3
Before I even met Oliver, I knew he had a first love.
They were once engaged, but she walked away after his parents disapproved. Angry and hurt, she refused his proposal.
But the wedding venue had already been booked, the officiant scheduled. Oliver, ever the prideful man, wasn’t about to let himself look like a
fool. So, he turned to me.
“Anna, would you give this a shot with me?”
His voice was steady, confident. He didn’t even bother to kneel–just stood there, looking down at me, as if he already knew my answer.
And of course, he did.
I had been chasing him for three years. There was no way I would say no.
That day, I dropped my overseas work assignment, slipped into a wedding dress, and we eloped.
Everyone around me congratulated me, saying I had finally “won” Oliver, the golden boy.
And for a while, I believed it.
Oliver was everything I thought I wanted–handsome, successful, with a family name that opened doors. Within a few years, his law firm had expanded all across Chicago, and when we went out, people called me “Mrs. Carter” with admiration.
That day, I was over the moon. I stood in the parking lot, holding a positive pregnancy test, waiting for him to arrive.
His career was steady now, and a baby would be the perfect cherry on top.
When his car finally pulled into the lot, I ran toward it, grinning ear to ear.
“Oliver, you’re going to be a dad!” I said, knocking on the window, my face nearly pressed to the glass.
But Oliver didn’t roll down the window right away. When he finally did, the faint scent of perfume hit me.
10:32 AM
<
A familiar scent.
And then I saw her.
Luna, his first love, sat in the passenger seat, her lipstick smeared and her eyes red from crying.
“I’m so sorry, Anna,” Luna said softly, her voice trembling. “I kissed Oliver. I’ve just been so emotional since my breakup… I lost control.”
She turned to look at me, her face full of fake remorse, but her lips curled into the faintest smirk.
“Don’t be mad, okay?” she added sweetly, her tone dripping with mockery.
Behind her words, her eyes glittered with triumph as she raised her hand in a subtle, taunting gesture only I could see.
My hands shook as I gripped the pregnancy test. Without thinking, I threw it at her, my voice trembling with rage.
“Get out of the car–now! Who raised you to be this shameless?”
But before Luna could respond, Oliver’s hand shot out, striking me hard across the face.
The slap rang in my ears, sharp and deafening. My earring, a gift from him, tore from my ear, leaving a searing pain and a trickle of blood.
Stunned, I stumbled to the ground, clutching my face as waves of pain radiated from my stomach.
“Anna,” Oliver said, his tone cold, “you’re out of line. You know Luna grew up without a father. How could you be so cruel to her?”
His words cut deeper than the slap.
“Oliver,” I whimpered, clutching my stomach, “I think something’s wrong. Please, take me to the hospital. I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something that almost looked like concern. But then Luna let out a soft, pitiful moan.
“Oliver,” she whispered, holding her head dramatically, “my head… it hurts so much. But you should take Anna first–she’s pregnant, after all.”
Her voice was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she leaned back in her seat.
Oliver immediately turned his attention to her, his expression full of worry. He reached out to wipe the nonexistent tears from her face before starting the car.
“Anna,” he said sharply, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, “your behavior today was unacceptable. If Luna ends up hurt, I’ll have no choice but to press charges for assault.”
The man who had won every case he’d ever taken–my husband–was now threatening to sue me. For his first love.
“Oliver,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face, “I’m carrying your child.”
He didn’t even look at me.
“Being pregnant doesn’t give you a free pass to act like this,” he said coldly. “Stop being so dramatic.”
As the car sped away, leaving me crumpled on the pavement, I clutched my stomach and prayed for the tiny life inside me.
I lost the baby.
Oliver stayed with me for a month after the miscarriage. He fed me, stayed by my bedside, even helped me bathe. For a moment, I thought he might have changed.
Friends and family urged me to forgive him. “All men make mistakes,” they said. “At least he’s trying now.”
In the end, I softened.
Oliver wrote me a letter of apology, promising he’d never hurt me again. “Anna,” he said, “I’m a traditional man. I only have room in my heart
for one wife, and that’s you.”
He swore Luna was just a friend.
10:32 AM
<
And like a fool, I believed him.
