Pregnant with My Uncle's Baby

Chapter 3 Struggle

How could I ever look my mother in the eye, or even face myself, if I kept someone like this in my life?

When we reached the apartment, Ethan yanked me inside, his grip iron-tight. The moment the lock clicked, he bolted upstairs to Vivian.

My face drained of color as I took in the room—every corner screamed of their shared life. His leather jacket was slung over a chair, his scuffed shoes sat by the door, and even his favorite whiskey was on the counter. They'd been tangled together far longer than I'd ever guessed.

Then I saw it, a flash of familiar blue under the table. My head spun as I lunged for it. It was the sweater I'd bled over for three agonizing months, my fingertips still scarred from countless needle jabs. On his birthday, he'd been thrilled beyond words, kissing my wounded hands as he whispered, "Promise me you won't do this again. This is all I'll ever need."

Now my eyes stung, dry as bone. Without hesitation, I tossed the sweater into the trash and climbed the stairs.

Their laughter spilled through the door, low and intimate. "I brought her here to grovel. Why aren't you happy?" Ethan asked.

Vivian's voice cracked. "When are you dumping her?"

There was a pause, then Ethan's resigned sigh. "I can't just walk away."

"Then what the hell am I?" she shrieked.

The bed creaked as she started sobbing. Within seconds, his resolve crumbled. Murmurs turned to breathless whispers, then to the frantic shuffle of fabric. Suddenly he gasped, "Stop. Nora's right downstairs!"

Vivian's reply dripped with honeyed poison. "You deny me everything. Won't you at least give me this?"

The silence stretched, then she gave a triumphant giggle. "We'll be quiet. She won't hear a thing."

The bed groaned. His resistance died.

I froze outside that door, my nails digging into my palms until nausea hit me like a truck. I barely made it to the bathroom before retching.

The door flew open as Ethan skidded in, panic stripping his usual smoothness. "Nora? Are you..."

I wiped my mouth, stood, and slapped him, a sharp c***k that echoed through the tiled room. His lips parted, but no sound came. Then Vivian came barreling in, throwing herself between us like some self-righteous martyr. "Wake up! He's never loved you. You're just—"

"Enough!" Ethan roared, shooting me a desperate glance.

But my face was a mask, carved from stone, emptier than the hole where my heart used to be. "Ethan," I said slowly, my voice eerily calm. "You make me sick. We're through."

His pupils shrank to pinpricks, his body locking up as if I'd slapped him again. And why wouldn't he be shocked? For ten miserable years, I'd trailed after him like a pathetic mutt, begging for table scraps of affection. The idea that I'd be the one to end things was unthinkable.

My fingers closed around the keys. Without hesitation, I turned and unlocked the door. The moment I stepped out, frantic footsteps pounded behind me, only to be cut off by Vivian's shrill cry. Just like that, Ethan faltered, then spun back to her.

Dizzy and numb, my vision swimming, I barely made it home before darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally clawed my way back to consciousness at noon the next day, my body throbbed with a wrongness I couldn't ignore. I checked, and my heart dropped. Crimson streaks stained the sheets.

I snatched my ID and flung the door open, then froze, my blood turning to ice. There, looming in my doorway, stood Vivian and Chloe, my father's bastard daughter. Memories of their sneers and jabs flooded back, sharp as broken glass. They closed in on me, their lips curled in identical, venomous smirks.

"Well, well," Chloe purred, her eyes crawling over me like spiders. "Look who's grown into quite the pretty little thing."

Vivian let out a laugh like shattering glass, her tone laced with poison.