The little plastic stick felt cool and smooth in Issa's trembling hand. Two lines. Faint, yet undeniably there. A new life. Her breath hitched, a shaky sound of pure, disbelieving wonder. It was impossibly, miraculously positive.

After four long, agonizing years of wishing, countless doctor's visits, and heartbreaking disappointments, this time, it was real. A baby. Their own baby. The impossible dream had finally, miraculously become true.

Hot and sweet tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't wait to tell Marcus. This will fix everything, she thought, a surge of desperate hope flooding her chest. This will bring back the man I married.

A low, rhythmic moaning drifted from the bedroom, slicing through the fragile bubble of her joy. Issa froze, the plastic stick almost forgotten in her hand. What was that? Her brow furrowed, a small, uneasy frown creeping onto her face.

It was too early for Marcus to be home. He'd called, hadn't he? Said he was tied up at the office. Just stress, Issa. Don't be ridiculous. It's just... the house settling. She tried to rationalize, tried to dismiss the cold dread beginning to coil in her gut.

He'd been distant lately-his once bright eyes now dull with what she couldn't decipher, his warm laughter replaced with tired sighs even when he didn't need rest. He had suddenly started keeping late nights at the office, although he explained that it was due to the pressure of his new project. But also, his once loving touch had grown hesitant, then absent. The tender kisses he used to give her every morning before going out and at night before bed had turned into quick pecks, which she even had to remind him of.

But of all these, she had told herself, it's just stress. She'd come back to him when the project was over, when life settled. This baby, she had silently prayed, would be their fresh start. Their reconnection.

The moaning intensified. It was no longer a faint sound, but a clear grunting. And it wasn't just Marcus's voice. There was a second voice-soft and breathy. A woman.

Cold and sharp fear coiled in Issa's stomach. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, faster than her breath could catch. Her fingers tightened around the slender white stick as she walked towards the bedroom door. This time, the sound grew louder, clearer, leaving no room for denial.

No. Please, no. This can't be happening.

She pushed the door open-slowly at first, then she let it swing wide.

The scene unfolded before her in that hot, vibrant afternoon light. Marcus and Sarah-his best friend's wife. Naked. Legs on hips, skin sleek with sweat on their marital bed. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air, nauseating and suffocating.

Issa stood there. She did not scream. She did not cry. Her breath paused-and then it seemed to stop altogether. Her mind went numb. She simply watched the man she loved, the man she'd just discovered was to be the father of her child, thrusting into another woman frantically.

And the woman was the same person who had shared their dinner table with them, laughed at their jokes, and listened to her heartaches. Her gaze was fixed on the sinful, unacceptable act being displayed before her. She stood there, unblinking, looking at Marcus's face ruffling in the disgusting pleasure with his eyes closed.

How could he? How could they? The questions screamed in her silent mind, but no sound escaped her lips.

And just like someone had tapped him, his eyes flickered open-and they met hers.

His body paused for a few seconds, stiffened in subtle fear. Sarah, who was still beneath him, shifted her body, her eyes still closed and oblivious to what was going on. Marcus's eyes were wide with shock, and then, just like someone who was possessed, he continued thrusting into Sarah.

He didn't stop.

He looked at her-like truly looked at her-standing there in the doorway, the small white pregnancy test clutched in her hand. And still, he continued. His gaze held hers, looking her eyeballs to eyeballs, not wavering. The rhythmic thrusts continued, faster than before. He watched her watching him, until his body tensed, a low groan escaped his lips, and then he arched his hips, spilling himself into Sarah.

It was in that moment, as his eyes closed again while he savoured the aftermath of his pleasure, that the dam broke.

It wasn't a trickle, but a river of hot, steaming, uncontrollable tears. They streamed down Issa's face, blurring the horrible image before her-but the tears were not enough to erase the feeling of being torn to pieces from the inside out. Her knees wiggled, and she immediately gripped the doorframe, trying to remain upright, trying not to collapse.

The joy, the hope, the impossible, miraculous baby-all of it had turned to dust. All those things were crushed.

Then finally, when she regained her voice-

"I want a divorce," she broke out in a raw, crackling whisper.

The words felt foreign on her tongue, yet utterly, undeniably right.

Marcus, who was still tangled with Sarah, flinched. His eyes snapped open again, sharper this time, a flicker of something more like genuine surprise than remorse.

He pushed himself off Sarah, hastily grabbing a sheet, his body still reeking of his recent pleasure. Sarah whimpered in surprise and shame, pulling the sheet higher.

"Issa, wait. No. Don't be ridiculous," Marcus said, his voice flat, dismissive. He didn't even sound like he cared. "Come on... this... this is nothing. It's just a mistake. I mean, we can fix this." He started to rise, taking a step toward her.

Issa stared at him, tears still flowing like a hot river down her cold cheeks. Her jaw tightened.

"Fix this?" Her voice was low and crowded with tears, thick with disbelief. "There is nothing left to fix, Marcus. It's done. We are done. I want a divorce."

How dare he? How dare he try to minimize this?

She took a step back, her hand dropping from the doorframe, the pregnancy test falling silently to the carpet.

Marcus's jaw tightened. The feigned remorse vanished completely. His eyes hardened, glinting with a cold, possessive light she had never seen directed at her before.

"A divorce?" he scoffed, pushing the sheet away. He stood, naked, displaying his dominance, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"You must be joking, Issa. You're not divorcing me. Don't be stupid. You don't get to walk away."

He took another step, closing the distance between them.

"You're mine. And I own you."