LOGINAyesha's POV
Wait, I shouldn't knock. If he knows it's me, he might not let me in. Not after yesterday's drama. I pulled the door handle from outside and opened it.
Nothing was different about him. He was the usual push-and-pull boyfriend and company owner I knew him to be, only that my beloved Gemma was in there with him. There was a slip in her hand and she was crying. No wonder she wasn't at the staff office. Did he see the video and intend to fire her?
"Mr Chris," I said, because that's what I was schooled to call him at work and other formal occasions. "Please, what's going on? Do you want to fire her? Please don't fire her."
He looked hard at me. "Why did you come in without knocking? You should have knocked."
"I'm sorry… I didn't think it was necessary…" I turned to Gemma. "Are you alright?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes were puffy and swollen. I thought there was really nothing I could do if he had really decided it was best to fire her.
"Gemma, please talk to me. We can work this out. We always do." I wanted to touch her arm but she pushed me away and screamed.
"What am I going to do about the baby? Are you going to dump me like this? This isn't what you promised."
My jaw dropped and I looked at Chris, then Gemma. But nothing is true unless I saw the evidence for myself. I bent and picked up the slip she was holding since it had fallen off her lap when she stood up and screamed.
Her ovaries were in view on the scan paper and the baby was in there. The diameter, the length…and the baby was okay. So she really was pregnant. Nice. But for Chris? I hadn't heard that part well.
"Gemma, you're pregnant? When… how? You were fine yesterday."
"Chris is the father, for crying out loud. Just stop talking. Don't interfere, Ayesha. It's none of your business. He caused this. He has to fix it."
"Chris. She's joking, right? You can't possibly get another woman pregnant when we're in a relationship. Is that why you rejected my proposal yesterday?" I grabbed my head, which had gotten really hot.
"Leave, Ayesha. Just get out. This isn't your business…you shouldn't have come in here. I told you to keep things professional while we're at work and you crossed the line after embarrassing me yesterday."
"Can't I sit for a minute? I have a headache. And… why do I have to leave? She should leave she is… Gemma, why did you have to get pregnant for him? Of all people."
"As if I caused it. Think straight for once, Ayesha. We're in the real world, not whatever weird delusion you've built up in your head. He chased me. I didn't get myself pregnant."
"And you didn't tell me. I had no idea about it. You were cheering me on yesterday and you even went as far as sending that embarrassing video to everyone…"
"I'm keeping the baby," Gemma said flatly.
I looked at Chris. His expression was set. After all, he had already told me to leave. But I felt weak. I would go anyway.
"She's right, Chris. I'll leave…you don't owe me anything. It's not like we're married. Gemma… you can keep him."
I was crying when I didn't want to. We were not married anyway. I walked to my desk and picked up my handbag. Everyone was bent over their work desks doing their business. I could just sit down and get back to work. I needed this money. But I couldn't bring myself to. I tried, but decided it was best if I just left.
Everyone must be wondering why I left when the day's work was not yet over. I wished they could just mind their business, because they would never understand what was going on with me right now.
When I was dropped off by a taxi at my apartment, I dumped my shoes and fell on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest. Who goes through this much in just two days? I might lose my sanity very soon.
Eventually, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was still in my work clothes. The light inside had dimmed, showing it was evening. I hadn't slept this long in a while. Heartbreak was a good sleeping medicine, I supposed.
When I checked my phone, it was past seven o'clock and I had a lot of missed calls from my supervisor. As expected, Chris didn't call. I would have to answer a query for leaving work without permission tomorrow. That was undoubtedly the reason my supervisor called. What would possibly happen? My salary would be deducted and I'd get scolded. After all, Mr Smith was a strict man.
I took off my clothes and stood in front of my mirror, revealing my bony hips and other features I was ashamed of. That should be why Chris was ashamed of making us public. He was ashamed of being seen with me. And maybe he didn't think I could get pregnant. That is why he tested Gemma. The fact that he even went as far as sleeping with her was something to vomit about.
I will change one day. I will be better, but not for Chris, because I won't be showing up to work tomorrow to receive that query. I picked up my phone and messaged my supervisor, because I couldn't manage speaking with him or anyone.
I typed: "Good evening sir. I would be dropping my electronic resignation letter tomorrow."
After that, I threw the phone on the bed and went to shower.
