A silent scream clenched my throat as I sank to my knees, clutching my belly, willing my baby to remain calm amidst my storm of emotions. In this moment, I was a shattered woman, not the resilient mother I longed to be.

Michael’s eyes opened slowly. “Anna,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, laced with pain and something else—guilt.

“Why?” The single word was all I managed, a whisper barely loud enough to reach him, yet it carried all the weight of my betrayal.

He blinked, confusion clouding his features. “It’s not… what you think.”

“Not what I think?” I echoed, each word a shard of glass in my throat. “You’re in a hospital with her.”

Jessica turned her head, her eyes meeting mine. Despite the bandage, she carried an air of defiance. “Anna… I didn’t…”

I cut her off with a look sharp enough to silence the room. “Don’t.”

Michael struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his injured arm. “Anna, listen. Jessica’s car broke down. I was giving her a ride.”

My laughter was sharp and humorless. “A ride. On I-5. At 3 a.m.?”

He nodded, his eyes pleading for understanding. “She called me. I couldn’t leave her stranded.”

The explanation sounded weak, stretched thin under the weight of midnight doubts and long-buried insecurities. “And you couldn’t call a tow truck?”

“She’s a friend, Anna. That’s all she’s ever been.”

A friend. The term felt hollow, inadequate to bridge the chasm yawning between us. I looked at Jessica again, her expression unreadable. How many nights had I spent wondering if there was more behind their friendship? Now I was forced to confront those suspicions head-on.

“Anna,” Michael’s voice was earnest, “when we crashed, the only thing I thought of was you and the baby.”

For a moment, I allowed myself to believe him, needing his words to be true more than I needed air. But trust, once fractured, takes time to mend, and my heart was still raw.

The doctor cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to the present. “Mrs. Thompson, we need to take Michael for further scans.”

I nodded, stepping aside as orderlies wheeled Michael’s bed past me. His eyes remained locked on mine, a silent plea to hold his hand, to walk beside him into the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Alone in the room, I turned to Jessica. “Whatever this is,” I gestured between us, “it ends today.”

She nodded, her defiance replaced by a quiet resignation. “I’m sorry, Anna. Truly.”

I believed her. Part of me did, at least. But the path to forgiveness was one I would have to walk slowly, one tentative, painful step at a time.

As I left the hospital, the weight in my belly grounded me, anchoring me to the hope that tomorrow would bring clarity, if not healing.