When the morning sickness and dizzy spells sent me running for the bathroom, my boyfriend, Grant, was at a party, playing a “tie a cherry stem with your tongue” kissing game with his assistant. Even as I retched until I tasted blood, he was wrapped around her, lost in the moment. On the way home, we got into a car accident. I had just been lifted onto a stretcher when Grant yanked me off, his face cold. “You’re tough,” he spat. “Stop wasting medical resources.” He then lifted his crying assistant onto the stretcher in my place. When we arrived at the hospital, everyone rushed her to the ER. I walked alone to the OB-GYN check-in desk. “Hello. I need to schedule an abortion.” “The baby. I don’t want it anymore.” … The moment I finished changing into the surgical gown, the door flew open, and Grant stormed in. He threw a thin, woven bracelet at my face. “Hannah, who gave you permission to put this tacky thing in my bag?” Grant didn’t believe in superstitions. Even the prayer bracelet I’d spent an entire day hiking to a monastery to get for him, he’d laughed at and tossed in the trash. I picked the red string bracelet off my lap, my gaze flat. “I didn’t give it to you.” Hearing that, he snatched it back and quickly tied it onto his own wrist. I knew it was from Chloe. A little "wish bracelet," probably for them to be together forever. I reached out and grabbed his hand. He flinched, his eyes full of suspicion. I ignored him and retied the clumsy knot, pulling it tight and secure. My fingers were so cold they made him pause. He finally looked at me. "Why are you in a hospital gown?" I answered lightly, "Just a minor procedure." Grant’s brow furrowed. He was about to accuse me of faking illness for attention—his usual move. But just then, a nurse came in to draw my blood. He opened his mouth, about to ask her what was wrong, when his phone buzzed. A FaceTime from Chloe. Her voice was a high-pitched pout. “Grant, the hospital is so scary at night…” Without a second glance at me, he turned and strode out of the room. He bumped the nurse on his way, jogging her arm. The needle slipped, and blood welled up. I hissed in pain. He didn't look back. The doctor came in with the consent forms. I signed my name without even reading the risks. Thirty minutes later, it was over. I had just gotten off the table when I got a text from Grant: [Wait for me out front] It was snowing outside. I sat on a hard plastic bench, wearing only my thin street clothes, and waited for two hours. He never showed. Two nurses walked past, chatting about their shift in the ER. “I’ve been working here for years, and I’ve never seen a man so devoted.” “I know, right? He held her the entire time, even through the X-rays. And when they found one tiny scrape on her leg, he called in a helicopter to have her transferred to a top-tier trauma center.” I opened my phone. Grant had changed his profile picture to a cartoon fox in sunglasses. It was a matching set with Chloe’s, the bunny cop. I closed the app and opened my airline app. Due to the blizzard, the earliest flight home was in two days. I booked the ticket. I walked out of the hospital and went home alone. At 3 AM, Grant finally came home. He opened the bedroom door and slid into bed beside me. In the darkness, he reached out, his hand moving toward my pregnant belly. I turned over, giving him my back. Grant let out an impatient tsk, got up, and went into the bathroom, slamming the door. In nine years, anytime he’d shown the slightest displeasure, I would have panicked, chasing after him, apologizing, begging him not to be mad. Tonight, when he came out of the shower, he found me exactly where he’d left me, unmoving. “Pathetic,” he muttered. He left the master bedroom and didn't come back. The next morning, I found a wine glass stained with lipstick on the coffee table. I didn't shake him awake. I didn't scream or demand to know who he’d been with. I calmly made myself an omelet. I had just sat down when Grant, finally awake, grumbled, “Don’t wait up for me tonight. Client dinner.” He opened the fridge, chugged some ice water, and then paused, realizing I hadn't nagged him about the water being bad for his stomach, nor had I asked who the "client" was. He frowned, looking at me through the kitchen’s glass partition. “Hannah, did you hear