Half a million dollars for my signature. After my husband’s mistress became pregnant with twins, his family offered me half a million dollars to sign the divorce papers. I signed without hesitation and left the country. It was only when he was secretly planning his wedding to the other woman that he received the divorce decree and my own positive pregnancy test, leaving him in shock.

My name is Sophie.

That night, the rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sound was like someone drumming a slow, heavy rhythm on my heart. I was in the kitchen warming up the beef stew Ethan loved so much when his phone vibrated again. Ethan was in the shower and had left it on the counter. The screen lit up with a name I’d never seen before.

Clara.

I’m not the type to snoop. In 5 years of marriage, I had learned that to live peacefully in another family’s world, you have to maintain appearances and mutual respect. But that name kept flashing. And when the third call came, Ethan’s voice echoed from the bathroom, slightly irritated.

“Sophie, can you get that for me, please?”

I picked up the phone with icy fingers. I had barely brought it to my ear when a choked voice on the other end said,

“E, I’m scared.”

Ethan burst out of the shower and reflexively snatched the phone from my hand. He turned his back to me, and his voice suddenly softened, becoming as plush as cotton.

“Calm down, sweetheart. I’m here. Don’t cry. I’ll take care of everything.”

I stood paralyzed in the middle of the kitchen. The spoon in my hand fell to the tiled floor with a sharp, piercing clatter. A small sound that seemed to fracture the entire house. From that night on, everything changed color. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, went 3 months without calling me once. The family dinners she once insisted on hosting were now just cold memories. My father-in-law, Arthur, always a man of few words, would look at me as if I were a worn-out piece of furniture. And Ethan, Ethan still came home, but like a visitor. The collar and cuffs of his shirt sometimes carried a sweet, unfamiliar perfume. I told myself it could be a client, a colleague. I repeated it so often that when I said it aloud, it sounded like a lie to my own ears. This morning, my phone rang. It was an unknown number, but as soon as I answered, I recognized my mother-in-law’s voice. It no longer held the feigned sweetness of my dear girl, but a tone as cold and sharp as a hammer.

“Sophie, be at the estate today at 3:00.”

I gripped the phone, my hand trembling slightly. It had been 3 months since I’d heard her voice.

“Yes, Mom. I’ll be there.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she interrupted.

“You’re about to lose that right. 3:00 sharp. If you’re a minute late, don’t bother coming through the gates.”

The click of the phone hanging up was like a slap. I stood in the middle of the living room, looking out at the manicured gardens of our Greenwich, Connecticut home, where I had lived for 5 years. Suddenly, it felt as foreign as a stranger’s house. The orchids Ethan had given me, whose leaves I had tended one by one, now seemed to droop. The matching tea set on the kitchen shelf, which I had washed until my hands ached, now seemed like a bad joke. My best friend Anne called right after, her voice panicked.

“Sophie, it’s all over the internet. Ethan was photographed going to an OB/GYN appointment with her. My god, she’s pregnant.”

I opened my phone and clicked the link Anne had sent. The photo was sharp. Ethan had his arm around a young woman’s shoulders, her baby bump visible beneath a loose dress. She was smiling broadly. The smile of someone who knows victory is in her grasp. Ethan was leaning in, his hand supporting her elbow, his gaze full of the same tenderness that had once belonged to me. The headline read,

“Billionaire heir’s wife, sidelined as husband escorts new partner to ultrasound, expecting twins.”

I didn’t cry. It was strange. My heart ached, but my eyes were dry, as if all my tears had run out that night Ethan called another woman’s sweetheart. At 2:50 p.m., I was in front of the gates of the family estate in the Connecticut countryside. The estate was the family’s gathering place, an imposing property with staff always coming and going, the hedges trimmed with military precision, as if the slightest disorder was a disgrace to the family name. I had once thought of this place as my home. Now, looking at the row iron gates, I felt like I was entering a courtroom. The gatekeeper, Mr. Henderson, opened them for me. He looked at me with a hint of pity in his eyes.

“Miss Sophie, Mrs. Montgomery is in the study.”

“Thank you, Mr. Henderson.”

I walked down the long hallway, the sound of my heels echoing with each step. The scent of old wood and beeswax was the same as always, but the chill in the air felt different. I stopped in front of the study door, took a deep breath, and knocked twice. When I opened the door, I saw my mother-in-law sitting ramrod straight in her armchair. My father-in-law was beside her, his face expressionless. On the coffee table between them was a stack of papers perfectly aligned as if prepared long ago. I approached and greeted them with the required formality.

“Good afternoon.”

“Sit,” Arthur said, gesturing to the chair opposite them without another word.

I sat, my back straight, my hands clasped in my lap. In 5 years as a daughter-in-law, the one thing I had learned best was how to maintain my composure, even if a storm was raging inside. Eleanor got straight to the point.

“I assume you’re already aware of Ethan’s affair with Clara.”

“Yes,” I answered quietly.

Arthur picked up the papers and pushed them toward me.

“Clara is 3 months pregnant.”

“With twins?”

I heard the word twins, and it was as if something inside me shattered. For the past 5 years, I had gone to countless consultations. I had taken so many supplements, tried so many remedies, listened to so much advice. I had sat alone in doctor’s offices hearing them say,

“We just have to keep trying.”

While forcing a polite smile as the pain choked me. And now someone else on her first try had not one but two. Eleanor watched me, her voice so neutral she could have been negotiating a business deal.

“This family needs a successor. If you can’t provide us with heirs, at least don’t occupy the position.”

I let out a short, dry laugh, not of amusement, but because I felt so foolish. Foolish for thinking patience would be rewarded with affection. Foolish for believing my efforts would ever be acknowledged.

“So, you’ve brought me here today to tell me I need to step aside gracefully,” I asked.

Eleanor nodded coldly.

“You sign the divorce papers, and our family will compensate you.”

Arthur tapped the papers lightly.

“Here’s the agreement. Sign it and the family will wire you half a million dollars. It’s enough for you to live on for the rest of your life.”

I looked at the number. I didn’t know much about business, but I understood that to them half a million dollars was a minor inconvenience, while to me it represented an entire lifetime. And there it was written on paper as simple as the price tag on a piece of merchandise. I turned the pages. In addition to the money, there were restrictive clauses. I could not speak to the press. I could not contact any journalists. I could not use the title of ex-wife for personal gain. And finally, a clause that chilled me to the bone.

“Upon signing, you have 7 days to leave the United States. You may not return for 3 years.”

I looked up.

“You want to exile me?”

Eleanor answered immediately without hesitation.

“It’s for your own good. What would you stay here for? To watch Ethan marry someone else? To see them with two children in their arms? Take the money and start over?”

