Sabine Mallory, my divorce lawyer, sits directly across from me. Her gaze is soft but alert, studying me as I finish outlining my predicament.

“Mrs. Brennan,” she says with a patient sigh, “this is going to be complicated. Our state’s laws prohibit processing divorces during pregnancy. It’s designed to ensure pregnant mothers aren’t left destitute or homeless during such a vulnerable time. Unfortunately, for those desperately seeking separation, it’s incredibly limiting. Until your baby is born, the court simply won’t move forward with your case.”

My hands instinctively cradle my belly, feeling the faint movements of the baby inside. “I can’t wait that long,” I reply, my voice breaking slightly. “There has to be another way.”

She nods slightly and picks up her legal pad. “Given that your family funded your husband’s education, and considering the particular dynamics of your marriage, you’re entitled to significant financial compensation. We do have options to strengthen your case. However, the divorce itself won’t be finalized until after the birth.”

Two hours later, I step out of her office, a bulky stack of papers tucked into my purse and a strange mixture of emotions weighing on me. I feel lighter somehow—lighter than I have in years. Breathing doesn’t feel like such a struggle anymore. I still can’t legally separate from him now, but I can leave. That small truth feels monumental.

As I head toward the car, my phone buzzes with another message from Jonah—the fifth one today.

We need to talk. Come home.

Home. A dry, humorless laugh escapes me as I start the engine. The word feels foreign now. What used to feel like a sanctuary has turned into just another stop—a place where I sleep next to a man who dismisses my needs and calls me unreasonable.

When I arrive, the driveway is mercifully empty. Relief washes over me. He isn’t here, which means I can pack without interference. No hovering irritations, no hollow apologies, and most importantly, no Vivienne showing up to "clarify" things.

I make my way upstairs to our bedroom, moving cautiously. The baby seems especially restless today, probably picking up on my stress. Resting a hand on my belly, I speak softly, “It’s okay, little one. Mama’s got us.”

In the closet, I pull down my suitcases and begin packing. Each motion feels deliberate, almost ceremonial. Folding the clothes I once chose so carefully, I think back to all the moments I tried to make this life work. The subtle dresses I wore, hoping he’d notice. The scarves I tied neatly, believing that someday he’d compliment me. The lingerie I bought in an attempt to rekindle some spark. Even the maternity clothes, picked with the hope that he’d find joy in touching my belly and talking to our child.

None of it matters now. Every item I pack is a relic of a life I’m finally walking away from.

As my escape becomes real, a wave of unexpected relief washes over me—a feeling I thought I might never experience. For once, I’m choosing myself. I slide one packed suitcase under the bed and crawl onto the mattress. Sleep pulls at me before I can overthink anything.

I don’t hear when Jonah comes home that night, if he even does at all. Morning arrives, and the house is eerily quiet. I finish packing the last of my things, readying myself for what’s next.

The sound of footsteps echoes up the stairs, sharp and deliberate. Without looking, I know it’s him. The confrontation I dreaded is finally here. My heart clenches—a habit it should’ve abandoned long ago—when he steps into the room. Even now, a part of me longs for something I’ll never have: his love.

“What are you doing?” His tone carries the usual irritation, his words clipped as he glances at my half-packed suitcase.

I keep my gaze on the suitcase. “Packing.”

“I can see that,” he snaps, stepping further into the room. “The real question is, why?”

My voice doesn’t falter, though my resolve feels fragile. “Because I’m leaving.” I lift my head, meeting his stare. “I want a divorce, Jonah.”

The silence that follows is so suffocating I briefly wonder if he heard me. His expression shifts—part disbelief, part amusement. When he finally speaks, his words cut like a blade.

“A divorce,” he repeats, like I’ve suggested something absurd. “Sienna, you’ve spent the last seven years molding your entire life around me. Do you really think you can walk away?”

His cruelty doesn’t shock me anymore, but the apathy buried in it hurts nonetheless. I tighten my grip on the suitcase. “Watch me.”

