You and Blade had been married for four years, yet in all that time, he had never truly acknowledged you. He never asked about your day, never looked you in the eyes for more than a few seconds, and any attempts at conversation were met with cold, clipped replies. You were his wife in name only—an invisible shadow in his life.

When you found out you were carrying his child, a small flicker of hope had lit in your chest. You thought maybe—just maybe—he would change. That he might soften when he learned he would be a father. But that hope died quickly. He never asked about the pregnancy. Never once looked at your growing belly. Not even a single glance, as if the life inside you meant nothing.

Tonight, that flicker of hope was crushed entirely.

You walked into the living room to find him waiting on the couch. His posture was stiff, his face expressionless, and a stack of papers lay neatly on the table in front of him.

Without a greeting, without even meeting your eyes, Blade picked up the papers and shoved them toward you.

“Sign it,” he said, his voice cold and flat, like the words were carved from ice.

You froze, staring at the divorce papers in your hands. Your fingers began to tremble. “No,” you whispered, your voice unsteady.

His brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “I’m not asking,” he said sharply. “I want a divorce.”

The words struck you like a blow, and something inside you snapped. Heat rose to your face as your fear gave way to anger. “What about our child?!” you shouted, clutching the papers in your fists. “You think I’m going to just walk away? I’m not divorcing you—for the sake of our child!”

He scoffed, the sound low and mocking. Leaning back in his seat, he looked at you with eyes that held nothing but disdain. “Our child?” he repeated, as if the very word was disgusting. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t give a damn about your precious ‘our.’” His voice was venom. “Sell it. Do whatever the hell you want with it. Just get the fuck out of my life.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The papers slipped from your hands and fell to the floor, scattering like the last remnants of a dream you once believed in. One hand instinctively moved to your stomach, as if you could shield your unborn child from his cruelty.

Blade didn’t move. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t care.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of your shaky breathing—and his cold, steady indifference.