Jonah's POV

Vivienne places a plate in front of me with a proud smile, but my appetite vanishes as I take in the sorry state of the food. The eggs are tough and rubbery, and the bacon has been cooked beyond recognition, little more than charred remnants. My stomach churns.

For the past three years, mornings in my home were filled with the warm aroma of freshly baked bread and the soft tune of Sienna’s humming as she glided around the kitchen. She had a natural grace, her movements efficient yet unhurried. Her meals were perfection—never burnt, never heavy-handed. The contrast before me now couldn’t be sharper.

“I made your favorite—scrambled eggs,” Vivienne announces as she settles into the chair across from me. She’s wearing one of Sienna’s old aprons, the bright yellow one adorned with tiny sunflowers. It used to complement Sienna’s radiant presence perfectly. On Vivienne, though, it seems entirely out of place. It feels… wrong.

“Thanks,” I manage to say, though the gratitude doesn’t reach my voice. I force myself to take a bite of the overdone eggs. Every chew feels like punishment, but I swallow, determined not to let my thoughts betray me. Sienna’s cooking is all I can think about—the way she whisked the eggs to fluffy perfection, perfectly seasoned every single time.

How long is she planning to keep up this act? I wonder. How much more of this will I have to endure before her tantrum ends? The thought of facing meals cooked this way indefinitely makes my chest tighten.

Despite my internal protests, I don’t spit out the food. Vivienne’s hopeful gaze weighs on me, and I force it down, if only to stop myself from calling this situation exactly what it is.

“Jonah,” she says, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prick. “What if Sienna actually means it this time? You know, moving out… divorce?”

The fork in my hand clatters against the plate. My frustration rises sharply as I look back at her. “We both know Sienna better than that. She’s not serious. These stunts of hers are just a way to get my attention.”

“But what if she’s serious? Would you…” Her voice falters as she toys with her coffee cup. “Would you let her go?”

Would I let her go? The absurdity of the question makes something cold settle in my chest. As if I ever truly had a say in Sienna’s choices. As if I’ve ever been able to control her.

“She can’t file for divorce while she’s pregnant,” I reply curtly, the message clear. “The law doesn’t allow it.”

My words land harder than I intend, and she flinches slightly. Guilt washes over me, quick and heavy, but I don’t know how to express it properly. Apologies don’t come easily to me. Never have. I think about saying sorry, but the words refuse to form.

I’ll just make it up to her later. A gift—something nice, maybe. She loves those little tokens. That should do it.

“What about after the baby?” she presses softly.

With my appetite already lost, I push the plate away. “Why are you even asking this?”

Her shoulders tense, and she looks down, as though gathering courage. “I just… need to understand what I mean to you, Jonah. Where I fit. I’ve been waiting so long for… something.” Her voice dips into a tone that makes me meet her eyes. “I kept waiting, even after you married her. I thought maybe, one day—”

“Vivienne,” I interrupt, running a hand through my hair, weariness overtaking me. “I don’t have time for this.” Abruptly, I rise from my chair. “I need to get to work.”

“Wait—Jonah—”

“I said,” I cut her off, my voice firmer now, “I need to get to work.”

I grab my jacket and keys, leaving her at the table, the rejected breakfast still on the plate before her. I can feel the hurt radiating off her, but I don’t look back. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I truly didn’t. But she has to understand. I’m married now. I’m about to be a father. Whatever we had before cannot, and will not, exist again.

The rest of the week slips past in a haze of meetings and phone calls, yet no matter how busy I try to keep myself, my thoughts circle back to Sienna. It’s been three days since she left. Three days with no sound of her voice, no sight of her face. Three days of waiting for her to come to her senses and step back through the door with some guilt-ridden apology.

But the house stays quiet, and my phone doesn’t buzz with her calls.

On the fourth day, by five in the evening, my patience snaps. I dial her number, holding my breath as it rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it cuts to voicemail. A sharp disappointment claws at me, but just as quickly, irritation takes its place.

What game is she playing now? Surely, she can’t think this little performance is fooling anyone. She won’t actually try to live on her own, will she?

I hang up, tapping my phone against the desk as frustration burns hot and fast. Swallowing my pride, I consider going after her. But the idea alone makes my throat tighten. After everything she’s put me through, hasn’t she humiliated me enough?

Still, she’s carrying my child. The idea of her out there alone, possibly not taking proper care of herself or the baby, gnaws at me.

I call her again. And again. By the sixth attempt, Vivienne’s earlier words echo unwelcome in my mind, and my anger reignites.

Shoving the sensation down, I grab my keys and head home. She’s done stunts like this before, but she always came back in the end. Always. I won’t indulge her drama any further. She’ll come crawling back eventually. No doubt about it.

Sienna's POV

My phone vibrates on the coffee table, Jonah’s name lighting up the screen for the sixth time today. Silently, I watch it ring until the sound stops and the screen fades to black. Then, without a word, I place it facedown.

“That’s his sixth call, Sienna.” Celeste’s voice comes from the kitchen. Moments later, she walks into the living room carrying two steaming mugs. “Shouldn’t you at least hear him out? See what he wants?”

I take the mug she hands me, wrapping my hands around its warmth. The baby inside me has been particularly active today—kicking and twisting as if sensing the tension I’m carrying. I let my free hand rest on my bump, absently rubbing in slow, soothing motions. Thoughts of Jonah threaten to rise, but I push them away.

“There’s nothing he could say that would change my mind,” I mutter flatly.

“Sienna…” Celeste starts softly, hesitant.

“No, Celeste.” I tilt my head to meet her gaze, resolute. “For three years, I made excuse after excuse for him. I brushed off the late-night calls from Vivienne, stayed supportive despite how little attention he gave me. I held on, quietly hoping things would change. But I’m done with that. With him. With her.”

My voice rises as the bottled-up anger spills out, raw and unchecked. “Do you know what he said when I told him I wanted a divorce? He asked if I even had the capacity to leave him. As if I’m some desperate, helpless woman who can’t survive without him.”

Celeste reaches for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re not weak, Sienna.”

I exhale shakily, shaking my head. “But I was. Letting him treat me like I was nothing. Grateful just to be his wife, blind to how little I mattered.”

That old, bitter wound aches anew as I recall the years I wasted loving a man who never truly saw me. All those happy wedding day memories were swiftly clouded by Vivienne’s arrival. From that moment on, everything changed.

The phone vibrates again, Jonah’s name flashing once more. Celeste raises an eyebrow, urging me with a look. “Answer it.”

I sigh, gaze locked on the name. I wonder why she’s pushing me to talk to him now of all times—she’s never been Jonah’s biggest fan. But instead of picking up, I let it ring out once more, flipping the phone over again.

“I’ve already spoken to a lawyer,” I announce, pacing to the window. “Once the baby arrives, I’ll file. I don’t want to wait.”

Celeste studies me carefully, a pause settling between us before she finally hesitates. “This is really what you want, isn’t it? You know no one’s coming to save you this time. Once you sign those papers, it’s done.”

I laugh softly, nodding. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” And I do. This time, I won’t falter. Not for my sake, but for my child’s. They deserve a life free from this miserable cycle.