The phone rang, sharp and insistent. I answered numbly. Ivan's voice came through, cold and cutting. "Stella Abbott, how much longer are you going to drag this out?"
"Even if I can't divorce you during the pregnancy, the second that baby is born, I'll file immediately."
"Raising a kid costs money, Stella. And ever since we got married, all you've done is sit at home—eating my food, spending my money, doing a little housework and nothing else."
"No one is going to want a woman who just gave birth with a brat hanging off her. You have no income. When the time comes, you won't keep the child, you won't keep me—you'll have nothing."
Every word dripped with contempt. I listened as he reduced a year of everything I'd poured into our home to nothing—listened as he called my baby a burden—and felt something sharp carve through my chest all over again.
"Ivan." My voice was quiet. Just his name.
He went silent instantly.
"I agree to the divorce."
A beat of stunned silence. Then his tone surged with delight. "Really? Great—we'll go in five days."