him with me."