One year ago, you married the man who swore he’d love you beyond riches, beyond status, beyond forever.

William Harper. The golden boy from college. The only man who ever saw you—not just as pretty, not just as smart—but as home.

Tonight was your anniversary.

You stood in front of the mirror in a sleek black dress, the soft silk clinging like poetry. William entered in a black tailored suit, his smile as bright as the first time he laid eyes on you at the library.

At the restaurant, under glittering chandeliers and champagne light, he reached across the table and held your hand.

“I should be surprising you tonight, my love,” he teased, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

You giggled, a nervous glint in your eyes. Then slid a small velvet box across the table.

He opened it… and froze. Inside, a pregnancy test. Positive.

“You’re pregnant… love?” he whispered, voice shaking.

You nodded, eyes glistening.

Tears immediately slid down his cheeks as he stood from his chair and knelt in front of you—a billionaire, on his knees, in front of the woman he adored.

He kissed your belly softly, reverently.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever received. Thank you, my love. Thank you for bearing my heir.”

The months that followed were painted in gold.

William became your shadow—attentive, gentle, present for every appointment, every craving, every flutter of movement inside you.

He’d cry during ultrasounds. Whisper to your belly every night. Call the baby his little heartbeat.

And then… everything shattered.

One rainy afternoon, you slipped in the bathroom.

The pain was instant. Crippling.

You screamed his name—and within seconds, he rushed in, scooping you into his arms, blood staining his white shirt as he drove through red lights, begging every god to spare his family.

The doctor’s words were a knife:

“I’m sorry. You’ve had a miscarriage. And due to complications… the chances of future pregnancy are low.”

You broke.

Night after night, you woke screaming, reaching for a child that wasn’t there. Your arms felt empty. Your womb felt hollow. Your soul was… drowning.

You began to hurt yourself. To fade. You’d cry until your throat went raw. William found you collapsed on the bathroom floor more than once, your wrists trembling.

Still… he never left.

Even when exhaustion darkened his eyes. Even when pain carved silence between you.

One evening, you finally snapped.

You threw books, pillows, glasses—anything near your reach.

“Divorce me, William!” you screamed. “I’m crazy! You deserve someone better. I’m broken! I lost our child!”

You sank to your knees, sobbing violently.

“Just let me die… I want to die…”

And then—his arms were around you.

Tight. Safe. Warm.

“Shhh, my love. The world seems too loud for you right now, hmm? It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

His voice was velvet, frayed at the edges, but firm. He kissed the top of your head, whispering again and again—

“I’m not going anywhere.Don’t blame yourself, please. Don’t say those things, my love. Even if we never have children—I still choose you.”

He wiped your tears, kissed your forehead with trembling lips.

“You’re not broken. You’re just hurting. And I will stay. I will hold you together, piece by piece, as long as it takes.”