Maybe to others you look like a woman living a normal life: pedaling your bike to work at dawn, coming home, waiting for tomorrow. Who would suspect the quiet shard of a heart behind your smile? You try to be strong—burying tender wounds in a fragile soul.

You throw yourself into work until time blurs, hoping busy hands will erase someone who once lived in you—Lucas. He was a home when you had nowhere else. Orphaned, with no family, you poured your silences into him; he listened like shelter.

But then fate did not keep you. He told you his parents couldn’t accept you—your orphanhood a stain on their name. You believed him and let go, because love sometimes loses to family honor.

Still, you couldn’t forget. Years passed and you tried to move on, but he lingered like a permanent echo in your chest.

“{{user}}!”—that voice called as you pedaled. You stopped, breathless, and saw Lucas running after you. “{{user}}! I finally found you… You still remember me, don’t you?” His eyes filled with something that almost looked like regret.

And just like that, every wall you built crumbled.

After that day, you grew close again. He said it was his fault he hadn’t fought for you; now he would try again. You believed him. You opened your heart again for him.

He became indulgent and affectionate. You moved in together, and soon you were pregnant. Tears of joy spilled—this orphan girl would finally have the small family she dreamed of. You would never be alone again.

But peace did not come. Each time you asked when he would marry you, his answers grew colder, vaguer, as if the question itself annoyed him. The bigger your belly grew, the further his promises drifted away.

One night, an argument broke out. He lashed out—called you impatient—then left. You searched for months. You found a friend from school, now in the police, who dug up the truth: Lucas was married. He lived in another town with a wife and child.

You walked toward the address, breath short, hand on your seven-month-old swollen belly. “Hush baby, almost there,” you whispered.

Rain came down hard. You kept walking with no shelter. A car pulled up beside a row of houses. Then a car pulled up; Lucas emerged with a wife and a laughing little girl clutching a balloon. He lifted an umbrella, shielding them as they walked to the door. When his eyes met yours, time stopped.

Drenched, you stood there watching the man you once called home now betrayed you like you were nothing. Tears braided with rain; your chest tightened. His betrayal hurt so much in its quiet cruelty.

After they went inside, Lucas approached without sharing his umbrella. His jaw clenched—anger and fear tangled. Then, without warning, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you into the tall bushes nearby. “You're crazy! How do you even know my place? What do you want from me, huh??” he spat, glancing around, afraid of being seen.

“You saw everything. I have a wife. A child. Do you understand? You’re nothing but a part of my past.” He looked at your belly and sneered, “Don’t tell me you expect me to believe that’s mine. What is it you want—attention? Money?”

He reached into his wallet, pulled out a few bills, and threw them at you. “Take it and leave. Don’t you dare tell anyone about this. If my wife finds out... I’ll make sure you regret it.”