Love can't back

"You're seven weeks pregnant."

The obstetrician's words hit me with a dull thud. I stared at the pregnancy report in my hands, feeling nothing but emptiness.

How had it happened so easily?

What would Richard Blackwood think? Would this make him reconsider the divorce? No—he'd probably just resent me more, assuming I was using the baby to trap him.

"The first trimester is critical. You'll need to watch your diet, and avoid sexual activity..." The doctor's voice snapped me back to reality. I stuffed the report into my purse and left the hospital.

Work was the last thing on my mind. I headed straight back to the villa—a massive house that felt perpetually empty. Richard usually left at dawn and returned late. Even when he was home, he confined himself to either his study or bedroom—both strictly off-limits to me.

But today was different. Richard was home, seated on the living room couch. His cold demeanor, straight nose, and perfectly sculpted lips made even his profile look flawless. God had blessed this man with both looks and wealth.

Though he noticed my arrival, he kept reading, his head down. "I heard you went to the hospital," he said, his voice ice-cold.

"Just wasn't feeling well." I'd grown accustomed to being quiet, speaking only when spoken to.

He looked up, his eyes distant and disapproving.

"I'm fine now—it won't impact my work," I quickly added, knowing he was worried about the company's busy period.

He returned to his book without a word. After what felt like forever, he spoke again. "You'll handle the selection of the product ambassador entirely."

That was Richard—minimal words, all business. No small talk, especially with me.

"Yes," I answered softly, accepting his assignment as always.

The silence in the room grew thick and uncomfortable.

"Richard Blackwood!" My hand clutched the report in my purse as I gathered my courage.

"What is it?" He didn't look up, his voice still frigid.

"...Have you had dinner yet?" I couldn't bring myself to say, "I'm pregnant." I didn't want to shatter this fragile peace.

"Cook something," he commanded tersely.

"Me? Cook?"

His eyes flicked up. "Problem?"

"No, not at all," I jumped to my feet. "How about pasta with marinara sauce?"

His only response was to lower his head again—apparently a yes.

Thirty minutes later, I'd managed to prepare the meal.

"Here, try it—it's good." I set the plate before him, handing over a fork expectantly.

He looked up with his usual cold expression and reached for the fork when his phone rang.

His entire demeanor changed as he checked the caller ID. "Helen, what's wrong?" His voice turned gentle.

Helen Evans is the only person who gets to see Richard's warmth.

"Stay there. I'm coming over." Whatever Helen had said, Richard's icy facade had completely melted as he consoled her.

Hanging up, he abandoned the fork and stood to leave.

This wasn't the first time. I'd grown numb to it.

I sat there until the pasta turned cold and sticky. When I finally picked up the fork, tears streamed down my face unchecked.

I forced myself to eat, twirling each strand slowly around my fork.

After finishing, I headed to the bathroom for a shower before bed.

As I was finishing up, strong arms suddenly pulled me into an embrace.