— You are nothing! You don’t belong in our family! LEAVE, while I still have patience!
Sunday dinners at my husband’s mother’s house were always torture for me. The only thing keeping me there was my love for Adam. Sophie Janette, his mother, always took the seat of honor at the table and started blaming me: the pie wasn’t right, or I, Emma, had “ruined the life of her only and perfect son.”
But that evening, her words were especially venomous. There was a look of contempt in her eyes that sent chills down my spine.
I tried to stay calm, but inside I was boiling. They had no idea who I really was or the secret I had been hiding for eight months.
Adam sat silently, staring at his plate, while his mother poured out her venom on me.
— You’re worthless! You don’t deserve my son! Disappear while I’m still kind! — she shouted again and threw a bowl of hot soup at me. I got soaked but didn’t move. I felt no anger anymore — only cold calm and a firm decision.
I stood up and left. No scandals. But with a clear plan in my mind.
The next morning, everyone was shocked by the news…
Continued in the first comment
I came home soaking wet but with a clear head. I took a small box from the shelf and sat on the couch, staring long at two lines. Eight months ago, they changed my life. But not how Sophie Janette had imagined.
That night, I didn’t cry. I wrote a letter. Just one — to Adam. No tears, no accusations. Just the truth. About how he betrayed me with his silence, how his mother humiliated me, and how, despite everything, I carried their child in my womb.
At the end, I added:
“You can be a father — if you want. But only from a distance. I choose freedom. For myself and for our child.”
I disappeared. Changed my number. Moved to another city. Started over.
Three months passed.
One evening, the phone vibrated. I didn’t answer. A few minutes later, a message came. Not from Adam. From her.
“Emma. Forgive me. I didn’t know. Now I understand how much pain I caused you. Let me see my grandson… at least once.”
I looked at the screen for a long time. What did I feel? Anger? No. Pity? Not anymore. Maybe… satisfaction. Quiet, deep, real.
I closed the message and put my hand on my belly — the baby was already making its presence known with gentle kicks. He was close.
I was no longer “nobody.” I was a mother. And that meant — everything.