The night was heavy, wrapped in that kind of silence that makes every sound feel too loud.
Bella lay in bed, watching the ceiling fan turn in slow circles. The pale yellow light threw slow-moving shadows across the walls. Her thoughts were as restless as the fan's blades.
Then the vibration came—soft, insistent—breaking the silence. Her phone lit up on the nightstand. The name on the screen made her chest tighten.
Chris.
For a moment, she hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button. He hardly calls these days. His excuses had become predictable—I was busy… My team needed me… Money is tight… My phone was bad. The distance in his voice never changed. Yet here he was, calling in the dead of night.
She answered. "Hello?"
His voice came rushed and uneven, like he'd been pacing. "Bella… we need to talk."
Her stomach dropped. That tone never meant anything good
Chris drew in a rough breath. "I was with a friend earlier. Someone who—" His voice cracked, then hardened. "—someone who knows Adrian. He said something. And now I can't stop thinking. Bella… what if the baby isn't mine?"
Her blood ran cold. "Chris—"
He didn't let her speak. "Please listen. I know what people are saying. I know what rumors do. But it's in my head now. Did you use protection with Adrian? What if he poured into you? Did anything else happen that I'm not aware of? Because the thought of raising a child that's not mine—God, it makes me sick!"
Bella pressed her palm against her chest, fighting tears. She couldn't believe this. Not from Chris. Not now. She snapped.
"Chris! Do you even hear yourself? Days ago, Adrian called me too, asking me the same nonsense. What do you guys take me for, huh? A prostitute? Jesus Christ, I need to breathe! I'm carrying life inside me, and instead of support, I get interrogations from both of you!"
Silence buzzed on the line. Chris tried to speak, but Bella's fury drowned him out.
"You don't call anymore. You don't even ask how I'm doing. And now, when you finally do, it's to accuse me? To spit poison at me? Do you know what I've been through in this house? Do you know what your absence is doing to me? I needed you, Chris. I needed your support. Not your drama!"
Her voice broke. "You know what? I can't do this right now."
Before he could answer, she ended the call.
The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the bedspread. For a moment, she sat frozen. Then the air left her lungs in a trembling rush.
She pressed both palms to her face, trying to quiet the storm inside. Her sobs started low, then deepened until they shook her shoulders. Each heartbeat hurt—a quiet reminder that love can turn cruel without warning.
She whispered to herself, over and over, as if repeating a prayer. "I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this."
When she finally looked up, her vision blurred with tears—and the phone lit up again. This time, not a call.
A message.
An unknown number.
Her heart stuttered.
We've not been together for two years. She's been hanging around, and I didn't know how to push her away. I had no one else, so I let the silence stretch too long. But I swear to you, Bella, we haven't been intimate since we ended things. She wants me, yes—but I don't want her. You're the one I love. You're the one who burns in my head when everything else goes quiet. Ever since the day I touched your waist, the day I kissed you and felt you breathe against my neck—life hasn't been the same. You changed the rhythm of my heart. You made chaos feel like peace. I know everything looks messy now, but can we make this chaos beautiful again? – Adrian.
Bella's fingers trembled over the screen. The words blurred, then sharpened. Adrian.
Her chest rose and fell fast, her throat dry. The message read like a confession: part truth, part poetry. Her eyes stung, her mind spinning.
She reread the line: You changed the rhythm of my heart.
And that was when the memories came.
It had been raining that night. The kind of rain that soaked the world into silence. She remembered his voice, soft and close. The way his thumb brushed the corner of her lips as if memorizing her breath. He hadn't rushed; Adrian never did. His love was a study in patience, a slow unraveling. His gaze held promises she didn't trust but couldn't walk away from.
And when his lips touched hers that night—it wasn't fire. It was gravity. A pull she couldn't resist. Her heart had raced, not from fear, but recognition—like it had been waiting for that moment all along.
Back in the present, she shut her eyes, the memory scorching through her chest.
She whispered to the darkness, "Why now, Adrian? Why now, when everything's already broken?"
The door creaked open.
Her mother walked in, arms locked across her chest. Her eyes glinted cold under the dim bulb light. "Bella," she said, her tone hard as stone. "Don't you dare tell Chris about the abortion. Do you hear me? He must be the one to pay. Let him send the money."
Bella's eyes widened, horror crashing into her. "Ma… what are you saying? I paid with my own money. Chris didn't even—"
"That one is not my business." Her mother's tone sliced like glass. "He fixed his phone, abi? He has money for himself but not for you? Don't test my patience, Bella. Don't you dare tell him."
"Ma, please… this isn't right."
Her mother stepped closer, her perfume thick and suffocating. "Do as I say," she whispered. "Or you'll regret it."
And after that, she turned and left.
Bella stood frozen, the words echoing in her skull. When the footsteps faded, the room felt cold—something sacred had broken.
Who would have believed Mrs. Amara Phelps—her own mother—could change overnight?
Two months of laughter, shared meals, slow sunsets… gone. One test result, one rumor, one disappointment—and everything collapsed.
Her mother stopped caring. Stopped loving. Stopped seeing her.
Bella had always believed betrayal came from lovers, not parents. But this betrayal wore her mother's face.
How do you forgive the woman who once promised, "Bella, no matter what happens, I'll stand with you"? Now she has disappeared when those words mattered most?
Mrs. Amara loved her routines, her career, and her duty. She cooked, she paid bills, she kept things neat—but affection? That was always locked away. Bella had grown up whispering secrets to a woman who later repeated them to her father. And her father—God—he hurled anger like stones, never missing.
But the deeper wound wasn't his cruelty; it was her mother's silence while it happened.
After the divorce, there had been hope. Her mother had softened, called her "my dear," and spoken of regret. "I thought pleasing him was the way to parent," she'd said once. "I didn't know I was breaking you."
Bella believed her then.
But that was before Chris. Before the pregnancy. Before the abortion.
Now, the warmth had died again. Her mother's silence had turned into armor. Every "hmm," "fine," or "yes" was a wall Bella couldn't climb.
Sometimes she caught herself speaking like her mother—sharp, clipped, and cold. It terrified her. This pain seemed hereditary. It seemed women like them carried heartbreak the way others carried eye color.
Chris's absence made everything worse. He had gone back to Chicago, swallowed by school and ambition. Calls grew shorter, excuses longer.
Still, Bella felt her mother's anger ran deeper than disappointment. Something darker flickered in her eyes each time Chris's name came up.
Once, Bella had joked over the phone, "Babe, my mom acts like you're some wanted criminal."
The line went silent. Not playful silence—the heavy kind. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its warmth. "Don't mind her," he said. "She only doesn't like me."
But Bella heard what he didn't say.
That night, long after midnight, Bella lay in bed again. Her eyes were swollen, her thoughts tangled between Chris, Adrian, and her mother's cruel words.
She reached for her phone, staring at Adrian's message one last time. Make this chaos beautiful again.
Her heart ached. Her hand hovered over the keyboard, unsure whether to reply. Then she froze.
Through the thin wall came her mother's voice—low, sharp, and urgent.
"… No, I told her not to tell him anything. He must support her. She can't find out, ooo. Do you think I'll let my daughter suffer the same way I did? Never. Over my dead body."
Bella's body went still. Her breath caught.
She pressed her ear against the wall, her pulse hammering.
Who was her mother talking to? What did she mean by she can't find out?
The silence that followed was worse than the words.
Her chest tightened. It wasn't about Adrian anymore. It wasn't even about Chris.
It was about her mother and the secret she guarded like a loaded gun.