In an instant, it felt as though my entire body was gripped by ice, and even my breath seemed to halt. Trembling, I touched my belly, where a child not even two months along was growing—so early that it hadn't yet begun to move.

I clearly remember two weeks ago, when my period was late and I went to the doctor. The joy I felt upon discovering the pregnancy was immense. I had rushed home with the ultrasound scan to show Yusuf. He lifted me off the ground, laughing and shouting, "We're going to have a baby!" Then, gently setting me down, he pressed his ear against my stomach. "Let's see what you're up to in there, little one," he said, which now seems bitterly ironic.

The voice of a young woman, playful and flirtatious, interrupted my thoughts again: "Professor Murphy, what exactly is our relationship?" I heard Yusuf chuckle, "What do you think?"

Instantly, nausea rose in my throat. Was it the morning sickness, or was it their flirtatious banter? Supporting myself against the wall, I snapped a photo of them and turned to leave his office.

I called Cleo: "Set me up an appointment. I need to have an abortion."

Cleo hurriedly left work to accompany me to the hospital for the procedure. Worried that I might catch a chill, she brought a coat and gently placed it over my shoulders, her eyes red with concern. I sensed her hesitation; she wanted to ask something but feared it might upset me. I gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'm not marrying Yusuf," I said. "I refuse to let my child be the reason that ties me to him."

With someone to lean on, my tears finally came. Cleo just held me close, warming my cold hands and heart with her embrace.

The procedure was quick, and soon enough, I was wheeled out. Madelyn helped me out of the hospital and drove me home before hurrying back to work.

As I lay in bed, I picked up my phone and noticed a friend request notification. It was from a girl. Curious, I clicked on her profile. Her cover photo showed a hand entwined with another—a hand that looked all too familiar. It was Yusuf's hand, scarred on the back from the time he tried to cook for me for the first time and got burned by oil.

I remembered him back then, his eyes shining as he watched me taste his dish. I remembered him smiling softly, saying, "As long as you enjoy it, I don't mind the pain."

The girl's latest post showed a bouquet of roses with a jewelry box nestled in the center—inside was a necklace. The caption read, "One-year anniversary." So, it started even before he proposed to me. I only realized it today.

The anesthesia wore off, and a sharp pain pulsed through my lower abdomen, sweat chilling my skin.

Click.

Yusuf returned, changing his shoes as he stepped inside. Holding a bouquet of roses, he entered the bedroom and knelt by my bedside, apology written all over his face.

"Sweetie, the university suddenly gave me an assignment today, and I couldn't get away," he said. "But it's okay, we can check the calendar and find another good day."

When I still didn't respond, he assumed I was upset. "Don't be angry, sweetheart, I brought you a gift to make up for it."

He silently watched me, then handed me the roses and opened the gift box in the middle. It was a necklace—identical to the one in that girl's post.

I suddenly burst into laughter, and seeing Yusuf relax as soon as I started made it all feel so absurd. He joined in with a soft chuckle, leaned closer to me, and said:

"Sweetheart, I'm starving."

Just as he was about to lean in for a kiss, his phone rang. His expression faltered for a second before he quickly composed himself. He touched my belly gently through the covers and gave it a light kiss, saying:

"Don't bother mommy, daddy's got to go make some money for us all."

I grasped his arm, holding onto a last shred of hope, and softly asked, "I’m not feeling well, can’t you stay?"

Yusuf hesitated for a moment, then gently pulled my hand up to his lips, giving it a tender kiss.

"There’s something urgent at the university. They can’t handle it without me."

I searched his eyes, looking for any hint of regret. But there was none.

Yusuf hurriedly put on his coat and rushed out the door, leaving his phone behind in his haste. I knew all his passwords—he never kept secrets from me, so I never felt the need to check his phone.

Out of curiosity, I opened his WhatsApp, finding nothing at first, which made me breathe a small sigh of relief. But then, going against my better judgment, I tapped on the option to switch accounts.

I had never seen this number before. Intrigued, I clicked on it, and there was only one contact—another girl.

Their conversations went back a year and a half. I scrolled through their messages, my hands trembling, one screen after another. Every day, almost without fail.

"There are fireworks tonight for the holiday; want me to pick you up to see them?"

That was during Thanksgiving, when I thought he was working late, so I busied myself preparing a fancy dinner.

"The maid outfit looks great on you; next time I’ll get you something else."

On my birthday, I waited until 2 a.m. for him. Yusuf had come back, drenched in sweat, claiming he rushed back to celebrate with me. I didn’t blame him at all and even threw myself into his arms, but he pushed me away that night.

Now, I finally understood—

He had been with someone else just before coming home to me.

Lost in my thoughts, my phone suddenly buzzed with a friend request. It was from that girl. As soon as I accepted it, two messages popped up.

"I'm scared, professor."

Attached was a picture of a kitchen, messy and soot-blackened.

She retracted the message within the two-minute window, pretending nothing had happened.

Yet, on her social media feed, there was Yusuf again. The kitchen, once chaotic, was now spotless, and there was Yusuf, in his coat, cooking for her.

I dashed into the bathroom and started vomiting, the bile burning my throat. It felt like I was trying to purge every meal he'd ever made for me.

Inside, I felt hollow, a gaping void where my heart used to be, filled with an icy wind.

Yusuf never came home that night.