I’m not coming back. Don’t make this harder.
I stood frozen in the foyer. The baby shifted heavily inside my belly, pressing against my ribs.
Nine months pregnant. And my husband had decided this was the perfect moment to erase me.
My phone buzzed before I even finished reading. A message from Grant:
Meet me at Westbridge Courthouse at 2. We’ll finalize.
No apology. No explanation. Just instructions—like I was another task on his afternoon schedule.
The Courthouse
The courthouse smelled of worn carpet and cleaning chemicals. Grant was already there when I arrived.
He looked refreshed—crisp navy suit, hair perfectly styled, radiating the relaxed confidence of someone who believed he had already won.
Beside him stood a woman in a cream dress and high heels, her manicured hand resting on his arm like it belonged there.
Tessa Monroe.
I recognized her instantly. She worked at Grant’s office. The same coworker he once told me not to worry about. The same woman whose “holiday party invitation” I skipped because Grant insisted I was “too tired to attend.”
Grant glanced at my stomach and grimaced. Not concern. Not guilt. Disgust.
“I couldn’t stay with a woman with a big belly like you,” he said flatly.
The words carried farther than he probably intended. Several people nearby turned to look.
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