It sounded like concern, but I knew the truth. They were afraid my presence would be an inconvenience, a stain on their reputation, a complication for Ethan. They wanted me to disappear cleanly, like a smudge you rub away until it’s gone. I gripped the edges of the paper and asked slowly,

“And if I don’t sign?”

Arthur’s gaze darkened.

“Then we’ll go to court. But you know how court is. Not only will you get no money, but you’ll end up with a ruined reputation. Whose side do you think the public will be on? A woman who can’t have children can be blamed for all sorts of things.”

I felt a shiver, not of fear, but of coldness. The coldness of seeing how people could turn white into black, using fame and money to crush one woman. Eleanor added one last sentence like a final seal.

“Choose your path. But remember one thing, your dignity is also this family’s dignity. Don’t make things difficult for us.”

I looked at the two people in front of me and suddenly remembered the first days of my marriage. Eleanor had taken my hand and said,

“Now that you’re here, you’re part of the family.”

And I had believed her. I had believed her so much that I’d forgotten that in this world, even being family has an expiration date. I stood up and bowed my head with the required formality.

“Excuse me, I’m asking for three days to think it over.”

Arthur nodded.

“Three days, not one more.”

I turned and walked out. As I crossed the long hallway, my legs felt light, as if they weren’t touching the floor. When I reached the courtyard, it began to rain. The drops hit my face cold and sharp. I stood under the portico for a moment, unsure if it was rain or tears wetting my lashes. I only knew one thing. When they offered me half a million dollars in exchange for my signature, my 5-year marriage had just been priced in their eyes. And in the next 3 days, I would have to decide whether to cling to something already rotten, or to let it all go to save myself. I arrived back at the house as dusk fell. The rain was still coming down, a persistent drizzle, not loud, but constant, as if wanting to prolong the ache in one’s heart. I opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of the stew I had left warming that morning still lingered in the kitchen. But the house was strangely empty. So empty I could hear my own heart beating and the ticking of the wall clock counting down the three days Arthur had given me. I took off my shoes and sank onto the sofa. My hands were still shaking slightly, not from fear, but from the feeling of being trapped, forced to choose between two equally bitter options. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to even my breathing. But the harder I tried to calm down, the louder the words from the estate echoed in my head. Don’t call me mom. If you can’t provide us with heirs. At least don’t occupy the position. Half a million dollars. Seven days to leave the country. When I reached the last phrase, I burst out laughing. A dry, humorless laugh. The laugh of someone with nothing left to hold on to. It’s for your own good, they’d said, but really they just wanted me to disappear. They wanted everything neat and tidy without a single scratch on the family’s reputation. And I was that scratch, a daughter-in-law who couldn’t have children, a wife whose expiration date had passed. The phone vibrated. It was Anne. Sophie, are you okay? Her voice was low, restrained.

“I’m fine,” I said.

But even I didn’t believe the words. How could I be fine? They’re tearing you apart online. Some are saying you were just living off them. That you got kicked out because you couldn’t have kids. My god, I read that and wanted to smash my phone. I remained silent, not because I wasn’t angry, but because I knew anger was useless. Public opinion is like the wind. It blows in whatever direction is most convenient. Ethan was the golden boy. Clara was the future mother of twins, and I was the one left behind. They might pity me for a moment, insult me to feel better about themselves, but then they would forget. Only I wouldn’t forget, Anne continued, her voice urgent.

“What are you going to do? Don’t tell me you’re going to sign. I can’t stand the thought of them getting married while kicking you out of the country like you’re a bag of trash.”

The image of a bag of trash pierced my heart.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said quietly. “I have 3 days.”

Anne sighed.

“Sophie, listen to me. Whether you sign or not, you need a plan B. Don’t let them push you off a cliff. Do you have any documents? Anything related to your joint assets? Take pictures. Save everything. And please eat something. If you fall apart, they’ll be the ones who are happy.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

Anne was right. For 5 years, I had been too gentle. So gentle, they thought I had no claws. I didn’t want revenge. I didn’t want to do anything dirty, but I also didn’t want to be backed into a corner where I couldn’t even defend myself. I hung up and sat looking around the living room. On the mantlepiece, our wedding photo was still there, Ethan and I smiling under an arch of white flowers. That day before we went up to our suite, Ethan had taken my hand and whispered,

“Sophie, from now on, I’ll take care of you.”

And I had believed him. I had believed him so much that I’d forgotten that in this life, a promise without the morality to back it up is worth less than the paper it’s written on. The front door opened, the sound of a car in the driveway. I glanced at the clock. Almost 700 p.m. Ethan was home unusually early. My heart against my will tightened. How, after 5 years together, could the mere sound of his car already feel like a knife twisting inside me? Ethan walked in, still in his work shirt, but not his usual impeccable self. The collar was slightly rumpled, his shirt untucked. He looked at me for a moment, then bent down to take off his shoes. It wasn’t the look of a husband, but of someone gauging a reaction.

“Where did you go this afternoon?” he asked.

I went straight to the point. To the estate. Ethan paused for a moment, then walked into the living room and sat on the sofa opposite me. He tried to keep his voice normal.

“What did my parents say to you?”

I looked him straight in the eye. I wanted to see if there was any feeling left there, but Ethan avoided my gaze.

“They said they’d give me half a million dollars to sign the divorce papers and send me out of the country.”

Ethan was silent for so long that his silence became the answer. If he had opposed it, he would have reacted immediately. But he didn’t. I managed a faint smile.

“And what do you think?”

Ethan’s brow furrowed, his voice weary.

“Sophie, please don’t make this difficult for me.”

That sentence was like a slap. I asked, articulating each word.

“Am I making things difficult for you, or did you make them difficult for me?”

He sighed, sinking back into the sofa.

“I never wanted it to come to this. But Clara, she’s pregnant and it’s twins. My parents, you know how they are. For them, the bloodline comes first.”

I felt like someone was squeezing my throat.

“And me?” I asked. “What am I?”

“You’re my wife,” he said quietly.

I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard my eyes started to burn.

“If I’m your wife, why did you go with another woman to an OB/GYN appointment? Why do you call her sweetheart on the phone? Why do your parents summon me to the estate like I’m a stranger coming to sign a sales contract?”

Ethan’s face tensed, his voice rising slightly, but it was an anger tinged with helplessness.

“Sophie, what did you want me to do? Abandon her? Abandon my children?”

I looked at Ethan and saw clearly how he was shifting all the blame onto me, as if he’d been forced into it. As if he were just a victim of circumstance.

