It had been over a year since our divorce. The baby couldn’t be mine. But a darker thought crept in—why hadn’t Melissa conceived during our marriage?
Was the problem… me?
Melissa didn’t hesitate.
“For three years, we tried,” she said clearly. “I asked him to get tested. He refused. He blamed me. Every medical exam I took came back normal.” She paused, her hand tightening over her stomach. “After the divorce, I met a good man. I married him. And I became pregnant immediately.”
The bouquet slipped from Rachel’s hands and fell to the marble floor.
I felt as if the ground had opened beneath me.
Melissa didn’t look triumphant. She looked relieved.
“I’m not here to ruin your wedding,” she added. “I’m here to close a chapter.”
And then she turned and walked out.
The silence she left behind was suffocating.
I leaned toward Rachel. “Let’s finish the ceremony. We can talk about this after.”
She stepped back from me as though I were a stranger.
“My brother and his wife tried for nine years,” she said, her voice steadier now. “They spent millions on treatments. It destroyed them. I watched their marriage collapse under that weight.”
She looked at me with something that wasn’t anger—it was fear.