A Ruined Marriage: Me, My Baby and My Dear Ex-Husband

CHELSEA

I hunched over the toilet, my stomach heaving uncontrollably, as waves of nausea washed over me.

The acrid taste of bile lingered in my mouth, and I closed my eyes, hoping to find a moment of respite from this relentless sickness. The sound of retching filled the air, punctuated by my labored breaths.

"Miss Chelsea, are you alright?" a concerned voice pierced through the fog of my discomfort.

I opened my eyes to see Rowena, standing beside me with a look of worry etched across her face.

I managed to catch my breath and weakly replied, "I'm... I'm fine, Rowena." My voice trembled, mirroring the weakness that had overtaken my body. "Just... just a stomach bug, I think."

Rowena knelt down beside me, concern deepening in her eyes. She placed a hand on my back, gently rubbing circles to offer some semblance of comfort. "Should I get you anything? A glass of water, perhaps?"

I mustered a weak smile, grateful for her presence. "Thank you, Rowena, but I think I'll be alright. It's just a passing thing, I hope."

She didn't seem convinced, her gaze filled with a mixture of compassion and suspicion. "Are you sure, Miss Chelsea? This has been going on for a few days now. Maybe it's time to see a doctor."

I sighed, feeling a mixture of frustration and fear. Rowena was right—I couldn't ignore these persistent symptoms any longer. Deep down, I knew this wasn't a simple stomach bug. The uncertainty gnawed at me, fueling my anxiety.

"You're right, Rowena," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I... I should see a doctor. This isn't normal."

Rowena nodded in agreement, her hand still resting gently on my back. I was grateful for her support, knowing that I didn't have to face this alone. With Rowena by my side, I could find the strength to confront whatever lay ahead, be it good news or bad.

As I leaned against the cool bathroom tiles, I couldn't help but wonder what awaited me on this uncertain path. But one thing was certain—I had Rowena's unwavering support.

At least, I know that I have someone in this lonely house who will stay by my side even though my husband was still avoiding me.

The very idea of me becoming pregnant is enough to send shivers down my spine. It suddenly reminded me of my mother, “Mom…”

My parents were as grateful as it was possible for them to be. They were content in their marriage, and they had two children who were stunningly beautiful. But then, as years passed by, they decided that they wanted another kid, and that's when everything began to go wrong.

I was informed that shortly after my mother gave birth to me, she began to lose a significant amount of blood.

Because of me and my birth, my mother is no longer with us. I feel like, it was me who killed her.

Because of me, she did not get to enjoy the remainder of her life to its fullest. Because of me, she was unable to attend her children's accomplishments. My mother had missed out a lot in her life.

I robbed the life she should be living to the fullest and happiest. And there’s no one to blame, but myself.

My kind siblings, Carmela and Carlos, they had always assured me that it was not my fault and that I had no say in the matter because it was our mother’s fate. But still, my existence killed my mother and it was a big matter for me.

‘No Chelsea, don’t say that. It’s not your fault that Mom died. Please, stop blaming yourself, Ches.’ That’s the line that they always say to me every time they saw me crying.

Even my own father, who I avoid because I am the reason of his suffering through the years since my mother passed away, attempted to reassure me that it wasn't my fault and that he would never consider his daughter as the killer of his wife, the love of his life.

I still chose to avoid him because I am the source of his anguish even though he denies it, “Dad.”

Despite the fact that my family did all they could to comfort me, I was still able to see the displeased expression on their faces.

And that was the reason, I left home.

I couldn't take any more expressions of concern or pity from them, and I certainly couldn't take it from that inquisitive little town.

I ended up running into an old buddy from my childhood named Nicolas, and when we reunited, he pleaded with me to move in with him and informed me of many job openings that I could apply for if I was in a hurry.

He also told me about several employment chances that I could apply for if I ran out of time.

I opted to work at a little café that wasn't too far from Nicolas's gorgeous apartment after discussing and looking at a variety of jobs with him to see which one would be the most suitable and best match for me.

A few days later, one of the other employees informed me that someone had expressly asked for me to accept their order. “Miss Sheldon, one of our regular customers is asking for you. He wants you to take his order. He’s in table eight.”

“Huh, me?” He nodded with a smile, so I walked to the table with the assumption that it was Nicolas who was just attempting to pull a trick on me, but instead I saw a guy with a far more impressive physique.

And that is how I first got to know Raphael.

He was tall and confident; he possessed an undeniable magnetism that seemed to pull everyone's attention towards him. His features were sculpted, as if crafted by an artist's meticulous hand.

His eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, held a mysterious allure. They were the color of the stormy sea, flecked with hints of deep emerald that danced with each passing emotion.

With a single glance, he could convey a myriad of feelings, from intense passion to playful mischief.

A strong jawline, chiseled to perfection, accentuated his masculine charm. It was the kind of jawline that could command attention in any room.

His lips, tempting and inviting, curved into a captivating smile that hinted at a hidden well of charm and charisma.

His hair, effortlessly tousled and styled, added to his allure. Whether it was jet black, shimmering under the sunlight, or chestnut brown with streaks of golden warmth, it always seemed to fall into place with an unruly grace. It framed his face like a crown, adding a touch of rugged refinement to his overall appeal.

His physique exuded strength and athleticism, with broad shoulders and a well-defined physique that spoke of countless hours spent in dedication to his physical well-being.

Every movement he made was graceful and deliberate, a testament to his poise and confidence.

But it was his presence, an intangible aura that surrounded him, that truly captivated those in his presence. There was an air of mystery about him, a sense that there were depths to explore and secrets to uncover.

He possessed a natural charisma that drew people in, making them yearn to know him, to be a part of his world.

In the end, it wasn't just his physical appearance that made him handsome, but rather the way he carried himself with a mix of confidence and humility.

It was the genuine kindness that emanated from his every action, the warmth that he shared with those around him. These qualities, combined with his striking features, made him an irresistible force, leaving a lasting impression on all who crossed his path.

And in that moment, I already knew, he was the one.

“Hi, I’m Raphael. Raphael Ludington.”