“You didn’t have to abandon anyone,” I said. “You just had to not betray me. But you already did.”

Ethan opened his mouth to speak but gave up. A moment later, he said in a heavier tone, like someone who had already rehearsed his speech,

“I’m sorry.”

I heard those two words and felt an immense emptiness. Would an apology fix anything? Would it resurrect our marriage? Would it make the babies in Clara’s womb disappear?

“Do you love her?” I asked.

More for myself than for him.

Ethan was silent. Then he gave a barely perceptible nod.

“I do. Very much.”

I felt my heart sink. It was no longer a sharp pain, but a heavy weight, like a stone dropping to the bottom of a river. When the man you love says he loves someone else, all your efforts become meaningless. I stood up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. My hand trembled slightly as I held the glass. I turned my back to him so he wouldn’t see my red-rimmed eyes. I spoke with surprising calm.

“You came here to tell me to sign, didn’t you?”

Ethan stood and followed me, keeping a slight distance.

“Sophie, I don’t want you to suffer. Sign it, take the money, go abroad, and start over. Staying here will only hurt you more.”

I turned and looked at him.

“Are you saying that because you’re worried about me or because you’re worried your reputation will be tarnished?”

Ethan hesitated for just a second, but it was long enough for me to understand. I set the water glass on the counter and said slowly,

“In 5 years as your wife, I never asked you to buy me houses or cars. I never put you in a difficult position with your parents. I only asked for one thing—loyalty—and you couldn’t give me that.”

He lowered his head.

“I’m sorry.”

I sighed. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I knew the more I spoke, the more dignity I would lose. I asked one last question, like a final nail in the coffin.

“If I don’t sign, what will you do?”

Ethan looked up. There was a glint of coldness in his eyes. The coldness of someone who had been instructed by someone else to be tough.

“My father has already hired lawyers. Sophie, don’t make things worse.”

I understood. If I didn’t sign amicably, they would use the law against me, and when they did, they would have the money, the lawyers, and public opinion on their side. And I had nothing but empty hands and the reputation of being unable to have children. That night, Ethan slept on the sofa in the living room. I lay in our bedroom staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t sleep. I could only hear the rain and my own heart, and I wondered where I had gone wrong. Was it because I couldn’t have children that I deserve to be traded for money? In the end, is a woman’s value always measured by her ability to get pregnant? Around midnight, I got a text from Anne.

“Don’t let them break you. If you have to leave, leave with your head held high.”

I looked at the message and tears finally fell onto the pillow. I didn’t want to be broken. I also didn’t want to turn into a crazy woman who ruins her ex-husband’s wedding. I just wanted justice. But life is rarely just. I opened the closet and took out a small wooden box. Inside were all my medical records from the past few years. Test results, prescriptions, papers that proved just how hard I had tried. I picked up each sheet, my heart aching. If I signed, I would lose my husband. But if I didn’t sign, I might also lose my honor. 3 days. They had given me three days. I lay back, hugged the pillow, and whispered to myself,

“Sophie, don’t let yourself fall. Not for anyone. For yourself.”

That night, I barely slept. I lay facing the wall, listening to the rain subside outside and the sound of Ethan shifting in the living room. Every time he coughed or turned over, my heart jumped as if our five years together refused to let me go. I closed my eyes, but the image of that afternoon at the estate persisted. My mother-in-law’s cold voice, my father-in-law’s calculating gaze, and the stack of white divorce papers on the table, like a death sentence. I dozed off briefly toward morning, but woke with a wave of intense nausea. The feeling was strange. I ran to the bathroom and dry heaved, nothing coming up. I looked at myself in the mirror, my face pale, my lips dry. I tried to calm myself. It must be the lack of sleep, the overwhelming stress. I had barely eaten in days. It was normal for my body to protest. I washed my face, got dressed, and went down to the kitchen to fix a glass of milk. Ethan was already awake, smoking by the window. The cigarette smoke hung in the air, and the strong smell made me feel even more nauseous.

“E, I’m going out for a while today,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He turned to look at me.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting Anne, and then I’m going to the hospital for some tests.”

I told a half-truth, a half lie. In reality, I didn’t even know what tests I wanted. I just felt that something was off with my body, and I needed a definitive answer from a doctor, good or bad. Ethan nodded without asking any more questions. In the past, he would have worried if I so much as sneezed. Now, I was going to the hospital alone, and he seemed not to care at all. I left the house and took a deep breath. The morning air, still damp from the rain, helped clear my head. I called Anne and arranged to meet her later. Then I took a cab to my usual private clinic. Sitting in the waiting room, watching the other women with their round bellies, holding hands with their husbands, I felt the urge to look down. I had sat here before with the same fragile hope they had, but I had always left with the same result. Not yet. I told myself I was used to it. But today, my heart was beating faster than usual. The doctor was a middle-aged woman with a gentle voice. She asked a few questions about my symptoms, my cycle. When I told her about the recent nausea and fatigue, she looked at me more closely and ordered some tests. I waited for the results, my heart empty. I didn’t dare to hope. Hope had betrayed me too many times. About half an hour later, the doctor called my name. I walked into her office, clutching my purse tightly.

“Mrs. Montgomery,” she said in a steady voice. “The results indicate that you are pregnant.”

I froze. My ears were ringing as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over my head. I asked again, my voice trembling.

“Doctor, what did you say?”

“You’re pregnant. About 6 weeks along. Your levels are stable for now, but your body is a bit weak. We’ll need to monitor you closely.”

I don’t remember how I walked out of the office. I only remember the results sheet trembling in my hand. 6 weeks. 6 weeks. I did the math in my head. 6 weeks ago, Ethan was still sleeping in the same room as me before he moved to the living room before he publicly took Clara to her appointment. I sat on a bench in the hallway. My stomach was still flat with no outward sign. And yet, inside me, a tiny life was growing. 5 years of longing, 5 years of waiting. The child I thought I would never have had arrived at the exact moment everything was falling apart. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Laugh with joy, cry with bitterness. Why was life so ironic? If this baby had come just a little sooner, would everything have been different? Or even if it had, would I still be the one not chosen? Anne found me at the clinic. Seeing me sitting there in a daze, she grew worried.

“Sophie, what’s wrong? Is the appointment over?”

I looked up at her and the tears came uncontrollably. I handed her the paper. She took it, read it, and her eyes widened. Suddenly, she pulled me into a tight hug.

“Oh my god, Sophie, you’re pregnant.”

I started sobbing in her arms, crying in a way I hadn’t cried for days. Anne rubbed my back, her voice shaking.

“Finally, Sophie, you finally did it.”

