Chapter 8 - The Desperate CallThree days passed in absolute, uninterrupted peace.
I spent my time reading, resting, and preparing the nursery—choosing soft pastel blues and warm creams without having to worry about Adrian bursting through the door to complain about the expense or the aesthetic. The house was mine. The life inside me was safe.
Then, on the fourth morning, my personal cell phone—the secure line—buzzed on the nightstand.
I glanced at the screen. It was an unrecognized local number, but caller ID routing indicated a public payphone booth downtown, near the municipal bus terminal.
I swiped to answer and pressed the phone to my ear, remaining completely silent.
“Mara?”
The voice on the other end was barely recognizable. It was raspy, broken, shaking, and stripped of every drop of its former arrogance. It sounded like a man twenty years older than his actual age.
I didn't say a word. I just waited.
“Mara, please... I know you’re there,” Adrian sobbed softly, a pathetic, ragged sound leaking through the speaker. “Please, you have to help me. They locked me out of my hotel room this morning because my credit card was declined. I have twenty dollars to my name. I’m sleeping on a bench near the station. Vanessa won’t even answer my texts—she blocked my number the second she found out I was broke.”
A cold, detached satisfaction curled in my chest, but my voice remained completely level and icy.
“You called the wrong person, Adrian,” I said quietly.
“No, no, I didn't!” he pleaded, his voice breaking into a desperate wail. “You’re my wife! You’re carrying my children! How can you be so cold? Whatever I did—I’m sorry, okay?! I was stressed about the firm! I was under pressure! Just give me some money, just enough to get an apartment and a flight out of state—please, Mara, I’m begging you!”
I let out a soft, humorless breath, resting my head back against the pillows.
“You dragged a high-risk pregnant woman across a hardwood floor by her ankles, Adrian,” I reminded him, my voice cutting through his pathetic cries like a blade of ice. “You kicked me in the back while your mistress cheered. You told me I was milking my pregnancy while my head bounced off the oak boards.”
“I was drunk! I wasn't thinking!” he sobbed hysterically.
“No, Adrian, you were thinking exactly what you always thought: that I was beneath you, that I was helpless, that you could treat me like a piece of garbage and face zero consequences.” I paused, letting the heavy silence sink into the line. “You wanted a ruthless player in your life? Congratulations. You found one. Enjoy the bench.”
May you like
With a swift tap of my thumb, I hung up the call and blocked the number permanently.
I tossed the phone onto the nightstand, turned onto my side, and pulled the soft duvet up to my shoulders. The past was locked away, buried under mountains of debt and legal restructuring.
