His First Love Killed My Unborn - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading His First Love Killed My Unborn, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of His First Love Killed My Unborn.
My stomach twisted violently, bile rising in my throat as I turned to escape.
Ian's hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Sherrie," he said, his voice laced with an urgency I'd never heard before.
"You're still pregnant," he continued, his tone shifting to that fake-concerned register I'd come to recognize. "Be careful—you could lose the baby. Be a good girl and come home with me first. Things aren't what they seem."
I spun to face him, my voice glacial. "Home? That place stopped being my home a long time ago."
He sighed, putting on that wounded-puppy expression. "You're still mad about me leaving you, aren't you? Listen, after I dropped Paula off, I came back for you—but you'd already vanished."
An arctic chill spread through my veins.
While he'd been playing chauffeur to his mistress, I'd been lying on a cold operating table. Our child was already gone.
Ian looked me over and suddenly barked out a laugh. "You faked being in the hospital! Look at you—your stomach's perfectly fine."
My bitter smile could have curdled milk. He wasn't blind. Just indifferent.
It never mattered when I'd dressed up nice or changed my hair before. It didn't matter now that I looked like death warmed over.
To him, I'd never mattered enough.
"Stop being dramatic," he coaxed, switching to that honeyed tone he used during our early days. "Come home. I'll make it up to you—to both of you."
My resistance wavered. God help me, part of me still wanted to believe him. Needed to believe someone cared.
"Fine," I finally relented. "I'll come."
After checking out, I slid wordlessly into the backseat.
Paula twisted around from the passenger seat. "Sherrie," she chirped, "don't forget your seatbelt. Cops everywhere—wouldn't want a ticket." Her smug tone declared this her domain, relegating me to unwanted cargo.
I clicked the belt without reply.
Exhaustion pulled me under as the car hummed along the highway.
The sudden stop jolted me awake. Moonlight painted the world in ghostly silver, the silence broken only by Paula's tearful voice:
"Now that my divorce is public... the village gossip must be brutal."
Through the window, I saw them under a gnarled oak—Paula pressed against Ian, her crocodile tears glistening. "Little Lloyd's so young... I'm terrified people will treat him differently."
Ian wiped her cheeks with performative tenderness. "No one will dare say a word while I'm around. On the 8th, I'll stand there as Lloyd's father."
Paula's tears magically transformed into a coquettish smile. "With how you've been doting on us, the whole village probably thinks you're his dad already."
Ian chuckled, booping her nose. "Well your ex is never around! Might as well be true!"
A jagged laugh escaped me.
Ian, if only you knew your actual child lay in a morgue drawer right now. Would you still play daddy to another man's son?
The icy wind howling through my chest found nothing left to freeze.
I slumped back, squeezing my eyes shut like a child pretending monsters don't exist.
The car door opened minutes later. Ian climbed in whistling some obnoxious pop song, never once glancing my way.
His family's reception proved as frosty as expected.
"Oh. She's back," his mother muttered before swarming Ian with faux-concern. My sister-in-law didn't even look up from her phone.
The pain in my abdomen sharpened into knives. Acid burned my empty stomach. Finally, I broke:
"Ian. Is there anywhere still serving hot food? I need to eat."
Ian's hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Sherrie," he said, his voice laced with an urgency I'd never heard before.
"You're still pregnant," he continued, his tone shifting to that fake-concerned register I'd come to recognize. "Be careful—you could lose the baby. Be a good girl and come home with me first. Things aren't what they seem."
I spun to face him, my voice glacial. "Home? That place stopped being my home a long time ago."
He sighed, putting on that wounded-puppy expression. "You're still mad about me leaving you, aren't you? Listen, after I dropped Paula off, I came back for you—but you'd already vanished."
An arctic chill spread through my veins.
While he'd been playing chauffeur to his mistress, I'd been lying on a cold operating table. Our child was already gone.
Ian looked me over and suddenly barked out a laugh. "You faked being in the hospital! Look at you—your stomach's perfectly fine."
My bitter smile could have curdled milk. He wasn't blind. Just indifferent.
It never mattered when I'd dressed up nice or changed my hair before. It didn't matter now that I looked like death warmed over.
To him, I'd never mattered enough.
"Stop being dramatic," he coaxed, switching to that honeyed tone he used during our early days. "Come home. I'll make it up to you—to both of you."
My resistance wavered. God help me, part of me still wanted to believe him. Needed to believe someone cared.
"Fine," I finally relented. "I'll come."
After checking out, I slid wordlessly into the backseat.
Paula twisted around from the passenger seat. "Sherrie," she chirped, "don't forget your seatbelt. Cops everywhere—wouldn't want a ticket." Her smug tone declared this her domain, relegating me to unwanted cargo.
I clicked the belt without reply.
Exhaustion pulled me under as the car hummed along the highway.
The sudden stop jolted me awake. Moonlight painted the world in ghostly silver, the silence broken only by Paula's tearful voice:
"Now that my divorce is public... the village gossip must be brutal."
Through the window, I saw them under a gnarled oak—Paula pressed against Ian, her crocodile tears glistening. "Little Lloyd's so young... I'm terrified people will treat him differently."
Ian wiped her cheeks with performative tenderness. "No one will dare say a word while I'm around. On the 8th, I'll stand there as Lloyd's father."
Paula's tears magically transformed into a coquettish smile. "With how you've been doting on us, the whole village probably thinks you're his dad already."
Ian chuckled, booping her nose. "Well your ex is never around! Might as well be true!"
A jagged laugh escaped me.
Ian, if only you knew your actual child lay in a morgue drawer right now. Would you still play daddy to another man's son?
The icy wind howling through my chest found nothing left to freeze.
I slumped back, squeezing my eyes shut like a child pretending monsters don't exist.
The car door opened minutes later. Ian climbed in whistling some obnoxious pop song, never once glancing my way.
His family's reception proved as frosty as expected.
"Oh. She's back," his mother muttered before swarming Ian with faux-concern. My sister-in-law didn't even look up from her phone.
The pain in my abdomen sharpened into knives. Acid burned my empty stomach. Finally, I broke:
"Ian. Is there anywhere still serving hot food? I need to eat."
End of His First Love Killed My Unborn Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to His First Love Killed My Unborn book page.