Love Rewriting

chapter4

Camille’s POV

Two Months Later

It had been two months since I discovered my pregnancy, and every passing day felt heavier than the last. My father had forbidden me from getting rid of the child, yet he never ceased to remind me of how much of a disgrace I was. I was trapped in a cruel paradox—forced to keep the life growing inside me while being tormented for carrying it. I tried to act strong, throwing his decision back at him whenever he lashed out, but deep inside, I was crumbling. Every night, I muffled my cries into my pillow, suffocating in the reality I never wanted.

I wanted a home for my child. A place where love wasn't just a distant dream but a reality. Not this cold, suffocating house filled with judgment and resentment. That dream, however, had shattered into a million irreparable pieces. Now, I was pregnant with a stranger’s child, and worst of all, it was Bella’s fault—but no one would ever believe me.

I sat on my bed, staring at my trembling hands. I had to make things right for my baby. I couldn’t stay here any longer. I needed to talk to my father.

Dragging myself up, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My body had begun to change, subtly yet unmistakably. My bump wasn’t visible yet, but my face told another story—pale, hollow-eyed, exhausted. Anyone who looked at me long enough would see that I wasn’t okay.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of my room for the first time in days. The hallway was eerily quiet except for the faint sound of laughter. It was coming from Bella’s room. Her fiancé must have arrived. The maids had whispered about him—how handsome and manly he was. But I didn’t care. Once, I might have taken my chances, but not anymore. Not with this weight inside me.

I pushed forward, my heart pounding as I reached my father’s study. I hesitated for a moment before knocking.

“Come in,” his voice echoed from the other side.

I stepped in quietly, closing the door behind me. He barely glanced up, his attention fixed on his laptop.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“I need to talk to you, Dad.”

He finally paused, resting his hand on the arm of his chair. “Go ahead.” He gestured for me to sit.

I swallowed hard before speaking. “Since you’re making me keep this baby, at least tell me how I’m supposed to take care of it.”

His lips curled into a humorless smile. “What do you mean?”

I clenched my fists. “I mean, how do I raise a child when you won’t even let me step outside this house?”

Silence. Then, his voice came, colder than ever. “So you can go out there and disgrace me?”

I inhaled sharply, trying to keep my composure. “I need a job, Dad. I need to find a way to support my child.”

He scoffed. “I didn’t tell you to spread your legs like a slut. You brought this upon yourself. Figure it out.”

Before I could respond, the door opened, and my stepmother walked in, her perfume thick in the air.

“There is a job here,” she said casually, setting a glass of water on my father’s desk before leaning down to place a lingering kiss on his cheek. I turned away, feeling sick.

“Why are you disturbing your father?” she added, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Can’t you see he’s working?”

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable, then turned to my father. “She’s right, though. She’ll need a job to support her little bastard.”

My father exhaled heavily. “And how do I face the world, knowing my daughter got pregnant out of wedlock? What will people say?”

I sat there, frozen, listening to them debate my future like I wasn’t even in the room.

Like I wasn’t human.

Like I wasn’t their daughter.

And in that moment, I knew—I had to leave.

“Where are you going?” my stepmother’s voice rang out behind me.

I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t give her or my father the satisfaction of seeing me break again. I had shed enough tears in front of them—I wouldn’t do it anymore.

“While you both sit here debating my fate like I’m some unwanted burden, I’ve already made my decision,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “I’m leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked out of the office, my father’s silence cutting deeper than his words ever could.

I paused just outside the door, pressing my palm against my chest, feeling the wild rhythm of my heart. I needed to breathe. To steady myself.

After a moment, I forced my feet to move, heading toward my room. My mind was a blur of anger and desperation when suddenly—I collided into someone.

“I’m so sorry,” the person said, stepping back.

“No, it’s fine,” I mumbled, quickly wiping at my eyes, trying to mask the pain written all over my face. Then, as I looked up, my breath caught in my throat.

A familiar face. One I never expected to see again.

“It’s… it’s you,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

The person frowned. “What do you mean, me? Do you know me?”

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. My fingers curled into fists as the weight of everything crashed over me again.

“You’re the reason I’m in this mess.”

His eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across his face. But I didn’t wait for a response. My heart pounded as the reality of the moment sank in.

And then, the worst possible thought crossed my mind.

Did he even remember me?