Too Late, Husband

Emma lay motionless on the bed, her body aching, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lip was caught between her teeth, but the pain in her chest couldn't be swallowed down. Eventually, her cries broke free, soft at first, then louder, until she was trembling beneath the weight of it.

Caleb Morgan stood at the edge of the bed, watching her. Unmoved. Detached.

He reached out and wiped her face, not gently, not cruelly either. Just... without emotion. Like cleaning up a spill.

"Why are you crying?" His voice was sharp, flat. "Do you feel wronged now?"

She didn't answer. She turned her face to the side, eyes shut, letting the tears soak the pillow. Her silence was her only defense.

He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. "You're my wife, Emma. That means something. Whether you like it or not."

"But you're the one who said I wasn't fit to carry your child," she said, voice shaking. "So what are you doing now, Caleb? What exactly do you want from me?"

He didn't answer with words, only force. His body pressed into hers, heavier this time, more deliberate. She gasped, struggling to breathe, her fingers clenching the sheets beneath her.

"Please..." she whispered. "Stop... it hurts..."

But there was no softness in him. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

"You don't deserve a child from me," he said against her skin. "You make me sick, Emma. But right now... I need that baby. So you'll give it to me, whether you like it or not."

She cried out, not just from pain-but from the cruelty, the hollow way he spoke. She pushed at him weakly, her strength no match for his.

"Why?" she choked. "Why are you doing this? Why now?"

He didn't reply. Not in words. And not with love.

When it was over, she lay still-numb, staring at the ceiling, feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

---

The hours passed. Morning crept in, but Emma didn't move.

She hadn't slept. Her body ached, but her heart hurt more. As the first rays of sun spilled through the window, she finally pulled herself out of bed and sat on the couch, wrapping a blanket tightly around her.

Two years married to Caleb.

Two years of being invisible.

At first, she thought he simply didn't love her. That he would ignore her forever and she'd live a quiet, cold life beside him. That was something she could've endured.

But then something shifted.

One night, he showed up in her room. No words. No emotion. Just... demand. And from that night on, he kept coming back. Over and over. Like a man chasing something he hated.

And every time, she gave in, because what else could she do?

It wasn't until she found out she was pregnant that he finally stopped touching her. But the torment didn't end. He just replaced his hands with words, and they cut deeper than anything.

"You wanted this, didn't you? Threw yourself into my bed like it was some prize."

"You better protect that baby. If anything happens, I swear I'll never forgive you."

"Don't start thinking this child changes anything. You're nothing, Emma. The baby's nothing too. Don't even dream of using this to tie me down."

She used to think time moved too slowly. Now, she couldn't believe three months had passed.

Her hand slid over her stomach-still flat, but no longer empty.

A life was growing inside her. His child. Hers too.

She didn't know if she could love it. But she wanted to. She needed to.

She imagined the baby: bright eyes, soft laughter, maybe a fondness for sweets and mischief. The image brought a fleeting, tender smile to her face-something small and quiet, like hope trying to breathe.

That's when Caleb walked in.

He saw the smile first, and it angered him. Not because he understood it, but because it existed.

"What's so funny?" he asked, his tone flat.

Emma didn't look at him. She didn't need to. She knew the look on his face already-like even her silence annoyed him.

"I have my first prenatal appointment tomorrow," she said quietly. "Will you come with me?"

She didn't expect much. But part of her hoped. He was the father, after all. That meant something... didn't it?

He didn't even hesitate.

"No."

Then he leaned in close, his voice lower, crueler: "And even if I had time, I wouldn't go. You don't deserve that."

She blinked. It didn't sting like it used to. Maybe because the wounds were already too deep to feel.

She gave a tired, bitter smile.

"Right. Of course. I forgot... only Sophie is worth showing up for, isn't she?"