Diagnosed With Cancer, I Left My Baby's Father in Ruins

The second I opened the door, I heard a noise coming from the nursery—and my anger flare up. Beckett had renovated that room the moment he found out I was pregnant. He’d filled it with only the best. Every piece of furniture, every stuffed animal, every blanket—he picked them all out himself. For our baby.

And now he wanted to give that to Delaney?

Fury surged through me. I stormed down the hallway and swung the door open—only to find Delaney lying in the crib.

I yanked her up without thinking, rage burning in my chest. But before I could get a word out, Beckett grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from her.

“What is wrong with you? You act like a lunatic the second you walk in.” he snapped. But when he saw the tears in my eyes, he hesitated—his grip loosening just a little.

“Are you really giving her this room?” I asked, my voice raw and broken.

Beckett frowned. “Delaney said she likes it. It’s not a big deal if she stays here for a while.”

“Do you remember…”

“Enough, Evelyn!” he cut me off, irritated. “Everything you’ve done these past few days has been disappointing. If you keep acting like this, I’ll have to reconsider whether this marriage should even continue.” He paused, eyes cold. “You don’t want the baby inside you to be born without a father, do you?”

He was threatening me—with divorce.

Looking at his face, the side he always turned away when he was done with an argument, I felt the memories unravel. The promises, the whispered sweet nothings, all turning to ash in a matter of months.

He once said this room would always belong to our baby. He said he would treasure both of us for the rest of his life.

And yet here we were.

I didn’t say anything else. I turned around and walked out, numb. My hand instinctively cradled my belly, feeling the faint flutter of life inside me.

“Don’t worry, baby. We don’t need that room. I’ll make you a better one.”

Behind me, Beckett stood frozen, watching me walk away. That same flicker of guilt from the hospital flashed across his face again—sharp and quick, then buried.

But as Delaney called out to him from the nursery, he turned and walked back to her.

Later, when I was back in the master bedroom, my phone buzzed. I got a string of voice messages from Delaney.

I opened them one by one and hearing Beckett’s doting tone in the recordings, I realized all their past affection was just practice for Beckett.

He was practicing on me and our baby, all for the sake of Delaney’s child.

Every nourishing soup I drank, every gift I received for the baby, every parenting tip Beckett shared with me—it was all just practice for Delaney’s baby.

Even the nursery itself was prepared by Beckett for the child in Delaney’s womb.

I and the baby were just tools for Beckett’s rehearsal. He didn’t want Delaney to suffer through his learning curve, so I became the sacrifice.

I listened to the messages over and over, the pain swelling inside me until I laughed. Not because it was funny—because it hurt so much it pushed me over the edge. Everything I had been so proud of since the moment I got pregnant had been nothing but a lie.

Beckett’s tenderness toward my child? It didn’t even come close to what he showed Delaney and hers.

I clenched my phone so tightly my hand shook. It hurt to breathe. All I could do was whisper over and over to myself that it was okay.

It was okay. Because soon, we’d be free of him.

Just me and the baby. And we’d be just fine.

The baby kicked, like he could hear me. Like he understood.

I wrapped my arms around my belly and held it close.

I stayed that way for a long time, until I could finally breathe again.