My fiancé, Ethan, and I were planning our dream wedding in a country club brimming with lilies and privilege. Then, I saw her: Molly, the intern, visibly pregnant, looking distraught. Ethan rushed to her side, his gesture possessive, his absence a familiar sting. He returned, announcing her pregnancy was "a one-time mistake" but "she carries the child, and you don't have to go through the trouble. We'll raise the baby as ours. It's a perfect solution." His words hit me like a physical blow, a callous disregard for the miscarriage I' d just hidden, caused by his own genetic issue. Despite the humiliation and public admonishment from Ethan later, I was forced to play the part of the compliant fiancée. I watched as my life was moved to a guest room in the penthouse that was supposed to be our home, while Molly, propped up like a queen, directed movers and even demanded I cook her seafood risotto – knowing full well I knew about her shellfish allergy. My attempt to expose her resulted in Ethan violently attacking me and dragging me to the hospital to apologize. How could he be so blind? So cruel? How could he not see the manipulation, the cold calculation in her eyes? Why was I, his fiancée, being punished for their secret? But in that hospital room, a flicker of light: Molly' s O-negative blood type on her medical bracelet. Ethan' s AB-positive. A baby couldn' t inherit that combination. The child wasn't his. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The love died. The war began.
My fiancé, Ethan, and I were planning our dream wedding in a country club brimming with lilies and privilege. Then, I saw her: Molly, the intern, visibly pregnant, looking distraught. Ethan rushed to her side, his gesture possessive, his absence a familiar sting.
He returned, announcing her pregnancy was "a one-time mistake" but "she carries the child, and you don't have to go through the trouble. We'll raise the baby as ours. It's a perfect solution." His words hit me like a physical blow, a callous disregard for the miscarriage I' d just hidden, caused by his own genetic issue.
Despite the humiliation and public admonishment from Ethan later, I was forced to play the part of the compliant fiancée. I watched as my life was moved to a guest room in the penthouse that was supposed to be our home, while Molly, propped up like a queen, directed movers and even demanded I cook her seafood risotto – knowing full well I knew about her shellfish allergy. My attempt to expose her resulted in Ethan violently attacking me and dragging me to the hospital to apologize.
How could he be so blind? So cruel? How could he not see the manipulation, the cold calculation in her eyes? Why was I, his fiancée, being punished for their secret?
But in that hospital room, a flicker of light: Molly' s O-negative blood type on her medical bracelet. Ethan' s AB-positive. A baby couldn' t inherit that combination. The child wasn't his. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The love died. The war began.
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