Chris's POVI didn't sleep that first week without Gemma in the house. The silence felt different now, heavier, full of the things I hadn't let myself think about while I was busy convincing myself I was doing the responsible thing.It was a Sunday morning, early enough that the light outside was still gray, when I gave up on sleep entirely and turned on the television without any real intention of watching anything. I flipped through channels the way a person flips through their own thoughts when they're trying not to land on one in particular.Then I stopped.She was sitting across from a morning show host in a bright studio, a microphone clipped near the collar of a fitted rust colored dress, her hair loose around her shoulders in a way I had never once seen her wear it at the office. She looked nothing like the woman who used to sit quietly at her desk finishing reports after everyone else had gone home. She also looked, somehow, exactly like herself, the version of herself I thin
Chris's POVThe months after Ayesha resigned passed in a way I could only describe as gray. Gemma moved into the mansion within a week of the confirmed pregnancy, carrying in boxes I hadn't agreed to make room for, rearranging furniture in rooms I rarely used and some I did.I told myself it didn't matter. None of it mattered, not really, not measured against the responsibility I believed I carried now. I had been raised to take ownership of my mistakes, and if this was mine, then I would see it through properly, whatever that cost me.It cost more than I expected.Gemma redecorated the east sitting room without asking, replacing furniture that had belonged to my mother with pieces she preferred. She began monitoring household accounts that weren't hers to monitor. She attended events at my side, something Ayesha had never once been allowed to do, and positioned herself carefully in every photograph, every introduction, every conversation with my associates, referencing the baby const
Ayesha's POVThe idea came to me while I was sweeping the gallery floor late one evening, frustrated after a second rejection from Marlene Kline's office. Diana's words kept circling in my head. Stop asking for permission. Make them notice you.I thought about the children's hospital three blocks from my old apartment, the one I used to pass on my way to work and never once stopped to think about. I thought about how much good a little attention could do, for them and for me both, if I built something worth paying attention to.I called the hospital's community outreach office the next morning and proposed a charity art night. All proceeds from sales would go toward their pediatric ward. I would cover the wine and the printed invitations myself. All I asked was that they let me put their name on it.They said yes before I had even finished my sentence.I spent two weeks preparing. Diana donated three smaller pieces for the cause without me even having to ask. I reached out to two other
Ayesha's POVShe walked in on a Tuesday afternoon, when the gallery was empty except for the hum of the radiator and the faint smell of fresh paint that still hadn't fully faded."You're the owner?" she asked, not bothering with a greeting."I am. Ayesha Adams." I extended my hand.She didn't take it. She was already moving past me, studying the walls with narrowed eyes, the way someone studies a problem rather than a room. She was tall, sharp featured, somewhere in her forties, with paint stains on her fingers that no amount of scrubbing had ever quite gotten out."This space is wrong for hanging anything larger than a meter," she said. "Your lighting is decent. Your floor creaks in three places, which is honestly charming if you market it right.""I'm sorry, who are you?""Diana." She finally looked at me properly. "I paint. I've been looking for somewhere that isn't a corporate lobby or a coffee shop to show my work, and most galleries in this city want nothing to do with anyone wh
Ayesha's POVThe bank loan officer had kind eyes and a stack of paperwork that seemed to multiply every time I blinked. I sat across from her in a small glass office, my hands folded so tightly in my lap that my knuckles had gone pale."You're proposing a gallery space," she said, scanning my application. "Have you run a business before?""No," I admitted. "But I've worked in corporate finance for four years. I understand numbers. I understand budgets. And I've been saving since I was twenty."It wasn't entirely true. I had been saving since I was twenty, yes, but most of it had gone into a ring that someone had told me to get up off my knees for. I didn't say that part.She studied me for a long moment, then looked back down at the file. "The space you're interested in, it's modest. Good location, decent foot traffic once people know it's there. Risky, but not foolish.""I know it's risky.""Most first time business owners underestimate how slow the first few months will be.""I'm pr
Ayesha's POVI didn't cry until I got home.In the mall, in front of Chris, I had been steady. My voice hadn't shaken. My hands hadn't shaken. I had looked at him and told him to go away and I had meant every word of it. But the moment my apartment door clicked shut behind me, something in my chest finally gave out, and I slid down against the door and cried until my throat hurt.It wasn't even about the rejection anymore, or the dress, or Gemma's stupid video. It was about how easy it had been for him to ask "what happened yesterday" like I was the one being unreasonable. Like four years could just be folded up and put away because it was inconvenient for him.I sat there for a long time. When I finally got up, my legs were stiff and my face felt swollen. I went to the bathroom, washed it, and looked at myself in the mirror. Bony shoulders. Flat chest. The same girl who had been laughed at in a high school hallway, still standing in the same body, still waiting for someone to look at







