The Last Rain Before Goodbye

I was just about to cross the threshold when Calvin's voice stopped me cold.

"I know you went to the hospital."

***

"You... You know?" I asked.

He gave a low 'mm', then hesitated. "Someone saw you there. Are you... okay?"

I froze, caught off guard.

He goes, "Your mom's doctor's still in Carmoria. I can call him if you need."

Oh. So that's it. He thought I was sick.

He had no clue... I was pregnant.

My lashes fluttered, but weirdly? I felt calm. Like, seriously? Now he cared?

Pity round two.

Except this time, I wasn't some stray. I was the family dog—sick, and suddenly the owner remembers I exist.

I shot him a bitter smile, then side-eyed Gianna. Her fake smile was holding on by a thread.

"Just dropped in for a checkup," I said.

Then I dipped, before Calvin could play doctor detective.

The next morning, I packed up to leave. Stepped out and—boom—ran into the housekeeper mid-sweep.

She didn't even blink. Like she'd marked it on her calendar.

Honestly? Wouldn't be shocked if the whole house had bets on how long I'd last. Calvin never hid the fact I was just Gianna 2.0.

I walked into the yard, trying not to feel anything—

Then chaos exploded from the second-floor balcony.

Stuff came flying down. One thing after another.

I looked up.

Master bedroom. The one I'd called home for three years.

Bedsheets. Water glasses. Pillows.

Everything I'd left behind, getting yeeted like trash.

A whole vibe: 'Thanks for playing, don't come back.'

Then came the grand finale—our wedding photo.

There I was, standing all stiff next to Calvin, smiling like I didn't know better.

That girl? Total stranger now.

The frame hit the ground and shattered—glass everywhere.

I took a breath, stepped right over the mess, and kept walking.

Last night's rain had passed.

So had mine.

***

Third-Person POV

Calvin and Gianna didn't drag themselves home until late afternoon.

The mansion sparkled like a cleaning commercial, and Gianna gave a smug little nod, clearly impressed by her own orders being followed.

Calvin? He wasn't celebrating. He'd spent the whole morning trying to call Angela—zero luck. That big speech he'd rehearsed a hundred times? Still stuck in his throat.

Just as he reached for his phone again, the housekeeper floated downstairs. "Ms. Payne," she beamed, "the place is spotless. Master bedroom too. Tossed all that woman's stuff and scrubbed it clean. Oh, but there was this file in the closet—I didn't open it."

She fished out a folder from her apron and handed it over. Calvin ditched his phone and grabbed it. A notebook slipped out.

Pregnancy prep notes.

He froze. Brain went straight to that rainy night. Angela crying in his arms, whispering that she had no one left. And him—God, he'd actually kissed her forehead and said, "Let's have a baby. Then you'll have family."

She believed him. Went to doctors. Studied up. Bit by bit, she let her guard down.

His lips twitched, that stupid soft smile sneaking out.

Then he hit the last page.

Folded inside—neat as ever—was a pregnancy test report.