me?” I swallowed my food. “Mm-hm.” I kept eating. He grabbed his black overcoat and threw it at me. “Your birthday present.” The coat, which reeked of Chloe's sweet perfume, landed on my flat stomach. As he watched, I reached into the pocket and pulled out a small gift box. Inside was a diamond ring. Before I could speak, Grant’s face darkened, and he snatched it away. “Wrong pocket,” he snapped. “Yours is in the other one.” In the other pocket was a large, emerald brooch. I looked at it for a second, then pushed it back to him. “It’s beautiful,” I said politely. “But I don’t have any clothes that would go with it. Besides, my birthday was three months ago. You should just give it to Chloe, along with the ring.” He was speechless. Finally, he managed, “There’s a jewelry auction in two days. You can come with me.” It was the first time he’d ever asked me to be his plus-one. For the last six months, Chloe had been the one on his arm at every event. They were even arm-in-arm in the group photos from his "guys only" yacht trip. It was all so, so tiresome. “No, thank you. I don’t need anything.” “You’re sure?” I nodded. “It would be better if you took Chloe.” My honesty was rewarded with his immediate fury. “Hannah, go look in the mirror. Just look at yourself. Do you have any idea how pathetic and jealous you sound?” In the past, that would have started a screaming match. Now, I couldn’t be bothered to say a word. I just stood up to go to my room. His phone rang. It was Chloe's special ringtone. She was crying, absolutely hysterical. She’d gone to take the trash out and forgot her keys. “What am I going to do, Grant?” “You silly thing. Just stay right there, don’t move. I’m on my way.” He hung up and started for the door. “Grant,” I called out. He stopped, his face hard. “The scarf you asked me to knit. It’s finished. It’s hanging on the coat rack. Don't forget to take it to her.” His expression flickered. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something. But just then, Chloe sent a voice memo. It was just her, meowing like a cat and asking him to bring her a latte. His face softened. He grabbed a paper gift bag from the rack—dumping the baby clothes I’d bought onto the floor—stuffed the scarf inside, and left, a small smile on his face. I looked at the discarded baby clothes, then walked into his home office. I ignored the framed photo of him and Chloe on his desk and went straight to the safe. I tried his birthday. No. My birthday. No. Our anniversary. No. I typed in Chloe’s birthday. The lock clicked open. As I pulled out my passport and birth certificate, two small paper stubs fluttered to the floor. The movie tickets from our first date. I tore them into tiny pieces and dropped them in the trash. Then I went to my room and packed a bag. That evening, Grant called. He needed me to run a file to him at a restaurant. The snow was coming down hard. I put on my heaviest coat and went myself. When I pushed open the restaurant door, I found Grant and Chloe in the middle of a toast, their arms linked, drinking champagne. The raucous laughter at their table died the moment they saw me. Grant just looked annoyed. The others looked on, amused, clearly waiting for me to start screaming. But I didn't. I just handed him the file. “I need your car keys. I left something in your car.” At that, Chloe pulled the Porsche keys from her purse and stuck her tongue out at me. “Sooo-rry, Hannah. I’m always oversleeping, so Grant just gave me his car to drive to work.” “Don’t call her that, sweetie,” Grant said, his eyes full of adoration as he wiped a drop of champagne from Chloe’s lip. “It’s confusing.” I seconded his motion. “He’s right, Ms. Davis. Grant and I aren’t married. Please don’t misunderstand.” I took the keys and turned to leave. Grant grabbed my arm, his expression strange. “Hannah, you’re pregnant. The smell of alcohol is supposed to make you sick. Why are you…” Before I could answer, Chloe gasped, clutching Grant’s arm. “Oh no, Grant! Is she going to the car to look for that pearl necklace? Oh, I’m so clumsy… I think I lost it. What do we do?” The necklace she was talking about was my grandmother’s. I heard Grant soothe her. “It was just a cheap necklace. Don’t worry about it.” I put the keys down on the table. My voice was calm, no