Chapter 7
After breaking the news of her pregnancy to Ryan, Eleanor had secretly clung to a small hope that things might shift between them, even just a little.
Yet absolutely nothing changed. Ryan did accompany her to one prenatal appointment.
Dressed in a crisp, tailored suit, he sat rigidly on the hospital corridor bench, checking his phone four times and taking two work calls throughout the entire visit.
When the ultrasound doctor happily announced the baby had a strong, steady heartbeat, Ryan was stuck on a call down the hall and never heard a single word.
Stepping out of the exam area with the ultrasound report in hand, Eleanor found him already off the phone, head bowed as he typed out replies. The screen's blue glow cast a cold, distant shadow over his unemotional face.
"Let's head home," he said simply, not even bothering to glance at the medical report in her grasp.
Eleanor folded the paper neatly and slipped it into her handbag.
"Ryan," she called his name softly.
"Yeah?" Ryan replied.
"Are you happy?" Eleanor asked.
Ryan paused for a split second, clearly caught off guard by her direct question. "Of course I am," he replied flatly, his tone as bland as making a casual comment about the weather.
Searching his eyes for even a glimmer of genuine joy, Eleanor found nothing but weariness and the same indifference he always carried.
She dropped the subject and said no more.
Days slipped into a dull, monotonous routine. No visible baby bump showed yet, but morning sickness grew more severe by the day.
By the time she crouched over the toilet retching each morning, Ryan was already gone for work. On lonely nights when she had no appetite to eat alone, he still hadn't returned home.
One afternoon, the nausea hit harder than usual. She sent Ryan a quiet, vulnerable message: [I'm feeling really unwell today. Could you come home early?]
His reply was cold and brief: [I have a work dinner commitment.]
Staring at those three plain words, Eleanor suddenly felt foolish for holding onto any faint hope at all. What had she even been expecting?
For a man who never put her first to suddenly turn into a caring, attentive husband just because she was pregnant? For someone who couldn't even remember her birthday to start checking in on her daily comfort and health?
Turning off her phone screen, Eleanor boiled water on her own, made herself a warm herbal beverage, and sat alone on the sofa sipping it slowly.
On the coffee table sat a pregnancy guide she'd just bought. The cover read: [A Guide to Happiness for Expecting Mothers.]
Eleanor stared at that word "Happiness", feeling like it was a million miles away from her.
Lucas still messaged her regularly.
Random snapshots of his daily life, offhand casual remarks, and silly memes popped up in their chat box every few days. Eleanor mostly ignored them entirely, replying with one or two short words on rare occasions.
She told herself it was just idle entertainment to pass her lonely hours.
She had no intention of telling him about her pregnancy.
That night had been nothing more than a one-time accident, best left buried in the past.
One day, Lucas sent a photo of a home-cooked meal he'd prepared himself. The plating was simple and unrefined, yet he'd arranged every ingredient with obvious care.
A sudden craving stirred in Eleanor's chest. For once in weeks, she actually felt hungry.
She replied: [Looks pretty good.]
Lucas shot back instantly: [Whoa, you finally gave me a compliment. I'm seriously moved!]
Eleanor couldn't help but laugh and asked: [You made it yourself?]
[Who else would cook for me? You think I'd hire a Michelin chef to make meals and lie about cooking them myself? Not gonna lie, I did seriously consider that plan though.]
Light laughter bubbled up easily from her chest. She realized she smiled far more often chatting casually with Lucas than she had in an entire month living alongside Ryan.
Lucas typed: [You never hang out anymore. I ask you out for meals all the time, and you always turn me down.]
Eleanor's fingers froze over the screen.
Finally, she replied: [I haven't been feeling well lately.]
Lucas asked: [Are you sick? What's wrong with you?]
Long hesitation lingered in her heart. She didn't even know why, but before she realized it, her fingers had already typed the words and hit send: [I'm pregnant.]
A long, heavy silence stretched on after the message went through.
It lasted so long that Eleanor assumed he would never reply at all.
Then her phone vibrated once.
Lucas asked: [Whose child is it?]
Staring at those words, Eleanor had no idea how to answer.
She stayed quiet, and Lucas dropped the subject entirely without further prying.
Still, his messages grew far more frequent after that day. There were no pushy questions or awkward prying, only gentle daily check-ins, like "What did you eat today, Ellie?" "Remember to wear an extra layer outdoors," "Try to get to bed early tonight."
It was as if he feared she'd disappear completely from his life.
Reading those quiet, caring messages left Eleanor with tangled, conflicting emotions she couldn't untangle.
She knew she should block his number for good. She knew she was playing with fire, walking a dangerous line between secrecy and temptation.
Yet Eleanor couldn't bring herself to cut him off.
This was partly because of a crippling loneliness, born of being starved for a genuine care that no one else in her life had ever given her, and partly because of a quiet, unacknowledged soft spot she'd slowly developed for this twenty-two-year-old young man.
Still, that faint spark of fondness was never enough to change the fixed path her life was already on.
She was married, pregnant, her future already mapped out with no room for unexpected detours.