Six Months Pregnant: My Fiancé Buried Me

Six Months Pregnant: My Fiancé Buried Me

Gavin

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Six months pregnant, my heart swelled with love and dreams for the future. Jack, the ambitious game developer, was my world, and our baby, a girl, was going to complete our picture-perfect life. I poured everything into supporting him, my art echoing the passion in his studio plans. But then a phone call changed everything. Sophia, a ghost from Jack's past, painted a venomous lie on the tiny phone screen, accusing me of sabotaging her stream, fueled by 'jealousy'. Jack, my Jack, turned on me instantly, his eyes colder than the Chicago wind outside our window. 'This is your fault, Emily,' he hissed, his voice a stranger's. He advanced, seizing my arm, his grip bruising despite my swollen belly. Dragged to the musty spare room, I saw the old steamer trunk, a dark, heavy relic. 'You're going to feel what she felt,' he snarled, forcing me inside. I pleaded for our baby, for our love, as he folded my limbs into the impossibly small space. The lid slammed down, and the metallic click of a padlock sealed my fate, extinguishing light and air. I died there, suffocating, my last thought of our child, our innocent daughter. He didn't come back, even as my body decomposed within inches of his everyday life. Instead, Sophia moved in, wearing my robes, rearranging my life, celebrating her triumph on our sofa. My existence, erased; my memory, maliciously rewritten. How could the man I built a life with, the man who put a ring on my finger, leave me to rot, just a few feet from where he slept? But death was not an end, merely a new beginning for my silent wrath. My spirit lingered, an unseen tormentor in the home where I died. I would whisper in his dreams, shatter his carefully constructed lies, and guide new eyes to the darkness he hid. Jack and Sophia thought they could bury me, but they would soon discover that some truths refuse to stay buried. Justice would come, even if I had to orchestrate it from the other side.

Introduction

Six months pregnant, my heart swelled with love and dreams for the future.

Jack, the ambitious game developer, was my world, and our baby, a girl, was going to complete our picture-perfect life.

I poured everything into supporting him, my art echoing the passion in his studio plans.

But then a phone call changed everything.

Sophia, a ghost from Jack's past, painted a venomous lie on the tiny phone screen, accusing me of sabotaging her stream, fueled by 'jealousy'.

Jack, my Jack, turned on me instantly, his eyes colder than the Chicago wind outside our window.

'This is your fault, Emily,' he hissed, his voice a stranger's.

He advanced, seizing my arm, his grip bruising despite my swollen belly.

Dragged to the musty spare room, I saw the old steamer trunk, a dark, heavy relic.

'You're going to feel what she felt,' he snarled, forcing me inside.

I pleaded for our baby, for our love, as he folded my limbs into the impossibly small space.

The lid slammed down, and the metallic click of a padlock sealed my fate, extinguishing light and air.

I died there, suffocating, my last thought of our child, our innocent daughter.

He didn't come back, even as my body decomposed within inches of his everyday life.

Instead, Sophia moved in, wearing my robes, rearranging my life, celebrating her triumph on our sofa.

My existence, erased; my memory, maliciously rewritten.

How could the man I built a life with, the man who put a ring on my finger, leave me to rot, just a few feet from where he slept?

But death was not an end, merely a new beginning for my silent wrath.

My spirit lingered, an unseen tormentor in the home where I died.

I would whisper in his dreams, shatter his carefully constructed lies, and guide new eyes to the darkness he hid.

Jack and Sophia thought they could bury me, but they would soon discover that some truths refuse to stay buried.

Justice would come, even if I had to orchestrate it from the other side.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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