anger, no sadness. “He’s right. It’s just a cheap necklace I’ve worn for nine years. If you liked it that much, consider it a gift.” I walked out. As I was pulling up a rideshare app, Grant ran out after me. He shoved a takeaway bag into my hands. It was soup. “Your OB-GYN appointment is tomorrow,” he said, as if granting a favor. “I’ll go with you.” I lied. “You're mistaken. It's the day after.” He started to argue, but then he saw Chloe standing in the restaurant doorway, watching. He immediately turned and ran back to her, taking her hand, blowing on it to keep her warm. I watched them go back inside. I've always hated fish. I found a stray cat and dumped the soup. Then I went home. He didn't come home that night. I didn’t call. At 5 PM the next day, just as I was putting on my coat, Grant came home unexpectedly and pulled me into his car. We ended up at the main Harrison estate. He dragged me in front of his parents. “Mom, Dad. This is Hannah.” After nine years, he was finally introducing me. His timing was terrible. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, it’s a pleasure. Unfortunately, I have an urgent matter to attend to. Please excuse me.” I turned to leave. Grant’s fingers dug into my wrist. “She’s kidding, Mom. She’s just nervous. Why don’t you get dinner started? I’ll show her around.” He dragged me upstairs to his childhood bedroom, forcing me on a "tour." My constant checking of my phone quickly got on his nerves. “Hannah, you begged me for years to see this room. Now you’re here, and you’re silent. What’s wrong?” “Hm? Oh. It’s nice.” My non-answer made him scowl. “What’s on that phone that’s so interesting?” “Nothing.” He grabbed the phone from my hand and pointed it at his face to unlock it. The screen flashed: Face Not Recognized. He looked genuinely shocked. “Why isn’t it working?” Before I could answer, there was a sharp sound from outside the window. Grant, who was much taller, saw something, and without a word, he dropped my phone and bolted from the room. Ten minutes later, I followed the sound of giggling to the back garden. Chloe was there, wearing a flower crown, playing a childish game of balancing on a retaining wall while Grant held her hands. “Grant, hold on tight! Ahh, save me!” She "slipped" and fell dramatically into his chest, her face flushing. They paused, then smiled at each other. Grant’s smile vanished when he saw me. “Oh, hi, Hannah!” Chloe chirped, still holding onto Grant. She playfully batted his chest. “I get it. The bad boy finally decided to bring the old ball and chain home to meet the parents.” She grinned. “Congratulations, Hannah.” Her voice was full of blessing, but her eyes were watery, as if she were about to cry. It made Grant’s heart ache. “It’s just dinner, you little idiot. It’s not a big deal,” he cooed. He looked back at me, his face cold. “Is dinner ready?” Before I could answer, dozens of thin, black snakes dropped from the tree branches above us. I was so startled I fell backward. Chloe let out a bloodcurdling scream. Grant didn't even look at me. He just grabbed Chloe, pulled her into his arms, and ran. He didn't come back until the animal control officers had arrived to clear the garden. He finally remembered me, but I was long gone. The security guard at the front gate told him I’d left. I sat in the airport terminal, waiting for my flight. My phone wouldn't stop vibrating. I finally answered just before boarding. Grant’s voice was frantic. “Where are you?” He’d clearly been home and found the place empty. “None of your business.” He paused, then his voice turned angry. “A pregnant woman shouldn't be having these emotional episodes. Stop this tantrum. Give me your address, I’m coming to…” He was cut off by the sound of a loud, wet kiss. I could hear Chloe laughing in the background. Grant cleared his throat. His voice turned cold and professional. “A work emergency just came up. You’ll have to get a cab home.” He hung up, then added one more text: [Text me when you're home.] I opened the message thread. And, as he wished, I sent him a text. [Grant, we’re done. I sincerely hope you and Chloe are happy together. Forever.] The "Read" receipt appeared. I blocked his number, his socials, everything. Then I turned off my phone.
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