Eight Years of Gilded Cage

ing dark. I knew I was losing too much blood. Panic, cold and s

d to pull it out. My vision was blurry, but I didn't need to see. I just needed to make one call. My

med off, leaving me to find my own way home. I was humiliated, standing alone in a sea of strangers. That's when Liam T

d I woke up in his hotel room the next morning, filled with a potent mix of shame and a strange, unfamiliar feeling of being seen. Before I lef

ang once, twice. I was about to lose consciou

el

my voice barely a croak.

ere are you?" His voi

before the phone slipped from m

ct was to touch my stomach. It was still there, a slight curve under the thin hospital blanket. A

re aw

y bed. He looked tired, his usually perfect suit was slig

I asked, m

elief. "You're both stable. You lost some blood, but the d

lipping out this time. "Thank y

e asked, his voice soft but w

uch. The world saw Mark Johnson as a successful, respectable man. They would

I lied. "It w

eadable. He knew I was lying, but h

you to a private suite. No one will bother you here." He placed a black, metallic card on

e card. "I can

oom for argument. "I'm the father, Ava. I'm go

ysical blow. He knew. Of course, he kne

w..

matters is that you're both safe now. Get

lent, powerful black card on the table. For the first time in a very long t

is life continuing on as normal through the window of my phone. He posted pictures on his social media-at a golf course wit

e watching a stranger. The man I had loved for eight years was gone, replaced by this cold