My Husband Betrayed Me With My Sister

I sat alone in the hotel bathroom, staring at the small white stick in my trembling hands. Two pink lines. Positive.

The room spun around me as I sank to the floor, my back against the cool tile wall. The humiliation of the Golden Globes pre-party still burned fresh—the exposed dress, the laughter, Ryder's cold dismissal. But this... this was something else entirely.

A baby. Our baby.

I pressed my hand against my still-flat stomach, trying to comprehend how I'd missed the signs. The exhaustion, the nausea, the missed periods I'd attributed to stress—it all made sense now.

"Five months," the clinic doctor had said, her voice clinical as she pointed to the fuzzy image on the ultrasound screen. "Everything looks normal."

Normal. As if anything about this situation could be described as normal.

I stared at the grainy black and white image—a tiny form with a rapidly beating heart. My child. A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over me, followed immediately by crushing fear.

"What are you going to do?" the doctor had asked.

"What do you mean?" I'd replied, my voice hollow.

"This is a high-risk pregnancy given your stress levels. You'll need support."

Support. From whom? Ryder? The man who had twisted my hand until something broke? Who had stood by while my sister humiliated me before the entire industry?

"Please don't tell anyone," I'd whispered, signing the confidentiality forms with shaking fingers. "No one can know."

---

The Malibu house was quiet when I returned. Ryder was at a film premiere with Zahra—their first official public appearance as a couple. The headlines were already calling them "Hollywood's New Power Couple."

I moved silently through the halls, my destination clear. My grandmother's urn sat on the mantel in the living room—the one possession I couldn't bear to leave behind. It was all I had left of her, the woman who had raised me when no one else would.

"Just a few more minutes," I whispered to the urn, running my fingers over its smooth surface. "I'll find a way to come back for you soon."

The front door slammed, making me jump.

"What are you doing here?" Ryder's voice was cold as he strode into the room.

I clutched the urn to my chest. "I came for my grandmother's ashes."

"Your grandmother's ashes," he mimicked, his lips curling into a sneer. "Always with the sentimental garbage, Elena. It's weighing you down."

"It's the only thing I have left of her," I said, backing away.

He moved closer, his eyes glittering with malice. "You know what I think? I think you're pathetic, clinging to dead weight."

"Don't call her that," I warned, my voice shaking with anger.

"Or what?" He snatched the urn from my hands. "You'll do something? You'll fight back?"

"Give it back," I demanded, reaching for it.

He held it out of reach, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Let's go for a drive."

---

The Santa Monica Pier lights blurred through my tears as Ryder parked the car. He'd driven in silence, the urn clutched in his lap like a trophy.

"Get out," he ordered.

I followed him onto the pier, the ocean wind whipping my hair across my face. Tourists parted around us, sensing the tension.

"Ryder, please," I begged as he walked to the railing. "That's all I have left of her."

"All you have left?" he repeated, looking out at the dark water. "You have nothing, Elena. Nothing but what I give you."

With a swift motion, he lifted the urn and tossed it over the railing.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward.

But it was too late. The urn arced through the air and disappeared into the churning waves below.

"Good riddance," he said, dusting off his hands. "Now maybe you can move on."

I stared at the spot where my grandmother's ashes had vanished, something inside me breaking beyond repair.

"Ryder," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the crashing waves. "I hate you."

His face hardened. "Good. Now you know how it feels."

---

I don't remember leaving the pier. One moment I was standing there, watching the waves consume the last piece of my grandmother; the next, I was alone on the beach below, the cold sand beneath my feet.

My breath came in short, painful gasps as I stumbled toward the water's edge. The world tilted and spun around me—the lights of the pier, the black sky, the endless ocean.

"I can't do this anymore," I whispered to the darkness.

My legs gave way beneath me as I collapsed onto the wet sand. The waves rushed in, cold water soaking through my clothes.

I didn't fight it.

As the water pulled at my limbs, I let myself slip. One wave crashed over me, then another. My head struck something hard—a rock or piece of driftwood—and stars exploded behind my eyes.

The ocean swallowed me whole.

As consciousness slipped away, my last thought was of my unborn child—the tiny life inside me that deserved better than this broken world.

Then darkness claimed me completely.