“Sienna.” His tone softens, now adopting a calm, patronizing cadence. “You’re upset—about Vivienne, I get it. I shouldn’t have kept certain things from you. But you don’t just throw away an entire marriage over a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” My laugh is sharp and bitter, devoid of warmth. “You knew she was my biological sister. You kept that from me while treating her as if she’s the love of your life. Now, please explain what exactly I’m misunderstanding.”

“I was trying to protect you—”

“No, Jonah,” I cut him off, raising a hand to silence him. “You were protecting yourself.”

Before he can respond, the sound of car doors slamming outside catches both our attention. Peering through the window, my chest tightens as I see my parents stepping out of their sedan. They’re purposeful, their faces etched with determination.

“Perfect timing,” I mutter under my breath.

In less than five minutes, they’re in the living room, and the air inside feels even heavier than before. Mama’s eyes are red from crying, while Baba’s posture is rigid, his jaw set as though he’s here to close a deal.

“Sienna,” Mama begins softly, her voice trembling. “We need to talk this through. You can’t just leave Jonah. You’re about to have a baby!”

“A baby that doesn’t share your DNA,” I say bluntly, watching her flinch at the words.

“That doesn’t matter,” she insists, though her voice cracks under the weight of her emotions. “You’re still our daughter. We love you—”

“Enough.” Baba interrupts coldly. “If she’s so determined to leave, let her. She’ll be back in a week once she realizes how unforgiving the real world is.”

His condescension hits harder than it should, tightening my chest with an ache I don’t want to feel anymore. But his dismissiveness also ignites something fiery inside me.

“You’re wrong,” I say, surprising even myself with how steady I sound. “I’ll struggle. I know that. But I will never set foot here again. Baba, this isn’t my family. This house isn’t my home. And I’m done pretending that it is.”

I turn to Jonah one last time, searching for even the smallest sign of regret or care on his face. But there’s none. He looks at me the way someone observes a trivial inconvenience—detached and amused.

“Go ahead,” he drawls before heading upstairs. “Just don’t come crawling back when you realize you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life.”

Tears threaten to betray me, but I hold steady. “Expect the divorce papers soon,” I snap, dragging my suitcase toward the door. Behind me, I hear Mama’s muffled sobs and Baba’s acidic commentary about how long I’ll last on my own.

The suffocating void of emptiness swallows me as I load my car and drive away. Every mile feels heavier until I finally stop in front of Celeste’s apartment. Shaking and broken, I knock on her door. She pulls me into a tight embrace without asking a single question. Her warmth unravels me, and I collapse onto her couch, breaking down completely.

“I left him,” I sob, the words tumbling out like a confession. “I finally left him.”

“I’m so proud of you, habibiti,” she murmurs, stroking my hair like my mother used to. “This was the hardest step. Remember, it’ll get easier from here.”

“They expect me to fail,” I cry. “They think I’m too weak, too dependent.”

“Are you?” she asks gently.

Her honesty stuns me, but I force myself to answer. “Maybe. But I can’t raise my baby around people like them.”

“Then you have your answer,” she says simply, squeezing my hand. “And I’m here for you, for every step forward.”

That night, as I lie in her guest room, my hands rest protectively over my belly. “I promise you,” I whisper into the quiet, “you’ll never feel as unloved as I have. You’ll always know how much you’re worth.”

My phone vibrates. For a moment, my heart leaps, hoping it’s an apology from Jonah. But no. It’s a message from Vivienne.

Heard you finally did it. Don’t worry—I’ll take good care of Jonah for you. Sweet dreams. - V

Another message follows before I can fully process the first:

PS - Hope you’ve saved up for a lawyer. Custody battles take money, and you have none. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

My hands tremble violently as I stare at the screen, her words carving a dark, icy fear into my chest.

They want to take my baby?

Not a chance. Not over my dead body.