Eight years. Eight years of quiet longing, finally answered. Sarah Miller stared at the positive pregnancy test, her hand trembling slightly, a small, hopeful smile touching her lips. This was it. Mark and she were finally going to be parents. Their whispered dream was coming true. Her phone buzzed. An unknown Instagram account. A direct message. Curiosity pricked. She pressed play. The shaky video captured Mark' s unmistakable voice: "...after eight years, the spark just isn't the same with Sarah." Her blood ran cold. The hopeful smile vanished, replaced by a stark, gaping void. The pregnancy test clattered to the floor. Her world tilted. A flash in a mirror revealed Chloe Davis, the intern from Mark' s firm. Suddenly, the "late nights" and phone secrecy clicked. This wasn't just a fading spark; an illicit fire was being stoked. The cruelty was a physical blow, especially on this day. The next morning, at the OB-GYN, her confirmed pregnancy felt hollow. Leaving, she saw them: Mark, his arm around a limping Chloe. His tone dismissive: "Another fertility consultation, Sarah? Don' t stress." The cloying perfume, now familiar, suffocated her. How could he be so casually cruel, so protective of his "mentee," oblivious to what she carried? Her voice dangerously quiet, Sarah pulled out her phone. "A mentee?" she asked, and held up the screen, letting Mark's recorded betrayal fill the air. The truth was out. This was war.
Eight years.
Eight years of quiet longing, finally answered.
Sarah Miller stared at the positive pregnancy test, her hand trembling slightly, a small, hopeful smile touching her lips.
This was it. Mark and she were finally going to be parents. Their whispered dream was coming true.
Her phone buzzed.
An unknown Instagram account. A direct message.
Curiosity pricked. She pressed play.
The shaky video captured Mark' s unmistakable voice: "...after eight years, the spark just isn't the same with Sarah."
Her blood ran cold. The hopeful smile vanished, replaced by a stark, gaping void.
The pregnancy test clattered to the floor.
Her world tilted.
A flash in a mirror revealed Chloe Davis, the intern from Mark' s firm.
Suddenly, the "late nights" and phone secrecy clicked.
This wasn't just a fading spark; an illicit fire was being stoked.
The cruelty was a physical blow, especially on this day.
The next morning, at the OB-GYN, her confirmed pregnancy felt hollow.
Leaving, she saw them: Mark, his arm around a limping Chloe.
His tone dismissive: "Another fertility consultation, Sarah? Don' t stress."
The cloying perfume, now familiar, suffocated her.
How could he be so casually cruel, so protective of his "mentee," oblivious to what she carried?
Her voice dangerously quiet, Sarah pulled out her phone.
"A mentee?" she asked, and held up the screen, letting Mark's recorded betrayal fill the air.
The truth was out. This was war.
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