Pregnant Wife in Freezer Hell

The insulated bag felt heavy in my hand as I made my way through the sleek glass doors of Anderson Tower. My husband's favorite meal—lemon herb chicken with roasted vegetables—was carefully packed inside, still warm. Eight months pregnant, my movements were slower, more deliberate, but I refused to let that stop me from surprising Everett today.

I smoothed down my maternity dress, a designer piece that had been altered to accommodate my growing belly. Even in my condition, I maintained the elegance expected of an Anderson. Mother had drilled that into me since childhood: "Appearance is everything, Sabrina. Never let them see you unravel."

The lobby buzzed with activity as employees scurried about their morning duties. Several stopped to offer smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes.

"Mrs. Brooks! What a lovely surprise," said Janet from reception, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

"Good morning, Janet. Is Everett in his office?" I asked, noticing how quickly she looked away from me.

"Yes, ma'am. He's... he's in a meeting, but I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Something in her tone made me pause. As I approached the elevator, I caught fragments of whispered conversations that died as soon as I drew near.

"...can't believe she doesn't know..."

"...Mina said he promised..."

I placed a protective hand over my belly, feeling a gentle kick from within. My child—our child—would be here soon. Eight years of marriage, and finally, we would have the family Everett had always talked about wanting.

"Probably just worried about me overdoing it," I murmured to myself, dismissing their strange behavior. "They've always been protective."

The elevator ride to the thirtieth floor was swift and silent. My mind drifted to the lunch ahead—a small gesture to show Everett how much I appreciated him. Father had always warned me about marrying someone beneath our station, but Everett had proven him wrong. His devotion had been unwavering, his attention constant. Everyone envied our marriage.

The executive floor was quieter than usual. I nodded to a few familiar faces as I made my way toward Everett's corner office. The door was partially open, and I could hear voices inside—Everett's deep timbre and a softer female tone that belonged to Mina Wheeler, his secretary.

I pushed the door wider, balancing the lunch bag in my now-empty hand.

"Everett, I thought you might be hungry—" The words died in my throat.

Mina was perched on the edge of Everett's desk, leaning forward, her blouse unbuttoned one button too many. Everett sat close to her, his hand resting on her knee. They jumped apart when I entered, Mina's face flushing crimson.

"Sabrina!" Everett stood quickly, smoothing his tie. "What an unexpected pleasure."

Mina slid off the desk, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands. "Mrs. Brooks. I was just bringing Mr. Brooks some documents."

The air conditioning blasted cold air into the room, making me shiver despite my pregnancy. Mina wrapped her arms around herself, her lips trembling.

"It's freezing in here," she complained, shooting a pointed look at me before dramatically draping a silk shawl over her shoulders. "The air conditioning must be set too low."

I frowned, noticing how the cold seemed to bother her so much while Everett didn't seem affected at all. The thermostat on the wall read sixty-eight degrees—cool, but not unusually so.

"I'm sorry if it's uncomfortable," I said, placing the lunch bag on the coffee table. "I can adjust it."

Before I could reach the thermostat, Everett was there, blocking my path.

"Don't touch that," he said sharply.

I blinked, startled by his tone. In eight years of marriage, he had never spoken to me that way.

"Everett?"

"You're making her sick," he accused, nodding toward Mina who had sunk into a chair, looking pale and fragile. "She's been feeling unwell all morning, and now you're deliberately making it worse."

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. "I'm what?"

"Don't pretend you don't see how cold it is," he continued, his voice rising. "You've always been selfish about these things, Sabrina. Always thinking about your own comfort."

I stared at him, bewildered. This wasn't the man who had held my hand through every doctor's appointment, who had painted the nursery himself, who had promised to love me forever.

"Everett, I'm eight months pregnant," I said quietly. "I'm not trying to make anyone sick. I just wanted to bring you lunch."

Mina coughed delicately, drawing Everett's attention back to her. The tender look he gave her made my stomach clench.

"You should go home, Sabrina," he said, not meeting my eyes. "Rest. Take care of yourself."

"But—"

"Now, Sabrina." His voice hardened, and something in his eyes made me take a step back.

In that moment, as Mina watched me with barely concealed triumph, I felt something shift inside me—not just the baby moving, but something deeper breaking apart. The man I thought I knew was gone, replaced by a stranger who looked at me with cold indifference while comforting another woman.

And in that stranger's eyes, I saw the glimmer of a truth I wasn't ready to face.