Before You Let Me Go

The sky had turned a dull, washed-out gray by the time I stepped out of the clinic. The wind curled around my coat, biting through the thin fabric as if the world itself wanted to punish me.

My fingers trembled around the folded sheet of glossy paper the nurse had pressed into my palm. I hadn’t looked at it since leaving the doctor’s office, but I didn’t need to. The image was already burned into my mind, the blurry black-and-white shape the doctor had assured me was a living, breathing thing growing inside me.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my head, again and again, louder each time, more impossible.

It had only been one night. One terrible, reckless night when grief had blurred my judgment and longing had made me weak. I had told myself it didn’t mean anything, that Elias Sinclair had only been drunk, that he hadn’t even remembered what happened the next morning.

I’d wanted to believe that. Needed to.

But now, staring down at the smudged lines of the ultrasound, I knew there was no pretending left to do.

A gust of wind nearly tore the paper from my hand. I clutched it tighter and blinked against the sting in my eyes. I didn’t cry easily, hadn’t cried in years, not even when I’d felt utterly broken, but the weight of this secret pressed so heavily on my chest that I thought I might crack under it.

The low hum of an engine pulled my attention to the curb, where a sleek black car waited. The sight of it twisted my stomach into knots.

John, our chauffeur, stepped out as soon as he spotted me. His expression was as carefully neutral as always, but I thought I saw a flicker of concern when he noticed my pale face.

“Mrs. Sinclair,” he greeted, opening the back door with his usual professional ease.

I managed a faint smile, though my face felt frozen. “Thank you, John.”

My voice barely sounded like my own.

I slid into the back seat and was met with silence, thick, cold, and disapproving. Elias sat on the opposite end, his attention fixed on his phone. Even in the dim interior, his presence filled the space, sharp and commanding.

He didn’t look at me. He rarely did these days.

“You were gone a while,” he said, still scrolling. His voice was smooth, detached, like he was speaking to a stranger. “I thought the appointment was a routine checkup?”

I swallowed hard. “There was a delay with the test results,” I said quietly, my head bowed. “Sorry.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, the sound noncommittal. Light filtered through the window and caught the polished face of his Patek Philippe watch as he checked the time. “Next time, have them mail the results if there’s a delay. You know I don’t like sitting idle.”

The words stung more than they should have. I lowered my gaze to my lap, tracing the seam of my purse where the ultrasound hid inside. I don’t like sitting idle. He hadn’t meant it to hurt, but lately, everything Elias said came wrapped in that quiet indifference that hurt more than open cruelty ever could.

The car glided into traffic. Outside, the city blurred past, a gray world of glass, rain, and noise that somehow felt quieter than the silence between us.

I tried to breathe, to think, to decide what came next. The pregnancy changed everything, and yet maybe it changed nothing at all.

Elias had made his feelings clear on our wedding night. He hadn’t raised his voice; he hadn’t needed to. His cold, measured tone had been enough. Our marriage, he’d said, would end as soon as his father’s illness had run its course. Once Paul Sinclair was dead and buried, Elias would finally be free. Free to end our marriage.

It had been seven weeks since Paul passed away, and for every one of those weeks, I had woken up wondering if today would be the day Elias finally served me those dreaded divorce papers.

Now, sitting beside him, I could practically feel the invisible sword hanging over my head, waiting to drop. And now there was this, this new complication. This tiny, unplanned life growing inside me that neither of us had planned for. I had certainly never thought I’d end up pregnant with Elias’ child.

He’ll never believe I didn’t plan this. The thought made my throat tighten. He’d think I was using the baby as a chain, a last-minute attempt to hold onto him. He’d accuse me of manipulation, the same way he’d accused me of scheming my way into this marriage two years ago.

I couldn’t bear that again. Not when I knew how little it would take for him to walk away for good.

Blinking back tears, I stole a glance at his profile, the sight sending my already queasy stomach into knots as flashes of memory from that night filled my mind. The way he’d looked at me, his gaze burning with hunger as his hands traced a blazing path over my skin, setting me alight with every touch. The way he’d laid me across his desk, worshipping my body with his mouth and hands until I was a pleading, trembling mess. The sound of his low groans, the heat of his breath against my ear as he moved inside me, taking his pleasure while I held onto him, shattering beneath him.

For one fleeting moment, I had felt something real. A connection. Foolish, fragile hope blooming where it never should have.

Until he had whispered another woman’s name as he climaxed inside me.

Even now, the memory hit like a blade to the chest. He had been thinking about Willow, his ex, while making love to his wife.

I drew in a shaky breath and rubbed at the spot over my heart, trying to ease the ache. After that night, Elias had acted as though it had never happened. As soon as it was over, he’d gotten dressed and left the house without a word. He’d never mentioned it again, and I suspected he didn’t even remember it. He had been drinking heavily, after all.

So how was I supposed to tell him we had made a baby on a night he didn’t even remember?