After I cried, fear set in. I looked at Anne and asked in a low voice,

“Anne, what do I do now?”

She pulled back, looked me straight in the eye, and said,

“First of all, calm down. You are pregnant. This is your news. Don’t tell anyone yet, especially not his family.”

I nodded. I was thinking the same thing. If my in-laws found out, they would change their attitude immediately. But why? For me or for the baby in my womb? And if they knew, would they leave me in peace, or would they try to take my child as if it were property? Now, Anne continued,

“You have to think about your child. Whether you sign or not, every decision you make from now on will affect them.”

I placed a hand on my stomach, my heart in turmoil. This baby was my child, my flesh and blood. But it was also Ethan’s child. And if Ethan knew, I didn’t dare think about the rest. I went home alone at noon. Ethan wasn’t there. The house was so quiet I could hear the clock ticking. I changed, lay down on the bed, and placed my hand on my belly. I whispered very softly, as if afraid to wake someone. My baby. Mommy doesn’t know what to do. You’ve come at a time when I’m at my weakest. A tear fell onto the pillow. I didn’t regret this, baby. I only regretted that this world was so cruel to women like me. In the late afternoon, Ethan arrived. He walked into the bedroom and saw me lying down.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered curtly.

He stood there for a moment, then said,

“Sophie, my parents called. They reminded me about the deadline. Tomorrow is the last day.”

I turned to look at him. In that moment, I had an overwhelming urge to tell him the truth, to ask him if, upon learning I was pregnant, he would choose me or continue to choose Clara and her twins. But I held back. I didn’t want my child to become a bargaining chip.

“I know,” I said.

Ethan nodded, looking relieved. That relief chilled my heart. That night, I didn’t sleep again. I sat up in bed, opened the drawer, and took out the divorce agreement. I reread every line. Half a million dollars, leave the country. 3 years without returning. If I signed, I would lose my husband, but I might be able to protect my child from his family. If I didn’t sign, they would find out one way or another, and a war would begin. I placed my hand on my stomach, feeling the fragile life forming inside. For the first time in my life, I felt I wasn’t alone. I was no longer just Sophie, the rejected daughter-in-law. I was a mother. Toward morning, I made my decision, a difficult but necessary one. I folded the agreement and put it in my purse. I looked outside where the dawn was just beginning to break. Whatever happened, I would move forward with my head held high.

The next morning, I woke up very early. The house was still quiet with only the sound of birds in the garden and the faint sunlight filtering through the curtains. Ethan wasn’t up yet. I went to the kitchen and made a glass of warm water, sipping it slowly. My stomach was still a little unsettled, but I felt better than the day before. I placed my hand on my belly, a gesture that had become second nature, and sighed. Although I couldn’t feel anything concrete yet, I knew a little being was there. And from the moment I knew, my choices were no longer just for me. I got dressed and prepared to leave. Before I left, I took one last look at the house. 5 years ago, I had entered it believing I had found a family. 5 years later, I was leaving with a bitter truth. Some places only let you stay as long as you have value. I didn’t take much, just a handbag with the folded divorce agreement inside. I called Anne before getting in the car. Her voice was worried.

“You’re going already? I want to come with you.”

“There’s no need, Anne. I can go alone,” I said with a calmness that surprised even me. “If anything happens, call me immediately and remember what I told you.”

“I remember.”

I hung up. I looked out the car window. The city was bustling in the morning, people rushing about their day. No one knew that inside me a silent farewell was taking place, one that would change my life forever. The estate looked the same as the day before, silent and imposing. Mr. Henderson opened the gate. Seeing me, he hesitated for a moment, then bowed his head.

“Miss Sophie, good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Henderson.”

I walked into the drawing room. My mother-in-law was already there, sitting with her back straight, her face expressionless. My father-in-law was beside her, holding a newspaper, but I knew he wasn’t reading it. The air in the room was so heavy, I could hear my own footsteps on the stone floor. I sat in the chair opposite them and placed my bag on my lap. My mother-in-law spoke first.

“Have you thought it over?”

“Yes, I have,” I replied.

My father-in-law put down his newspaper and looked me straight in the eye.

“Good. Then sign.”

I opened my bag and took out the agreement. For a moment, I looked at the typed lines. Then I looked up.

“Before I sign, I have one condition.”

My mother-in-law’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What condition?”

“I want to leave the country as soon as the paperwork is finalized. I don’t want to be present for the wedding. I don’t want to appear in the press, and I request that the reason for the divorce be kept private.”

My father-in-law looked at me for a few seconds, then nodded.

“Fine, as long as you abide by what’s in the agreement.”

I picked up the pen. My hand didn’t shake as I had expected. As the ink touched the paper, I heard the sound of the pen gliding like a final full stop to my 5 years of marriage. I signed and pushed the papers toward them. My mother-in-law took them, examined the signature, and gave a slight nod. Not a word of thanks, not an ounce of remorse. My father-in-law called for the lawyer, who came in to handle the rest of the formalities. Everything happened quickly, precisely, and coldly, like a long, calculated transaction. When I stood to leave, I bowed my head.

“Goodbye, Arthur. Goodbye, Eleanor.”

I deliberately didn’t call her mom. My mother-in-law looked surprised for a moment, then turned her face away. I walked out of that house with a lighter heart. I knew there were many storms ahead, but at least I had taken the first step. At noon, I stopped by the clinic again to ask the doctor about necessary precautions. I didn’t tell Ethan, and I had no intention of telling anyone in his family. This was my secret, mine and my babies. When I got home that afternoon, Ethan was already there. He looked at me, his gaze questioning.

“Where have you been all day? Did you go to the estate?”

“I did,” I answered directly.

He fell silent. I put my bag on the table, took out the copy of the signed agreement, and handed it to him.

“I signed.”

Ethan took the paper, scanned it, and let out a long sigh. In that moment, I clearly saw the relief on his face. That relief squeezed my heart, but also made me more resolute.

“Thank you, Sophie,” he said in a hoarse voice.

I gave a bitter smile.

“You don’t need to thank me. From now on, we don’t owe each other anything.”

Ethan looked at me as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing. He just nodded.

“My parents said the money will be wired today. They’re handling the flight arrangements, too.”

“Okay,” I replied.

That night, I started packing my suitcases. Ethan didn’t help, nor did he stop me. He stayed in the living room and I stayed in the bedroom, each in our own world. I folded each piece of clothing, each personal item. Some things brought back memories, but I left them behind anyway. I didn’t want to carry memories. I only wanted to carry the future. Around midnight, Ethan appeared at the bedroom door. He hesitated for a moment, then said,

“Sophie, I’m sorry.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. I didn’t feel hatred, only weariness.

