Eliza Anderson's POV:

I stumbled out of the master bedroom, clutching the diary and the ultrasound photo tightly in my hands.

I needed to be alone. I retreated to my own room, closed the door, and the lock clicked shut, as if sealing off the entire world.

My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, my back against the cold wall. I bit down hard on my lower lip—the taste of blood was the only thing that made me feel real.

I slowly stood up and walked to the mirror. I tried to smile, to give myself some comfort, but my lips wouldn't obey. The corners of my mouth trembled, then fell. I closed my eyes.

In that moment, I knew—the Eliza I used to be was gone forever.

A few hours later, I heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. Gage and Caroline were back. Their voices drifted down the hallway, light and cheerful.

Gage walked in first, carrying a large insulated bag. "Darling Eliza, I'm home. I hope you ate something. I brought your favorite Thai curry, to make up for my recent absences." He gave me that deliberately practiced apologetic smile.

He opened the bag, and the rich aroma of coconut milk and spices filled the room.

"I know there's always something pulling me away lately," he continued, arranging the containers on the dining table, "but I really want you to know how much I care."

"I'm not hungry, Gage. I don't feel well."

"Oh, Eliza, you really should eat something," Caroline chimed in, her voice laced with concern. She gestured toward the food on the table. "Gage went all the way out there just for you."

I ignored her. I pressed "send" on my phone, and a notification popped up on the screen: "Penthouse sale confirmed. Cash buyer, closing within 24 hours."

Gage's smile froze. Caroline's eyes widened. They both stared at my phone, then at me. Their usual composure was cracked with shock and confusion.

"What... what is this, Eliza?" Gage's voice was tight, with obvious anger.

"I sold the penthouse," I said calmly and clearly. "Cash buyer, closing tomorrow morning." I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.

I walked past their stunned faces and back to my room. As I passed the living room sofa, I saw it—my engagement ring, sparkling in the light.

I remembered the day Gage proposed. He knelt before me, his eyes full of what I'd thought was love. "This ring," he'd said, holding up the dazzling diamond, "is a symbol of my endless loyalty, my promise to spend my life with you, Eliza." Those vows I'd once cherished now sounded like hollow lies.

The next morning, I woke up early. My phone vibrated. A notification from Caroline's social media. A photo. Her hand intertwined with Gage's, my engagement ring glittering on her finger. The caption read: "Finally got the ring that's mine! And a little one on the way! Can't wait for our future, my love @GageMorrison."

I felt that familiar rage rise up again, but then my phone rang. It was Gage.

"Eliza, what is the meaning of this?" His voice was tight with anger.

"What meaning, Gage?" I asked calmly.

"Caroline's post! And the ring! Why is she wearing your ring?" he demanded.

"She's carrying your child, Gage," I stated the obvious. "Maybe she feels entitled to it. Or maybe you gave it to her."

He stammered for a moment, then forced himself to sound composed. "Eliza, don't be ridiculous. She... she's just emotional. I let her try it on to calm her down. You know how sensitive women get when they're pregnant." His tone was condescending, dismissive. "It's nothing. I'll buy you a bigger one, a better one."

"That's fine, Gage," I said in a voice so cold it could freeze. "You two keep it. I don't need it." I hung up before he could say anything else.

I looked at the email on my laptop. The penthouse closing documents. "Transaction complete." A cold, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. His promises of bigger rings, better lives—they all meant nothing. I'd cut everything off. He could keep those material possessions; I didn't need them.

I crumpled the engagement ring receipt into a ball and tossed it in the recycling bin. Then I called a taxi.

Time to take back what's mine.