Chapter 2

I stood frozen at the entrance of Velvet Lounge, my swollen belly protruding beneath my maternity dress as I clutched the doorframe for support. The dim lighting cast a romantic glow over the intimate booths, but all I could see was my husband and my cousin, locked in their passionate embrace.

"Emma?" A server approached, concern etching her features as she took in my disheveled appearance. "Are you alright?"

I couldn't answer. My throat had closed up completely as I watched Daniel's hands slide from Rachel's hair to cup her face with a tenderness that should have been reserved for me.

"Emma!" The server tried again, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

That's when Daniel saw me. His eyes widened, hands immediately dropping from Rachel's face as if burned. Rachel turned slowly, her expression shifting from shock to something more calculated—concern, perhaps? Even now, she was playing a role.

"Emma, what are you doing here?" Daniel stood abruptly, knocking over his drink. The amber liquid spread across the table like blood.

I waddled forward, each step sending pain shooting through my lower back. The bar had gone quiet, or maybe that was just the blood rushing in my ears. I felt exposed, vulnerable—my pregnant body a grotesque spectacle under the curious stares of strangers.

"I saw the photo," I managed, my voice barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the background. "On Instagram."

Rachel stood too, smoothing her skirt with practiced nonchalance. "Oh, honey," she cooed, stepping toward me with outstretched arms. "You must be so confused."

"Don't touch me," I hissed, backing away from her reach.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair, his usual confidence faltering. "It's not what you think, Em. We were just... talking."

"Talking," I repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Rachel's smile remained fixed, though her eyes were cold as winter. "We were discussing your baby shower plans, actually. I wanted to surprise you." She held up her left hand, and I noticed for the first time that the engagement ring was gone. "The light must have made it look like... well, you know how those social media photos can be so misleading."

I stared at her, this woman who had been by my side through every doctor's appointment, who had helped me choose paint colors for the nursery. "Really? That's your explanation?"

"The only one you need," Daniel interjected, his voice taking on that placating tone he used when he thought I was being unreasonable. "Emma, you're overreacting. Pregnancy hormones and all that."

The baby kicked sharply, as if responding to my rising anger. Then came a different sensation—a tightening across my abdomen that made me gasp.

"Oh," I whispered, doubling over as the pain intensified.

Daniel's expression shifted from concern to annoyance. "Emma, don't do this here."

Rachel leaned in close to a nearby couple who had been watching the scene unfold. "She's always been so dramatic," she stage-whispered. "Pregnancy has made it worse. Always needing attention."

The pain came again, stronger this time. Early contractions. Too early.

"I need to go," I gasped, clutching my belly.

"Let me drive you," Daniel offered halfheartedly.

"No," I managed through gritted teeth. "Just stay... stay away from me."

I turned and waddled back toward the exit, feeling their eyes on my back. No one followed me out.

The drive home was a blur of pain and tears. Each contraction sent waves of agony through my body as I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. By the time I reached our building, the contractions were coming every ten minutes.

"Please hold on, baby," I whispered to my unborn daughter as I dragged myself up to our penthouse. "Just a little longer."

I fumbled for my phone, dialing my obstetrician's number with trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Winters' office is closed. This is an emergency service..."

I left a frantic message but knew it would be hours before anyone called back. It was past midnight now, and Daniel still hadn't returned home.

I collapsed onto our bed—our bed where we'd conceived our daughter—and curled around my belly as another contraction hit.

"He's not coming back tonight," I realized aloud, the truth of it settling over me like a shroud.

I spent the night drifting between fitful sleep and painful wakefulness, each contraction more intense than the last.

When morning finally came, I heard movement in the kitchen. Daniel was home.

I dragged myself from bed and made my way to the kitchen doorway. There he stood, whistling cheerfully as he prepared coffee, his phone buzzing incessantly on the counter.

"Morning," he said casually, not meeting my eyes as he checked his messages. Whatever he saw made him frown slightly before he quickly tucked the phone away.

"You're up early," he added, pouring coffee into his favorite mug.

"Daniel," I said, my voice hoarse from crying, "we need to talk about last night."

He sighed dramatically, turning to face me with an expression of exaggerated patience. "Emma, there's nothing to talk about. You misunderstood what you saw."

"I saw you kissing Rachel."

"You saw us talking," he corrected firmly. "Your pregnancy hormones are making you paranoid."

As he spoke, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at it quickly, then slipped it into his pocket.

"Who keeps texting you?" I asked.

"Work stuff," he said dismissively. "Look, you're upset and emotional right now. Let's discuss this when you've calmed down."

He brushed past me, coffee in hand, leaving me standing alone in our kitchen with the weight of his betrayal pressing down on me heavier than my unborn child ever could.