“Sorry for what?” I asked.

“For not protecting you.”

I was silent for a moment, then said quietly.

“Apologies are easy, but some things can’t be undone.”

Ethan nodded, and walked away. I closed the bedroom door, leaned against it, and the tears came without my noticing. I wasn’t crying because I had lost him. I was crying for myself for having believed too much. The next morning, I went to the airport. Anne came with me. Her eyes were red, but she tried to smile.

“Take good care of yourself. If anything happens, call me immediately.”

“I will.”

Anne hugged me tightly, as if afraid she would lose me if she let go. I patted her back.

“I’ll be okay this time. I’m going to live my life the right way.”

After checking in, I turned and took one last look at the city. In this place, I had loved, suffered, and lost. But it was also where I had learned to stand up again. On the plane, I sat by the window. As the wheels left the ground, I placed my hand on my stomach and whispered,

“My baby, from today on, it’s just you and me. I can’t promise you the greatest wealth, but I promise you a life of dignity.”

The sky ahead was a surprising blue. I closed my eyes and felt my heart settle. My new life and my child’s life was beginning here. The plane landed late at night. Through the window, I saw rows of yellow lights stretching out, silent and orderly, so different from the noise I was used to. I walked out of the London airport, pulling my small suitcase, my heart both empty and full. Empty because there was nothing behind me to return to. Full because ahead of me was a completely new path where I could only rely on myself. Anne texted to ask if I had arrived safely. I replied briefly,

“Landed, everything’s fine.”

I didn’t mention the loneliness seeping into my chest. Some sorrows you have to keep to yourself, especially when you’ve chosen this path. The first few days in a new country passed slowly. I rented a small, bright apartment in a quiet neighborhood. In the mornings, I would make my own tea and stand by the window, watching people go to work and school. Everyone seemed to have a clear purpose. In the afternoons, I would walk around the neighborhood, trying to get used to the new rhythm of life. At night, I would lie in bed, hand on my stomach, whispering to my child as if they could already hear me. My baby, it’s just us here. You have to grow up strong and healthy so mommy can be at ease. In those moments, I allowed myself to be a little weaker, to feel nostalgic for my old kitchen, even for the days I thought were happy. But I didn’t allow myself to feel nostalgic for Ethan. Not because I had already forgotten him, but because I knew nostalgia wouldn’t change anything. The money was wired to my account as Arthur had promised. A sum so large it felt foreign. I didn’t feel joy, only a clearer sense that the price of my 5-year marriage had been paid in their eyes. I used a small portion for daily expenses and put the rest in a long-term savings account. I didn’t want to be wasteful. I had to prepare for my child’s future. In the second week, I went for a checkup. The doctor was the same kind middle-aged woman. When she turned on the ultrasound screen, I held my breath. A tiny flickering dot appeared. The doctor pointed to it.

“There’s your baby.”

I stared, my heart pounding. I couldn’t hear the heartbeat yet, nor feel any movement. But in that moment, I knew for certain that I was no longer alone. I left the clinic with a very different feeling. Not the fear of the first time, but a quiet determination. That night, Anne video called me. Seeing my face, she sighed with relief.

“You look better.”

“Yes, it’s very peaceful here.”

I smiled. Anne looked at me for a moment, then asked in a low voice.

“Sophie, are you going to tell Ethan?”

I shook my head without hesitation.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want my child to be born in the middle of a negotiation. If he knows, that family won’t leave me in peace and I don’t have the strength to fight them.”

Anne was silent, then nodded.

“I understand. I just feel bad for you.”

“I feel bad for myself too,” I said half joking, half serious.

After the call, I sat for a long time. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about it. I wondered what he would do if he knew. But then I would stop myself. Those questions only made me weaker. I had to be strong for my child. One morning, while organizing papers in my bag, I found the bracelet Ethan had given me when we first got married. I had forgotten about it. A simple silver bracelet. The day he gave it to me, he said he hoped I would always be at peace. I picked it up, held it tightly in my fingers, then let it go. In the end, I put it away in a drawer. I didn’t wear it, but I didn’t throw it away either. Some things you don’t need to have close, but you also don’t need to destroy. Time passed and my belly began to show. My body was changing slowly but noticeably. I was learning to listen to myself, to eat a balanced diet, to rest at the right times. There were nights I dreamed of my mother. She would be at the door of our old house, calling me in her familiar voice,

“Sophie, be strong, my girl.”

I would wake up with my pillow wet with tears, but my heart warm. One afternoon, Anne sent me a link. I hesitated for a moment, but finally opened it. On the screen was the familiar image of Ethan, impeccable in his suit, standing next to Clara. The caption below mentioned their upcoming wedding. I immediately closed the screen. My heart ached for a moment, then settled. I didn’t feel jealousy, only a sense of strangeness. That man no longer belonged to my world. That night, I told my baby,

“Your father is going to marry another woman, but that’s okay. Mommy is enough for you.”

I don’t know if I said it to soothe him or to soothe myself, but after saying it, I felt lighter. In the following days, I started looking for a job. I couldn’t live solely off the money they had given me. I wanted to work. I wanted to provide for my child through my own efforts. I sent my resume to a few places and got a couple of interviews. Each time I went, I reminded myself, Sophie, you are no longer the daughter-in-law of that family. You are a mother. One day, walking home, I saw a small family ahead of me. The mother held a child’s hand, and the father pushed a stroller. I stopped and watched them, my heart tightening. I knew my child wouldn’t have a complete family like that, but I also knew that complete isn’t measured by the number of people, but by kindness and love. That night, I wrote in the small journal I had brought from home. Today, you grew a little bigger. Mommy is still here. After writing, I put the journal down and sighed deeply. I no longer felt as lost as before. I was still scared, but the fear no longer paralyzed me. In a foreign place, I was relearning how to live without depending on anyone, without waiting for anyone’s compassion. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that since my child arrived, I have a reason to keep going. No matter how difficult the path, I would walk it. I stood by the window, watching the street lights, and whispered like a promise,

“Don’t worry, my baby. Mommy won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Time passed faster than I thought. Almost without realizing it, I entered my fourth month of pregnancy. The baby bump was now clearly visible. It was no longer a vague feeling, but a very real, very close presence. Every morning, the first thing I did was place a hand on my belly, listening to my body, a newly formed habit, yet already deeply ingrained. My new job helped keep me busy. It was a small company, nothing flashy, but with a quiet atmosphere and polite colleagues. They didn’t ask many questions about my past. They only cared about what I could do. I liked that feeling. Here, I wasn’t the daughter-in-law of a wealthy family, nor the abandoned wife. I was just Sophie, a woman trying to live with dignity. That afternoon, as I was tidying up my desk, the phone rang. It was an unknown number. I hesitated for a moment, then answered. A man’s deep voice, both familiar and strange.

