The air in the lawyer's office was thick with unspoken words, each one heavier than the last. Mia sat rigidly, her hands clasped over her slightly rounded belly, a silent testament to the life growing within her.

Across the polished mahogany desk, Ethan Wilson, her husband of barely a year, looked everywhere but at her. His face, usually so composed, was a mask of discomfort. Beside him, their lawyer droned on, but Mia heard only fragments: “...irreconcilable differences... mutual agreement... divorce settlement.”

It was the day she had chosen to tell him about the baby. Instead, he had presented her with papers.

“Mia,” Ethan finally said, his voice flat, “I think this is for the best. Mother has made it clear.” He gestured vaguely, as if his mother’s disapproval was a force of nature.

Mia felt a sharp pang, not just of betrayal, but of stark, cold reality. The fairytale had crumbled, leaving her with an empty ring finger and a life suddenly redefined. She signed the papers, her vision blurring, the faint scent of expensive paper and betrayal filling her nostrils. Outside, the world spun on, oblivious to the quiet devastation unfolding within these walls. She was alone, pregnant, and poorer than she'd ever been.