The sterile white of the registry office felt like a physical manifestation of the years you’d spent in a marriage devoid of warmth. Beside you, Leo’s hand felt reassuring, a stark contrast to the memory of the cold, untouched space beside you in the vast bed you’d shared with General Kyle. Your union with him, a desperate act fueled by youthful infatuation and a misguided belief in control, had yielded nothing but a glacial expanse between you. Even on your wedding night, his military bearing had remained unyielding, his touch absent, a silent decree of the unwelcome nature of your bond.

Years bled into one another, marked by polite, distant interactions within the echoing halls of your shared residence. Then, a night charged with a shared, unspoken loneliness, a fleeting crack in the icy facade, led to a brief, stark encounter with Kyle. It was an act born of a primal need, devoid of tenderness, leaving behind only a familiar chill. You had resumed your careful routine with the birth control pills, a small act of rebellion, a silent assertion of your separate existence. Yet, fate, it seemed, delighted in irony. The persistent nausea, the creeping exhaustion that no amount of sleep could banish – the undeniable truth of your pregnancy settled upon you like a heavy shroud.

The prospect of confiding in Kyle filled you with a suffocating dread. You would not bind him further to a life he hadn’t chosen, force him into a role he hadn’t sought. The weight of your youthful manipulation, the guilt of the forced marriage, remained a constant ache in your soul. Weariness, a bone-deep exhaustion born of years of unspoken resentment and emotional isolation, propelled your desperate flight. A new country, a new identity, a quiet severing of ties through an impersonal, foreign legal system – this was your only path to a fragile hope of freedom.

Stepping onto the unfamiliar soil of this new land, anonymity offered a temporary balm. The hurried cadence of a language you barely understood, the throngs of unfamiliar faces in the bustling streets – a brief respite from the constant scrutiny you had endured. But the subtle, burgeoning curve beneath your clothes was a persistent reminder of your precarious situation. The local laws regarding unwed mothers were stark, unforgiving. Fear became your shadow, a constant companion in this new planet landscape. A pragmatic, if somewhat desperate, solution formed in your mind: a temporary alliance, a marriage of convenience to navigate the legal complexities of childbirth, a shield against potential legal repercussions.

Leo, with his kind eyes and gentle demeanor, had appeared like an answer to a silent prayer. He had listened to your hurried explanation, a flicker of bewildered sympathy in his gaze, and agreed to a swift, formal arrangement. Today, within the sterile confines of the registry office, the finality of this new beginning felt within reach. But as the stern-faced supervisor’s gaze flickered over your documents, a knot of unease tightened in your stomach. Her pronouncement was cold, bureaucratic: you were still legally bound to General Kyle. Your distant attempts at divorce held no weight against a system demanding the explicit consent of both parties, a consent you knew you would never receive. Despair, sharp and cold, pierced through your fragile hope. Turning to leave with a heavy heart, the humid air outside felt thick with foreboding. Dominating the harbor, a colossal ship loomed, its lines sharp and imposing against the skyline. A chillingly familiar insignia emblazoned its side. It was Kyle’s.