“Is this Sophie?”

My heart stopped for a second.

“Yes, this is she,” I replied.

“It’s Mr. Henderson.”

I was shocked. Mr. Henderson, the estate’s gatekeeper, the man who had watched me in that house, who had always called me Miss Sophie, in the gentlest voice.

“Ah, Mr. Henderson, how are you?” I replied, a sudden lump in my throat.

Mr. Henderson was silent for a few seconds, then continued in a lower voice.

“I’m calling because young Mr. Ethan hasn’t been doing well lately.”

I gripped the phone tightly. Not doing well? How so? But I didn’t ask. I was afraid my question would reveal the concern I had tried so hard to bury. I don’t mean to meddle in your business, he continued. But I’ve watched him grow up. Since you left, Miss, young Ethan has been drinking a lot, and his mother isn’t happy either. I closed my eyes, the image of Ethan alone in the living room with the dim yellow light and a bottle of whiskey beside him appearing vividly in my mind. I had been there before. I had seen it. I had worried. But that was the past. I just called to say that. Mr. Henderson sighed. You take care of yourself. What’s past is past.

“Yes,” I said softly. “Thank you for your concern.”

I hung up and sat for a long time. I wasn’t happy to hear that Ethan wasn’t doing well. I didn’t feel any pleasure from it. I only felt an old sadness stirring inside me before quickly settling down again. Some relationships, even if feelings remain, cannot be mended. That afternoon, Anne called, her voice tense.

“Sophie, I just found something out.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Ethan’s wedding. There’s been a problem.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“What problem?”

“Clara had a placental abruption. Her family is in chaos. It seems your mother-in-law has forced her onto absolute bed rest. She won’t let her go anywhere.”

I was silent. Anne continued quickly.

“I’m telling you this so you can prepare. I’m worried they’ll start thinking about you again.”

I placed my hand on my belly and took a deep breath.

“I know, but I’m not going back.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid they’ll find out you’re pregnant.”

I shook my head even though Anne couldn’t see me.

“No one knows, and I won’t let them find out.”

I hung up, feeling my heart grow heavier. Not out of fear for Clara or my old family, I was afraid that the fragile piece I was building would be destroyed. I had chosen this path and I had to protect it to the end. That night, I went for a routine checkup. The doctor let me hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. The rhythmic sound thump thump thump thump filled the small room. I froze, tears streaming down my face, unable to stop them. The baby is doing well. The doctor smiled.

“You can rest easy.”

I nodded repeatedly, unable to say a word. On the way home, I walked slower than usual. I placed my hand on my belly and whispered,

“Did you hear that, my baby? That’s your heart.”

For the first time, I felt a complete happiness unmixed with worry. This baby didn’t need a family name. It didn’t need an inheritance. It just needed to be born into love. In the following days, I began to prepare for the future more concretely. I looked into schools, insurance, things that seemed far off, but I knew would come quickly. I wanted to be prepared when my son was born, not panicking. One night, as I was folding some baby clothes I had bought, the phone vibrated again. This time it was Ethan. I stared at his name on the screen for a long time. My fingers hesitated, but finally I answered.

“Sophie.”

Ethan’s voice was tired.

“How are you?”

I swallowed.

“I’m fine, Ethan.”

“Mr. Henderson told me you’re working now. Is everything going well over there?”

Ethan was quiet, then said in a low voice,

“Sophie, I’m sorry.”

Those two words no longer hurt me as they once did. I only felt tired.

“Did you call just to say that?”

“No,” he replied. “I wanted to know if you hate me.”

I looked out the window. The street lights cast a yellow glow. I spoke slowly.

“I did hate you, but not anymore. I’m just tired.”

Ethan sighed.

“Sophie, if I had been stronger back then—”

“There are no ifs,” I interrupted. “You made your choice and I made mine.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, in a choked voice, he said,

“Take care of yourself.”

“You, too,” I replied.

I hung up before he could say anything more. My heart was beating fast, but it was no longer in turmoil. I knew I had crossed a line. I didn’t need those apologies to move forward. That night, I had a dream. I dreamt I was in a small kitchen with sunlight streaming through the window. A child ran toward me, hugged my legs, and called out,

“Mommy!”

I bent down, picked him up, and felt an immense peace. I woke up smiling. I was no longer afraid of the future. I knew that no matter how hard it got, I would get through it. Not because I was naturally strong, but because now I had a reason to be. I placed my hand on my belly and whispered,

“My baby, I don’t know what challenges life has in store for us, but I promise you, whatever happens, I will never let you go.”

Outside it began to rain lightly. I sat by the window watching the drops fall, and suddenly I understood something very simple. Some losses don’t destroy you. They guide you to a different path, a better, more dignified one. The fifth month passed quietly. I was getting used to the new rhythm of life. Waking up each morning feeling my body a little heavier, my breath a little slower. My belly was now prominent, impossible to hide under loose clothes. Every time I looked in the mirror, I took a little longer to observe the woman there, both strange and familiar. My gaze was different. It no longer held the resignation of a wife trying to save her family, but the calm of a mother preparing to protect her child. Work was stable. My boss, a quiet but decent middle-aged man, knew I was pregnant. He simply said,

“Do what you can. Your health comes first.”

Hearing that, I felt a warmth in my heart. Here, no one asked me who I used to be, only if I was okay now. That afternoon, as I was clearing my desk, Anne called, her voice urgent.

“Sophie, listen to me carefully.”

“What is it?” I asked, my heart suddenly racing.

“Your old family. They know.”

I froze.

“They know what? They know you’re pregnant.”

My ears started ringing. I gripped the edge of the desk.

“How do they know?”

“It was Mr. Henderson,” Anne said in a low voice. “It wasn’t malicious. It seems he called to check on you and your mother-in-law overheard the end of the conversation. She got suspicious. Had someone look into it. Sophie, they’re in an uproar.”

I closed my eyes. What I had feared most had finally happened. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Does Ethan know?”

“Yes, Sophie,” she continued in a more serious tone. “I’m going to be direct. They’re planning to come see you.”

“Come see me,” I repeated.

“Yes, your mother-in-law says the baby is their grandchild and can’t be lost.”

I let go of the desk and sat down. A chill ran down my spine. I had signed the divorce, left the country, agreed to lose everything, and now they wanted to take the only thing I had left.

“Sophie, you need to prepare,” Anne said. “This time it won’t be easy.”

