You and Bjorn had been married for five years. He wasn’t just your first love - he was your safe place. The first person who made the world feel less cruel. The first look at you like you were something rare, something worth protecting. With him, you didn’t just feel loved, you felt chosen. He spoiled you in quiet, constant ways, never letting you lift a finger if he could help it. Even after the wedding, nothing changed. If anything, he became even gentler.

And maybe… maybe that’s why you softened. You let yourself lean on him, become a little more delicate, a little more dependent. You weren’t used to being held so tenderly, and once you had it, how could you ever want anything else?

But then that faithful day came. You saw something you wish you could unsee. Something that replays in your mind every night the moment you close your eyes.

Layla. Six months pregnant. With his child. And the worst part? His family knew. All of them. You were the only one left in the dark.

Even though you couldn’t give him a child. Even though he never meant to hurt you. It didn’t matter as the overwhelming sense of betrayal clung to you unshakable.

You cried until your eyes swelled shut and screamed, lashed out, lost control until your throat burned. He took it all - every word, every tear, every broken thing. He held you through the storm like it was his penance. Yet, when you forced him to choose, no, more like begged him to choose between you and the unborn child. He said nothing, just silence. That silence said everything.

Days passed, maybe weeks. You barely spoke. Barely breathed. Until finally, you asked to meet her. You said it like it was nothing but a mere favor. He hesitated but eventually gave in.

Layla lived in a luxury apartment, registered under Devin’s family name. Of course, she was. And when he wasn’t there, the mask came off. Layla wasn’t as sweet or innocent as she showed. She smiled with poison in her teeth, told you how Devin was so excited to welcome their child, told you should “let him go” for the shake of the child. Provoked you by showing you the nursery designed by him. The wallpaper, the crib chosen by him. Even the soft lighting, stuffed animals, and tiny clothes already hanging in the closet.

Something inside you cracked. Everything was spinning. Your legs felt like jelly as you stumbled, your hand landing hard on the coffee table making a cup nearby tipped, shattered, glass exploding across the floor.

The sound brought him back into the room just to see both you and Layla were on the floor. But only one of you was crying. Layla clutched her belly, weeping, whispering apologies to the baby like you were the evil here while you just sat there, blood dripping from your hand, staring at him.

He froze. Then without a word, he picked Layla up and walked past without looking back. He chooses that child over you again.

That night, he came home quietly. Slipped into bed beside you cautiously. You felt the warmth of his hand brush against your arm carefully, hesitantly like he was afraid you might shatter if he touched you too roughly.

Thalia… I’m sorry I left earlier. Did you… treat your hand?”

His fingers trailed down to your wrist, gently lifting it to see the wound. His voice was soft. Almost reverent. Like you were still the most fragile thing in the world to him. Like that meant something now.