Pregnant and Gone: The Billionaire’s Regret

Amelia Carter had spent the whole afternoon preparing dinner for a man who might not come home. The table was set for two. White roses. Two crystal glasses. A small anniversary cake. And Ethan Blackwood’s favorite steak, now cold on the plate. The candle had never been lit. Amelia stood beside the dining table, still wearing the pale blue dress she had chosen three hours ago. She had curled her hair. Put on light makeup. Even worn the pearl earrings Ethan had given her on their wedding day. Not because he would notice. He never noticed. But because today was different. Today was their first wedding anniversary. At least, it was supposed to be. The clock on the wall moved quietly. 10:43 p.m. Ethan was late. Again. Amelia looked down at her phone for the hundredth time. No call. No message. Nothing. She told herself not to wait. She told herself she was used to it. But every time a car passed outside the mansion, her heart still lifted like a fool’s. To everyone in New York’s upper circle, Amelia Carter was lucky. She was the woman who had married Ethan Blackwood. The cold, powerful billionaire who owned half the city’s skyline. Women envied her. Reporters followed her. Strangers looked at the diamond ring on her finger and believed she lived inside a fairy tale. But fairy tales did not feel this lonely. The front door finally opened close to eleven. Amelia turned around immediately. Ethan Blackwood walked in. Tall. Handsome. Untouchable. His black suit was perfectly pressed, and his expression was as calm and distant as ever. He looked like a man who had never once needed to explain himself to anyone. His eyes swept over the table. Then over her. There was no surprise. No guilt. No warmth. “You’re still awake?” he asked. Amelia’s fingers tightened around the back of the chair. “I was waiting for you.” Ethan loosened his tie and walked toward the stairs. “You shouldn’t have.” Just four words. Cold. Casual. Careless. But they cut deeper than an insult. Amelia looked at the untouched cake. “Do you remember what day it is?” Ethan stopped. For one second, she saw him pause. Only one second. Then his phone rang. The name on the screen lit up clearly. Sophia Lane. Amelia saw it. So did he. Ethan answered without hesitation. His voice changed the moment he spoke. It was still low. Still controlled. But softer. “Sophia?” Amelia stood very still. She could not hear everything from the other side of the call. Only Sophia’s weak, trembling voice. “Hospital…” “Scared…” “Can you come?” Ethan’s face darkened. “Stay there. I’m coming.” Amelia felt something inside her chest sink. He hung up and reached for his coat. “Ethan.” He looked back at her. “Sophia is at the hospital,” he said. Amelia swallowed the ache in her throat. “And me?” His eyebrows drew together slightly. “What about you?” The dining room became painfully quiet. The roses looked ridiculous. The cake looked ridiculous. And Amelia, standing there in a dress chosen for a husband who had forgotten her, felt the most ridiculous of all. “It’s our anniversary,” she said softly. Ethan looked at the table again. This time, he seemed to understand. But understanding was not the same as caring. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” Tomorrow. He always had a tomorrow for her. A tomorrow for forgotten dinners. A tomorrow for missed birthdays. A tomorrow for the nights he spent beside another woman while his wife waited alone in an empty mansion. Amelia gave a small, broken smile. “Does tomorrow fix everything?” Ethan’s patience thinned. “Don’t start, Amelia.” Don’t start. As if her pain was trouble. As if her loneliness was noise. As if asking to be chosen by her own husband was something shameful. She looked at him for a long moment. “If I were the one in the hospital, would you leave her and come to me?” Ethan’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t the time.” Amelia almost laughed. No. It never was. It was never the time for her. Never the time to be hurt. Never the time to be lonely. Never the time to ask why his first choice was always Sophia. Ethan turned toward the door. The scent of his cologne passed by her. Cold. Expensive. Familiar. Then he was gone. The door closed behind him. And the mansion became silent again. Amelia stood there until her legs felt numb. Then she picked up the lighter with shaking fingers and lit the candle on the cake. The tiny flame trembled. So did she. “Happy anniversary,” she whispered. No one answered. A sudden wave of nausea rose in her throat. Amelia pressed a hand over her mouth and rushed to the bathroom. She bent over the sink, her body shaking. It had happened three times this week. At first, she thought it was stress. Then exhaustion. Then maybe the cold meals she kept reheating and never finishing. But when she lifted her head and looked at her pale face in the mirror, a thought appeared in her mind. No. Impossible. Her hand moved slowly to her lower abdomen. Her heart began to pound. One hour later, Amelia sat alone in a private hospital corridor. The lights were white and cold. Her coat was wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her wedding ring felt heavy on her finger. Too heavy. The doctor came out with a file in her hand. “Mrs. Blackwood?” Amelia stood up. The doctor smiled gently. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.” The world went silent. Pregnant. The word landed inside her like thunder. For several seconds, Amelia could not breathe. Her first feeling was not joy. It was fear. A child. Ethan’s child. Her fingers trembled as she accepted the report. “How long?” “About six weeks.” Six weeks. Amelia remembered that night. Ethan had come home late from a business dinner. He had drunk too much. She helped him upstairs, and for once, he had not pushed her away. He held her wrist in the dark. He whispered her name. Her name. Not Sophia’s. For one foolish night, Amelia had believed it meant something. The doctor’s voice pulled her back. “Does your husband know?” Amelia opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Her husband was probably with Sophia right now. Maybe holding her hand. Maybe telling her not to be afraid. Maybe giving her the tenderness Amelia had begged for and never received. The doctor noticed her silence and softened her tone. “You should tell him soon. Pregnancy can be physically and emotionally difficult. You’ll need support.” Support. Amelia almost smiled. Ethan Blackwood did not know how to support her. He knew how to provide. A mansion. A black card. A title. Mrs. Blackwood. His wife in public. His stranger in private. “Thank you, doctor,” Amelia said. She folded the report carefully and placed it inside her handbag. When she walked out of the examination room, she did not know where to go. Her mind was blank. Her body moved on its own. Then she turned a corner. And stopped. Ethan was there. At the end of the corridor. He stood outside a VIP room, his tall figure casting a long shadow under the hospital lights. Sophia Lane sat inside the room, wrapped in a pale blanket. Her face was delicate. Her eyes were red. Ethan held a glass of warm water in his hand. He bent slightly and gave it to her. Amelia had never seen him do that for anyone. Not even for her. Sophia looked up at him. “I’m sorry for calling you so late,” she said softly. “Amelia must be upset.” Ethan’s voice was calm. “She’ll be fine.” Sophia lowered her eyes. “She loves you very much.” Ethan was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Amelia knows her place.” Amelia froze. Her fingers tightened around the pregnancy report inside her bag. Her place. So that was what she was to him. Not his wife. Not the woman who had waited for him. Not the mother of his unborn child. Just someone who should know her place. Sophia’s voice became even softer. “But today is your anniversary. Shouldn’t you go back to her?” Ethan did not answer immediately. Amelia waited. She hated herself for waiting. Even now, some stupid part of her still wanted him to say yes. Still wanted him to remember. Still wanted him to choose her. But Ethan only said, “She won’t leave.” Three words. Calm. Certain. Cruel. Something inside Amelia finally broke. Not loudly. Not dramatically. It simply cracked. And went still. Very still. She stepped back before he could see her. One step. Then another. Her heels made almost no sound against the hospital floor. She did not cry. She did not rush into the room. She did not ask him why. Because suddenly, she understood. Ethan was not afraid of hurting her. He was only sure she would stay. Outside the hospital, rain had begun to fall. Amelia stood beneath the entrance with one hand pressed against her stomach. The city lights blurred through the rain. Beautiful. Cold. Far away. Her phone vibrated. A message from Ethan appeared on the screen. Not a question. Not an apology. Not concern. Only five words. Go home. Don’t make trouble. Amelia stared at the message for a long time. Then she turned off the phone. The rain soaked her hair as she stepped down from the hospital entrance. Her dress clung to her legs. Her lips trembled from the cold. But her eyes were dry. She touched her lower abdomen gently. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the tiny life inside her. “I almost gave you to the wrong man.” That night, Amelia did not return to the Blackwood mansion. She checked into a small hotel under her maiden name. In the narrow bathroom, she removed her wedding ring and placed it beside the sink. The diamond caught the yellow light. It looked beautiful. It looked expensive. It looked like a lie. Amelia took the pregnancy report from her bag and read it again. Pregnant. Six weeks. A child who knew nothing yet. A child who deserved more than a father who would always choose another woman. By midnight, Amelia had made her decision. She would leave Ethan Blackwood. And this time, she would not come back.