I hung up and sat for a long time. The office emptied out as people left for the day. I placed my hand on my belly. For the first time in months, I was scared, not for myself, but for my child. I didn’t know what they would do, but I knew one thing. If they wanted a fight, they wouldn’t be gentle. That night, Ethan called. I stared at the screen for a long time before answering.

“Sophie,” his voice was rushed. “Listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” I replied, my voice dry.

“I know you’re pregnant,” he paused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I gave a bitter smile.

“Tell you for what?”

“Sophie, that’s my child.”

Ethan’s voice trembled.

“I have a right to know.”

“A right?” I asked. “When you signed those divorce papers, you gave up that right with your own hand.”

“I didn’t give up my child,” he nearly shouted. “I gave up on you, but my child is my blood.”

I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I tried to keep my voice steady.

“What do you want?”

Ethan was silent for a moment, then said,

“My parents want to meet with you. They want to talk.”

I let out a joyless laugh.

“Talk or take my child.”

“Sophie,” he sighed. “Don’t assume the worst. My parents just want to acknowledge their grandchild.”

“Acknowledge their grandchild.”

I gripped the phone.

“And me? What do they expect me to do? Have the baby and hand him over?”

Ethan didn’t answer. That silence was the clearest answer of all. Listen carefully, I said slowly, word by word. This baby is my child. I’m the one carrying him. I’m the one who will raise him. No one has the right to take him from me.

“Sophie, don’t be so drastic,” Ethan said. “You’re alone in a foreign country. How will you manage to raise a child? My family has the resources. The baby will have a better life.”

I heard that and felt a coldness that seeped into my bones.

“So, you admit that in your eyes I’m not a competent mother?” I asked, my voice trembling with anger.

“That’s not what I said,” he quickly replied. “I’m just thinking about the child’s future.”

“Are you thinking about the child or about your family?” I interrupted.

Ethan was silent for a long time, then said in a low voice,

“Sophie, please don’t make this difficult. My parents won’t give up easily.”

I closed my eyes, tears streaming down, but my voice remained firm. Listen carefully.

“I’m not coming back, and I’m not giving up my child. If they want to sue, I will fight them to the end.”

“Sophie,” he called out.

“I’m tired,” I said. “Don’t call me again.”

I hung up, my body shaking. I never thought I would have to confront them like this, but placing my hand on my belly, I knew I couldn’t back down. That night, I didn’t sleep. I researched online, looking up laws, the rights of a single mother. I looked for lawyers. I didn’t want to fight with emotion. I had to prepare with reason. My child needed a clear-headed mother, not a panicked woman. The next morning, I took the day off work. I went to meet a lawyer Anne had recommended. She was a woman in her 40s with a sharp gaze and a calm voice. After listening to my story, she nodded. Legally, you are divorced and pregnant in a foreign country. Custody of the child is yours by default. The father’s family can apply pressure, but it won’t be easy for them to take the child from you.

“But they are very rich,” I said quietly.

She smiled.

“Being rich doesn’t mean they can do whatever they want. The important thing is that you remain calm and don’t give them any leverage.”

I left the lawyer’s office feeling a little more at ease. Not because I was sure I would win, but because I knew I wasn’t alone or empty-handed. In the afternoon, Anne called again, her voice even more tense.

“Your mother-in-law said she’s flying to see you this week.”

I took a deep breath.

“Okay, I’ll meet with her.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “Running away solves nothing.”

That night, I stayed in my apartment mentally preparing for the meeting. I knew my mother-in-law wasn’t coming for a social visit. She was coming to fight. And I, for the first time in my life, was not going to bow my head. I looked at myself in the mirror at my prominent belly. I placed my hand on it and whispered,

“My baby, the days ahead will be difficult, but mommy promises she won’t let anyone take you, no matter what.”

Outside, the wind howled, making the windows rattle slightly. I no longer felt as weak as before. I might not have my ex-husband’s family. I might not have a husband by my side, but I had my son. And for me, that was everything.

The morning my mother-in-law arrived in London, the sky was gray, as if heralding an unpleasant meeting. I woke very early, though I had barely slept. In the mirror, I saw the dark circles under my eyes, but my gaze was no longer vacant. I put on a simple neutral-colored maternity dress and applied a little makeup. I didn’t want to look weak, but I didn’t need to look defiant either. I was just a mother protecting her child. Around 9, Anne called to say she had just seen my mother-in-law. With her was Arthur’s brother, my former uncle-in-law. Hearing this, my heart tightened. His presence meant she wasn’t coming for a private conversation, but was prepared for a formal confrontation to intimidate me. I stood by the window for a long time. When the doorbell rang, my hand instinctively went to my belly. The baby gave a small kick as if reminding me of its presence. I took a deep breath and went to open the door. My mother-in-law stood before me, looking the same as ever, hair in a flawless bun, a dark coat, her expression stern and cold. Beside her, my uncle-in-law sized me up from head to toe.

“Hello, Eleanor.”

“Hello, uncle,” I said, bowing my head politely.

My mother-in-law looked at me, her gaze lingering on my belly. She didn’t respond immediately, simply walked in and sat on the sofa. My uncle-in-law gave a formal nod. I served them water, placed the glasses in front of them, and sat opposite. The air was so heavy, I could hear my own heart beating.

“You’re very clever,” was the first thing my mother-in-law said, her voice neutral. “Getting pregnant and hiding it so well.”

I remained calm. I had no intention of hiding anything. It’s just that at that point I was no longer your daughter-in-law. She gave a bitter smile. Divorced or not, the baby you’re carrying is our family’s blood. Do you think you have the right to hide him? I clasped my hands but continued to speak slowly.

“Eleanor, I am the one who is pregnant. I am the one who will give birth. I have the right to decide when to speak.”

“The right?” my mother-in-law raised her voice. “On what basis do you speak of rights? Do you know what last name this child will carry?”

I looked her straight in the eye.

“He will carry mine.”

My uncle-in-law frowned.

“Sophie, speak with due respect. You were our family’s daughter-in-law. Don’t forget that.”

“I have never forgotten,” I replied. “But I also haven’t forgotten how I was treated.”

My mother-in-law slammed her fist on the table.

“Don’t bring up old stories. I’m not here to argue. I’m here to make things clear. This baby our family must accept.”

“Except how?” I asked.

“After he’s born, you can raise him for a while, but in the long run, he must return to his father’s family. We have the resources, a complete family, a father. What do you think you can give him?”

I felt a lump in my throat, but I still answered.

“I can give him a mother’s love and peace.”

“Peace?” she scoffed. “Can a child without a father by his side have peace?”

I turned to my uncle-in-law.

