A Child for His Best Friend

I just sent the message when Eric pushed the door open.

He saw the suitcase at my feet, his brows furrowing into a knot, his tone full of impatience. "Had enough of this? Don't throw a childish tantrum."

He strode past me as if that massive suitcase was invisible, pulled a folded blueprint from his briefcase, and spread it on the table.

It was our home's floor plan.

"Take a look," he pointed to the study area, excited. "I plan to turn the study into the nursery. It faces south with plenty of sunlight. What do you think of painting the walls light yellow? More cozy that way."

He spoke so casually, as if we just discussed which restaurant to hit for the weekend.

That study still held all my professional books and the therapy equipment left unused.

He already rushed to erase every trace of me from this home.

I looked at his eyes lit by visions of the future and could not utter a word.

Eric took my silence as sulky agreement and kept planning on his own. "Once the child arrives, the three of us..."

"Buzz." His phone vibrated, the screen flashing Laurie.

Eric picked up almost instantly. The voice that bossed me moments ago dropped down, soft enough to wring water from. "Laurie? What happened? Insomnia again? Don't overthink it. I got you... Yeah, all sorted. Maeve understood. She signed."

He instinctively took the phone to the balcony, his back radiating guilty tenderness.

I heard that breezy "she understood" and suddenly laughed.

Five years ago, I dropped my studio plans, and he called me understanding.

Three years ago, I canceled an overseas training trip to nurse his sprained ankle, and he called me understanding.

In his world, my understanding meant sacrifice.

Eric finished the call and returned, the softness still lingered on his face. He saw my cool expression and frowned in displeasure again.

He cleared his throat and said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Laurie felt stressed and slept poorly recently. You know therapy, right? Swing by to help her out sometime. Count it as good karma for our future kid."

I finally lifted my eyes to meet his.

He not only trampled my feelings but also my career, wanting me to serve the woman about to carry his child.

How generous.

"My services cost a lot," I said, my voice calm as if it concerned someone else. "Have her book a slot. Dr. Fletcher, my schedule filled up fast these days."

Eric's face froze for a split second. He seemed unprepared for that response.

Then anger flared across his features. "Maeve, what happened to you? So petty! Got a grudge against money now?"

He pointed at me, looking heartbroken. "I said all premarital assets would go to you. What more do you want? Can you be less narrow-minded?"

I had no interest in arguing further.

Reasoning with a man who saw himself as a savior proved pointless.

When I stayed unmoved, Eric's patience ran out completely.

He yanked at his tie in frustration. "Unreasonable! I have reports to write for work!"

He slammed the study door shut.

The whole world went quiet in an instant.

I stared at that closed door and felt unprecedented ease for the first time.

This home that once warmed me now looked like a cage I could discard anytime.

At the same time, my phone screen lit up again with a message from Ethan. "Your sketches and gear weighs a ton. I'll help you move them tomorrow."

The nerves strung tight all evening finally loosened at those words.

My eyes heated, something welled up, but I held it back.

I bowed my head and replied, "Thank you so much."