Chapter three
1100 Words
Three weeks had gone by since Cynthia had left Adam's mansion. The divorce proceedings had been initiated. She hadn't looked back.
Her new apartment was tiny—a one-bedroom apartment with creaky floors and paper-thin walls—but it was hers. No more tiptoeing. No more pretending. No more Adam.
The first few nights were quiet. Too quiet. Cynthia would lie on the couch, watching the ceiling fan rotate slowly, questioning whether she'd made a mistake.
But each morning, she awoke, got dressed for the office, and left the past a little bit further in the rearview.
At the office, she stayed focused—no distractions. She charged headlong at client reports and files. But there was one person she could not help but see: Justin.
He was the quiet, stoic type in the marketing department. Tall and gaunt, with warm brown eyes and a slow drawl. They'd both worked in the same company for two years without saying anything beyond a cursory "hello."
Until now.
"Hi, Cynthia," he said to her one day at the coffee machine. "I saw your name on the Wilson file. Good job."
She gave a small smile. “Thanks. It was a team effort.”
Justin tilted his head slightly.
It was the first real compliment she’d received in months. She blinked, unsure how to respond.
That was the start. Little chats. Then longer ones. A few laughs in the break room. Slowly, the rough edges of her broken heart softened.
He appeared at her desk one day with an uncertain grin. "Want to have lunch with me? There's a deli downstairs that makes great paninis."
Cynthia hesitated. Her instinct was to tell him no. Instead, she nodded. "Sure. That sounds fine."
Over lunch, she discovered Justin was from a small town ne
"Life has a way of happening, though," he shrugged. "So here I am, writing copy instead of lyrics."
Cynthia smiled. "Well, your commercials are catchy."
He smiled. "That's the kind thing anyone's said about my work in weeks."
They laughed together. It was easy, natural. Cynthia wasn't pretending for the first time in years. She was just. herself.
As days passed, Justin became her quiet support system. He never inquired about her personal life, but always listened if she wanted to open up to him.
One Friday evening, they sat on a bench outside the office building, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange.
“Ever feel like your life just… broke apart?” Cynthia asked softly.
Justin looked at her. “Yeah. But sometimes the broken pieces make room for something better.”
She glanced at him. “You’re full of wisdom.”
“Nah. Just lived through some hard lessons.”
She smiled faintly. “Me too.”
She hadn't shared with him the one-night stand. With Fred. With the tears she'd cried in another man's arms. That portion of her history continued to hurt like an open sore.
But she did share with him the chill of her marriage. About when she'd cried barefooting down the street. And how she was reaching to rediscover herself.
Justin didn't press her. He simply listened.
One morning, Cynthia awoke feeling dizzy. She had blamed it on skipping dinner the night before. But dizziness did not subside.
Some days later, at the office, she felt queasy after drinking a morning coffee. She ran to the bathroom and threw up.
Coming out looking pale and shaken, Justin had seen her.
"You all right?" he asked quietly.
"Something I ate," she lied.
But the cool lurching back was steady. So was the lightheadedness. Then her cool did not arrive.
At lunch time, Cynthia went into a drug store across the street. Her hand shook as she took up a small pink box with Pregnancy Test printed on it.
She stood frozen in the aisle, staring at it, her heart pounding.
"No," she moaned. "It can't be…"
She grasped the box and paid with cash in an instant, her fist balled on the paper bag as if it were a bomb about to detonate.
Walking outside into the brightness of the afternoon.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her world around her melted away—bodies rushing by, cars honking, wind blowing through her hair.
Was she pregnant?
And if she was… whose was it?
Her hands trembled over the bag as a whole range of thoughts careened through her brain.
What if it was Fred's?
Her knees went weak, and she clung to a pole nearby for support.
Cynthia had no clue what the future held. But she did know one thing for sure—her life was going to change again.
She pulled the test out of the bag and stood there in shock. "No," she whispered this time more to herself than to anyone else. "It can't be.".
Cynthia clutched the test in her hand as she entered her apartment. Walls that had once given her a sense of security now seemed to be closing in on her. She set down her keys and collapsed onto the side of her bed, paper bag still clutched in her hand.
Shallow puffs of air escaped her body.
It couldn't be.
She hadn't even let herself think about that night because it had happened. She had suppressed it way deep down, rationalizing it as a moment of judgment—a way to be alive. Now, however.
Shaking hands, she tore the box open and ran for the bathroom. The mirror revealed her white face and huge, terrified eyes. Barely recognizable.
Minutes ticked by, and she sat against the floor, back on the wall, staring at the small plastic stick on the counter.
Waiting.
The three longest minutes of her life.
When the result appeared, her heart stopped beating.
Two lines.
Positive.
She placed a hand over her mouth, suppressing a sob. Tears filled in her eyes.
A baby?
Her baby?
She had no idea if she should be afraid or… hopeful.
A knock at the front door. She jumped.
"Cynthia?"
Justin's muffled voice, behind wood. "I… I was just passing by. Thought I'd pop in and visit you."
She flushed, wiping her face and hiding the test behind the towel rack.
One breath. Two.
She opened the door a crack.
Justin there, paper bag clutched with soup from the deli downstairs.
You were doing worse yourself a few moments ago," he panted. "Thought this would take care of it."
Cynthia's lips trembled into a sick smile.
"Thanks, Justin," she gasped. But in her mind, she was yelling:
He doesn't know. Not yet.
- Writer
