He Wanted Me Gone, Now He Wants Me Back

003: Pregnant And Waiting

ELENA’S POV

I froze. The word hung between us like a fragile, shimmering thread.

“Pregnant?” I managed, my voice breaking on the word.

Dr. Ana smiled, gentle but firm. “Yes. About six weeks along. The tests are conclusive. Everything looks good.” She leaned forward, her eyes searching mine as if trying to gauge whether the news had truly landed. “Congratulations, Elena. You’re going to be a mother.”

The room seemed to tilt, and I gripped the armrests of the chair as though they were the only things keeping me tethered to the earth. My heart pounded, loud and insistent, and my vision blurred with tears.

Pregnant. After three years of disappointment, failed tests, whispered prayers in the dark. A part of me had stopped believing this day would ever come.

The dam broke, tears spilling freely now. “I... I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Dr. Ana said, her smile unwavering. “This is your moment.”

But was it? The joy filling me was shadowed by a sharp ache. Aiden. Last night’s fight came roaring back—his voice cold, his words like jagged glass.

“You’re barren, Elena.”

He hadn’t even waited for my response before storming out. And now? Now I was carrying his child.

Dr. Ana handed me a folder of instructions, her voice fading into background noise as my thoughts spiraled. I managed a polite goodbye, stepping into the crisp afternoon air.

My hand instinctively rested on my stomach, as if to shield the tiny life within. I had to tell him. He needed to know.

The drive home was a blur, the hum of the engine underscoring the chaotic mix of emotions battling inside me—hope, fear, anger, and a flicker of something fragile yet stubborn: faith.

Pulling into the garage, my chest tightened. Aiden’s car wasn’t there. He hadn’t come back.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He will come back.” I repeated it like a mantra, willing myself to believe it. He had to come back. This baby—our baby—would change everything.

Inside the house, the familiar scent of pinewood polish greeted me. I caught sight of Marisol, one of the house staff, exiting the kitchen.

“Marisol,” I called, my voice lighter than it had been in months.

She straightened, turning to face me. “Yes, Luna?”

“Tell the cook to prepare a special dinner tonight,” I said, unable to suppress the tremor of excitement in my tone. “And let me know the moment Aiden returns.”

Her eyes widened slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “Are we celebrating something special?”

I hesitated, my hand brushing against my stomach again. “Yes,” I said softly, a secretive smile tugging at my lips. “Something very special.”

Her face lit up with unspoken understanding, and she nodded before disappearing down the hallway.

Upstairs, in the quiet of my room, the weight of everything began to settle. My hands trembled as I opened the wardrobe, sifting through the rows of dresses. When my fingers brushed against a white flowing gown, I paused.

“This one,” I whispered, pulling it free. The fabric was soft, light, and full of promise.

Laying it gently on the bed, I imagined Aiden’s face—the way his eyes would widen, his lips parting in disbelief as I told him he was going to be a father. I imagined the guilt that would follow, his apologies tumbling out in a rush.

And I would forgive him. Of course I would. Because none of it would matter anymore. We would have our baby, our family. Everything we had dreamed of, everything we had fought for, was finally here.

A quiet laugh escaped me, the sound almost foreign. I twirled once, the hem of my skirt brushing against my ankles, a lightness spreading through my chest.

“This is it,” I murmured to the empty room, my voice trembling with hope. “Everything’s going to be okay now.”

The words lingered, a prayer wrapped in fragile certainty.

But beneath the joy, a shadow lingered—uncertainty, a question I wasn’t ready to face. What if Aiden didn’t come back?

I shook the thought away, smoothing the gown on the bed. “He will.” I clung to the hope as tightly as I could.

Tonight would change everything. It had to.

The clock ticked loudly in the quiet dining room, each passing minute gnawing at my nerves. It was past ten, and Aiden still hadn’t returned.

I sat at the table, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, stealing glances at the wall clock. My plate remained untouched, the aroma of the food doing little to stir my appetite.

I tried calling him again, but the phone went straight to voicemail. My heart squeezed with worry, a small part of me wondering if something terrible had happened.

But then, my wolf remained calm, her presence steady and unbothered. If Aiden were in real danger, I would have felt it through her. That realization gave me some comfort, but it didn’t stop the knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach.

I stood and began pacing, my bare feet making soft sounds against the polished floor. My mind ran through countless scenarios—where he could be, why he hadn’t called—but each one left me more unsettled than the last.

And then I heard it—the familiar hum of his car pulling into the garage. Relief washed over me, and I exhaled a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Quickly, I moved back to the table, smoothing out my dress and checking to make sure everything was still perfect. Tonight was supposed to be special.

The sound of his footsteps grew louder, echoing on the pavement outside, and then the front door creaked open. There he was, standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the light from outside.

My heart fluttered with anticipation as his eyes locked onto mine, his gaze briefly flicking to the set table before settling on me again. Something shifted in his expression—a flicker too brief to name.

“Welcome back,” I managed, my voice soft but laced with fragile hope. “I’ve been waiting. Come, sit. Dinner’s ready.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he stepped inside, his shoulders taut, the faint scent of rain clinging to his jacket. In his hand was an envelope, its edges crumpled as though it had been gripped too tightly.

“Elena,” he said, his voice low but measured, as if weighing each word before letting it go. “We need to talk. The food can wait.”