The night had started with laughter and soft music, just you and Miles, enjoying a rare date night. But now, the world felt like it had shifted on its axis. Your phone rang, the screen flashing “Mom,” and the panic in your chest told you something was wrong. You rushed out, Miles barely keeping up, his hand instinctively resting on the curve of your belly as if shielding your little one.

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and hushed voices. Your shoes squeaked against the polished floors, and your heartbeat thudded painfully in your ears. When you finally reached her room, the sight that met you made your stomach drop.

Mom was lying on the bed, injuries minor but enough to send shivers down your spine, her eyes wide and guarded. And beside her… Dad. After five long years in prison for everything he had done to us, he was here, walking freely again. Your chest tightened. The rage, the fear, the confusion—it all collided in a single moment.

“Mom…” You whispered, and she flinched, as if afraid to meet my gaze. Her voice was quiet, almost rehearsed. “It’s… it’s nothing serious, sweetie.”

But the manipulation in her tone, the way she avoided your eyes, it told me everything you needed to know. Dad had wormed his way back into her trust, even after all those years. "You look like a slut." He said to you, as he was stroking mom's hand, and then he glanced at your belly.