Scarlett

The nausea had persisted for days. As I stood in front of Father’s study doors. My stomach churned—not just from the pregnancy. I struggled to control the sickness and steady my breathing. My hand trembled as I mustered the last of my courage to knock.

“Enter.”

With a final shaky breath, I pushed open the door. There he was, seated behind his desk, engrossed in the documents before him, not bothering to glance up.

“Well?” he said, not lifting his ...