THE SCORNED WIFE'S SECRET BABY

Camille clutched the thin strip of plastic in her trembling hand, her vision blurring with tears. She stared at the tiny pink lines, willing them to disappear, to undo the weight of what they meant. Pregnant. The room spun around her as she sank onto the cold bathroom floor. The word seemed to echo in her mind, taunting her with its implications. It was supposed to be impossible, or so she’d thought. After years of trying, and years of heartache, the universe had finally delivered the miracle she had stopped asking for. But it was too late. Too cruel. Nicholas was gone. Her chest tightened as memories of him flooded her mind: his dazzling smile, the way he could light up a room with just his presence, the soft way he’d say “Cam” when they were alone. Their love had been fiery and intoxicating, but it had burned too hot, leaving scars she still felt every day. Their divorce had been brutal, played out in tabloid headlines for the world to see. Nicholas—the golden boy of Hollywood—and Camille—the equally famous actress who had risen alongside him. Together, they had been Hollywood royalty, a power couple whose every move was documented and dissected. But the same spotlight that illuminated their love had also cast harsh shadows on their flaws. She gripped the test tighter, her knuckles whitening. This wasn’t just about her anymore. There was a life inside her now, fragile and dependent. Her stomach churned as she thought of the scripts piling up on her desk, the contracts waiting for her signature. She had fought tooth and nail to build her career, and now, at the height of her fame, this pregnancy threatened to unravel everything. Producers didn’t wait for swollen bellies to flatten, and roles for new mothers were scarce in a world obsessed with youth and perfection. "What am I going to do?" she whispered to the empty bathroom. Her phone buzzed on the countertop, pulling her from her spiralling thoughts. She reached for it, half-hoping, half-dreading to see Nicholas’s name. But it was just a notification from her agent, reminding her of an important meeting the next morning. Camille rose on shaky legs, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to steady herself. She caught her reflection in the mirror; her pale face, wide brown eyes, and the faint shadow of exhaustion that had taken permanent residence under them. She barely recognized herself anymore. “Pull it together,” she muttered, gripping the edge of the sink. But how could she pull it together when everything felt like it was falling apart? ~~~ The studio lot was bustling with activity the next day, a cacophony of voices, ringing phones, and the distant hum of generators powering massive sets. Camille walked briskly, her oversized sunglasses shielding her face and her secrets. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement as she made her way to her trailer, the weight of the pregnancy test still heavy in her bag. Inside, she found a neatly bound script sitting on the small table. Her agent, Laura, had already been there, leaving a sticky note on the cover: "This one’s gold. Don’t miss it." Camille sank onto the couch, staring at the script but unable to focus. Her thoughts kept circling back to the test, to the impossible reality growing inside her. How could she juggle this? A child didn’t fit into her meticulously planned life, her carefully crafted image. A knock at the door startled her. She glanced up as it opened, revealing Evelyn, one of the studio’s senior executives and a woman who rarely made casual visits. “Camille,” Evelyn said, stepping inside with her usual air of authority. “I wanted to talk to you about the awards season. The buzz around your name is strong this year, but we need to play it smart.” Camille forced a smile. “Of course. What’s the strategy?” Evelyn sat down across from her, her sharp eyes studying Camille’s face. “First, we need you to be seen. Events, interviews, high-profile appearances. And second, no distractions. The public loves a narrative, but we control the story. Understood?” Camille nodded, her throat tightening. She wondered what Evelyn would say if she knew about the pregnancy. Would she see it as a distraction? A liability? Evelyn’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at it before standing. “I’ll let you get back to it. Just remember, Camille, this is your year. Don’t let anything jeopardize that.” As the door closed behind Evelyn, Camille let out a shaky breath. She looked at the script again, but the words blurred together. This was supposed to be her year, her triumph. But now, everything felt uncertain, as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to leap or retreat. Her hand drifted to her abdomen, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her blouse. She had spent years playing roles, pretending to be someone else. Now, for the first time, she didn’t know who she was supposed to be. “Is everything alright, Camille?” Sydney asked, her gaze settling on Camille who sat up immediately because she didn’t want to blow her cover. Not so fast. “Why would you ask such? Does it look like something is wrong with me?” she shot back, her gaze fixed on Sydney who was to share a role with her. “I know you so well, Camille. Much more than you think. All my time with you has never been a dull one,” she paused to catch her breath and take in my countenance. “You can always talk to me, you know, right?” she said holding her chin and looking straight into her eyes. “I have told you that nothing is the matter, Sydney. Believe me,” “Alright, I won’t doubt you again,” she said, her hands lifted up in a mock surrender. “Let’s get on the set,” she said, pulling me up from the chair I was seated on. As soon as she rose up to follow her, she felt a sharp pain surging through her whole body, beginning from her lower abdomen. “Ah!” she screamed