Whispers of the Stars

I began dating a rich guy in my junior year of college, and he was truly good to me.

In every way, he seemed perfect—except for one. He refused to let me meet any of his friends.

He would simply tell me, gently, “I love you, sweetheart.”

One afternoon, after finishing class, I was heading to the library when a poised woman stopped me on the path.

Resting a hand on her slightly rounded stomach, she said softly, “Are you Nicole? I’m Ryan’s wife.”

***

My first meeting with my boyfriend felt like a scene straight out of a movie.

While working part-time at the café below his company, I accidentally spilled coffee on his expensive suit. I turned pale, bowing over and over, apologizing and offering to pay.

He just smiled, his tone gentle. “It’s fine, sweetheart. It’s just a shirt.”

He didn’t take my money. Instead, he asked for my number—only for me to learn later that the entire “accident” had been a carefully orchestrated opening scene.

And he was so good to me.

So good that someone like me, who had grown up like a weed in a family that only valued sons, finally tasted what it felt like to be cherished.

He tracked my cycle, having his assistant deliver heating pads and ginger tea before I even needed them.

He remembered an offhand comment I’d made and turned it into a surprise gift by the next holiday.

He listened patiently as I vented about school, then broke it all down with clear, practical advice.

My heart, hardened by years of cold indifference, warmed effortlessly in his hands.

I fell hard. He became my entire world—my salvation.

Once, I gathered the courage to ask him carefully why he never introduced me to his friends or family.

He would just stroke my hair and say in that tone I could never resist, “Nicole, you’re still in school. I don’t want all those complicated relationships to distract you. When things are more settled, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

I believed him.

Until the woman named Abigail appeared.

That afternoon, having just finished class, I was heading to the library.

There she stood under the huge camphor tree outside our department building, wearing a loose maternity dress. Her stomach was slightly rounded, her demeanor poised and distant.