“Uncle, what do you think?”

He sighed.

“I’ll be frank, Sophie. You’re young. You’re abroad. Raising a child alone will be very difficult. The father’s family doesn’t want to steal your child. They want what’s best for him.”

“The best for him or for your family’s reputation?” I asked, my voice no longer trembling.

The atmosphere grew tense. My mother-in-law looked at me, her gaze as sharp as a knife.

“You’ve changed a lot.”

“Yes, I had to change,” I replied. “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here today.”

She was silent for a moment, then said,

“Ethan is coming, too.”

I was surprised.

“What is he coming for?”

“He’s the child’s father. He has the right,” she said definitively.

“No,” I shook my head. “He has the right to visit his son, but he doesn’t have the right to decide for me.”

“You’re too stubborn, Sophie,” my mother-in-law said, her voice lower. “You know that if our family gets serious about this, you won’t have any peace.”

I looked up at her.

“I know, but I’m not scared.”

My uncle-in-law intervened. Have you thought this through? A prolonged legal process will affect your state of mind, your pregnancy. Will you be able to handle it? I placed both hands on my belly.

“For my son, I will handle it.”

My mother-in-law stood and walked toward me. She looked at me for a long moment, then said in a low but forceful voice,

“Don’t think being pregnant is a shield. Our family does not lack resources.”

I stood up too, though my legs were trembling slightly.

“I’m not using my child as a shield. I am just a mother.”

At that moment, I saw the anger in her eyes, but perhaps she also realized that I was no longer the submissive daughter-in-law of the past.

“Fine,” my mother-in-law said, adjusting her coat. “Keep the baby. But I’m warning you, this isn’t over.”

She turned and walked straight to the door. My uncle-in-law sighed, shook his head, and followed her. He looked at me. His eyes holding a hint of remorse.

“Take care of yourself.”

I nodded without saying anything more. When the door closed, my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the sofa, and the tears came not from fear, but from the accumulated tension. I hugged my belly and sobbed. My baby. Mommy did well today. The baby gave a few light rhythmic kicks. I smiled through my tears.

That evening, Ethan called. I didn’t want to answer, but I finally did.

“Sophie, I’ve arrived,” his voice was tired. “I want to meet with you.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I want to talk properly,” he said in a low voice, “about our son.”

I was silent for a moment, then replied.

“Okay, but just talk. No pressure.”

We arranged to meet at a quiet cafe. When Ethan walked in, I barely recognized him. He was thinner, his gaze lacking its usual confidence.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I replied.

His gaze fell on my belly, full of complexity.

“Is the baby okay?”

“He’s fine.”

Ethan sat down, his hands clasped together.

“Sophie, I’m so sorry. Truly.”

I looked at him without responding. I never imagined things would get to this point, he continued. I didn’t know you were pregnant.

“If you had known, what would you have done?” I asked.

Ethan was silent. Then he said sincerely. We probably would have divorced anyway. But I wouldn’t have let you go so far away, I smiled sadly. So what’s the difference? He lowered his head. I was wrong.

“You were very wrong,” I said quietly.

“But this isn’t the time to talk about right and wrong, Sophie.” He looked up. “I don’t want to fight you for our son. I just want to be able to be a father.”

I looked him in the eye.

“Then do you have the courage to stand up to your parents?”

Ethan froze.

“Do you have the courage to say that the child is mine to raise and you will only visit?”

He was silent for a very long time. That silence chilled my heart. I understood. I stood up.

“When you have that courage, then we’ll talk.”

I walked out without looking back. This time I didn’t cry. I was used to finding my own answers. That night, I lay in bed thinking about what would happen next. I knew the storm wasn’t over yet, but at least I hadn’t backed down. After the meeting with Ethan, I walked the streets with an empty heart. It wasn’t the sharp pain of the early days of the forced divorce, but the weariness of someone who had understood the limits of a person she once loved. I realized Ethan wasn’t a bad person, but he was weak. Weak in the face of his family, weak in the face of pressure, and weak in the face of himself. Such a man, even for his own son, wouldn’t have the strength to protect him.

In the days that followed, my mother-in-law didn’t call again. Her silence made me more anxious than her direct threats. I knew her type well. When she wasn’t talking, she was plotting. I wasn’t naive enough to hope she would give up. I focused on my health. Every morning, I took a slow walk around the neighborhood, my hand on my belly, talking to my son. I told him whether the day was sunny or rainy, that mommy had eaten well, that he could grow peacefully. Sometimes I felt crazy talking to my stomach, but it was in those moments that my heart felt calm. Anne called me more frequently. She worried I couldn’t handle it all alone.

“Sophie, if you need me, I’ll come stay with you for a while.”

“There’s no need, Anne.” I smiled faintly. “You have your family, your job. I can take care of myself.”

“But that family doesn’t give up easily.”

“I know,” I replied. “But my son isn’t easy to steal either.”

A week later, I received a letter from my ex-husband’s family lawyer. The content was brief, but enough to send a chill down my spine. They were demanding confirmation of paternity after the baby’s birth and proposing a negotiation for custody in the best interests of the child. Every word was polite, but hid their usual arrogance. I took the letter, my hand trembling slightly. I wasn’t afraid of the legal process, but I worried the prolonged stress would affect my son. I called my lawyer. After listening, she simply said,

“They’re testing your reaction.”

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Don’t respond right away. Let them get impatient,” she said. “The calmer you remain, the more they lose their advantage.”

That night, Ethan called again. This time, his voice was more serious without the pleading tone.

“Sophie, I know my parents sent you a letter.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“I’m not involved in that,” he said quickly. “I don’t want any more tension.”

I gave a sad smile.

“You’re not involved, but you’re not stopping them either.”

Ethan was silent, then said in a low voice.

“Sophie, I’m genuinely worried about you. My mother has hired a very influential lawyer. Don’t be stubborn.”

“Ethan,” I called his name, my voice steady. “Have you ever wondered why I insist on keeping my son?”

“Because he’s your son,” he replied.

“It’s not just that,” I said. “It’s because if I give in one more time, I’ll cease to be myself. I already gave in once, agreed to leave quietly. That time, I lost a husband. If I give in this time, I lose my son, and I won’t survive that.”

Ethan sighed.

“I don’t want to see you suffer—”

“But you’re not doing anything to make me suffer less either,” I said directly. “You’ve chosen to stay in the middle, and staying in the middle is letting others decide for you.”

He couldn’t argue. He just said,

“Sorry,”

and hung up.

And if this story made you feel you are not alone, share it. Perhaps somewhere there is a woman who desperately needs to remember that she has the right to live a life with her head held