The Photographer's Deceptive Lens

y Wal

was a frantic whisper, a stark contrast to the clipped, impatient tone he'd used with me just h

hock mirrored Isolde's momentary silence on the other end. Eve

e hopes I'd secretly harbored, the tiny spark of excitement about our anniversary, about the news I was carrying, flicke

Hailey. He' d even picked out names. I' d imagined telling him, se

rough my despair. Her tone was innocent, almost childlike,

grip on his sleeve tightened. "It's his

I... I didn't realize. Austen, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have call

-crossing his face. "Hailey, it's just a fashion show. It's j

my "jobs" were on the line? When had he ever offered to drop everything, just because I was "desperate"? His "incompetence" wit

with unspoken accusations and the clamo

ity. "Hailey's right. It's not fair to her. I'll... I'll figure it out. I'll fin

n. He frantically pressed his phone against his ear, ho

yanked his arm from my grasp, his fingers digging into my arm as he pushed my hand away.

oice low and dangerous. "Are you trying to rui

e he openly disparaged as "little influencer shoots"-that was never important enough for him to even pretend to pick up a

, the start of our family. I had endured weeks of nausea, the fatigue that stole my energy, the constant worry about my brand deals, knowing my bod

he was, raging

ched, a deep, hollow pain. This wasn't just about a secret, o

t, throwing in clothes with furious efficiency. "I have to go. She needs me. I'll c

andle. "You should get some rest, Hailey.

, broken and desperate. "Don't go. Please. If

thought he might turn around. He might see me,

und of weary resignat

of our apartment. I stood there, rooted to the spot, listening to his footst

ll, tentative touch. My baby, I thought, a fr

was still on the screen. My fingers, still trembling from

. "I'd like to confirm my appointment for today. And... I don't think