Chapter 4 The Silence we carry

I couldn't breathe.

I slid down the bathroom wall until I hit the cold tiled floor, my back pressed against porcelain, my knees pulled tight to my chest. The chill seeped through my clothes, but I barely felt it. My entire body was trembling, like it didn't belong to me anymore.

Tears dripped unchecked from my face, splashing into the shallow pool forming on the floor. I wasn't sobbing yet. I was stuck in that horrible space before it-where your chest tightens so much you think it might split open, where the world feels too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Lena sat beside me, her back against the opposite wall. She didn't touch me at first. She just stayed. Her presence grounded me in a way nothing else could. Every few seconds, her eyes flicked toward my face, searching, waiting for something-words, movement, anything.

The pregnancy test lay on the sink counter, two thin lines staring back at me like an accusation.

We both knew what it meant.

"What do I do now, Lena?" My voice came out small, barely more than air.

She inhaled deeply, wiped her own eyes with the back of her hand, and straightened like she was bracing herself for impact. When she spoke, her voice was steady, but I could hear the effort it took to keep it that way.

"First," she said gently, "you breathe. Just breathe with me."

She demonstrated, slow and deliberate. I tried to follow, but my lungs resisted like they'd forgotten how.

"Second," she continued, softer now, "you stop blaming yourself."

I laughed once, broken and humorless. "I don't even know how to do that."

She turned toward me fully. "You don't have to know yet. You just have to not punish yourself for something that wasn't your fault."

My hands shook violently as I stared at the floor. "What if I don't want to keep it?"

The words felt forbidden the moment they left my mouth. Heavy. Loaded.

Lena didn't flinch. She paused, choosing her words carefully, the way people do when they know they're standing on something fragile.

"Mira," she said quietly, "you don't have to decide anything today. You're in shock. This is too much for one moment. We'll go to the hospital, confirm it properly, and then-slowly-we'll talk through your options. All of them. One step at a time."

I nodded, though my chest felt like it was splitting in two.

Inside me, a quiet war had already begun.

Two Days Later

The hospital test confirmed it.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my head long after the doctor stopped speaking. Her lips moved, explaining timelines and blood work and next steps, but everything blurred into noise. I nodded automatically, clutching the folded paper in my hands like it might disappear if I let go.

Four weeks.

I placed a hand on my stomach without thinking. There was nothing to feel yet-no movement, no sign, no proof beyond ink on paper. And yet my life had already shifted on its axis.

Four weeks ago was... that night.

The realization crawled through me slowly, icy and relentless.

Fear came next. Not all at once. It crept in through the cracks.

This wasn't just about me anymore.

The ride home was silent. Lena stared out the window, her jaw tight, arms folded across her chest. She hadn't said a word since we left the hospital, but her silence screamed louder than anger ever could.

When we got home, I went straight to bed. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting cracks, shadows, anything that would keep my thoughts from spiraling. I didn't cry this time. I felt emptied out, like I'd already used up all my tears.

That night, Lena lay beside me, both of us facing the ceiling.

"I don't know what tomorrow looks like," I whispered.

"I know," she said.

"I don't know how to untangle myself from him. From the office. From that night."

She didn't answer right away.

But one thing was clear to me, even in the dark.

Silence was no longer an option.

Whatever came next, I would face it awake.

"Are you going to tell him?" Lena asked quietly.

I closed my eyes. "I don't know."

"Mira," she said carefully, "he has a right to know."

"He lost that right the moment he drugged and violated me," I replied, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady.

She turned her face away, fists clenched at her sides. "So what now?"

"I need time."

She nodded and slipped out of the room, but I knew her well enough to know she was already thinking five steps ahead-planning, protecting, preparing.

The Following Week

I avoided Julian's calls.

He tried from his office line first. Then from a private number. Then again the next day. Each ring made my stomach twist, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.

I ignored them all.

Then one afternoon, there was a knock at the door.

"Package for Miss Mira Hale."

Lena collected it while I signed, her eyes narrowing the moment she saw the sender's name. Inside was a simple white gift bag. Nothing extravagant. Just a card and a small box.

The card read:

I'm sorry for everything. Please talk to me.

-Julian Cross

Inside the box was a delicate pendant necklace. My name engraved on the back.

I placed it on the table like it burned.

"He thinks this fixes it?" Lena scoffed.

I didn't answer.

That night, I stayed up drafting my resignation letter. Not because I owed him anything-but because I needed closure. Because I needed to take back something he had taken from me.

Two Weeks Later

I sent the resignation email from my business account. Short. Clean. Final.

Dear Mr. Cross,

Please accept this as my formal resignation from my role as Executive Assistant, effective immediately.

No further communication is required. All company property has been returned.

Mira Hale

Lena read it once, then nodded. "That's how you walk away with dignity."

I hit send.

Turned off my phone.

Sat quietly.

"What next?" she asked, resting her head on my shoulder.

I placed a hesitant hand on my stomach. "I don't know. But I'll face it."

"Are you keeping it?"

My voice shook. "I think I am."

She didn't argue. She just stayed.

Weeks Later

Pregnancy came with nausea, exhaustion, and emotions I didn't recognize. My body felt unfamiliar, unpredictable. Some days I couldn't keep food down. Other days I cried for no reason at all.

Lena became my shield canceling plans when I was weak, bringing meals to my bed, handling the world when I couldn't.

One evening, she came home with a small bag. "Baby books," she announced proudly.

I groaned. "It's still early."

"And babies don't come with manuals," she replied. "So this is ours."

We laughed, briefly forgetting the weight of everything.

Later that night, alone by the window, doubt returned.

He should know.

Not for him. For the truth.

I typed the message. Deleted it. Typed again.

I'm pregnant.

I'm not reaching out for anything. I just needed you to know.

I sent it.

The next morning, there was no reply. Just a read receipt.

That evening, my phone rang.

Julian.

"I got your message," he said carefully. "I'm... sorry. For everything."

Silence stretched between us.

"Mira," he continued, "are you sure keeping this is the right decision?"

My grip tightened. "I didn't tell you to get your opinion."

"I just think it might be easier... cleaner-to let it go."

Cleaner.

"I'm not asking you for anything," I said evenly. "I just wanted peace."

When the call ended, Lena pulled me into a hug.

"This baby isn't a mistake," she said firmly. "And neither are you."

For the first time in weeks, I believed her.