Hateful obsession

Chapter 29

Melissa
"Destruction."

5 years ago...

The morning sun streamed through the sheer curtains in my bedroom, casting a soft glow that felt disproportionate to my inner turmoil. I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand to my stomach, familiar waves of nausea washing over me. This was the third morning sickness episode this week, and each time, my thoughts returned to one inevitable idea: could I be pregnant?

I tried to think logically, but fear gnawed at me, nibbling at the edges of my mind. The missed days were worrying; it had been over a week since I last had my period. Normally, my cycles were like clockwork, but this delay felt like a cruel joke my body was playing on me. Uncertainty gripped my stomach like a coiled snake, tightening with every passing minute.

I tried to distract myself, focusing on work. I grabbed my phone, hoping to drown out my anxiety with emails and deadlines. But as I scrolled through the feed, the same thoughts resurfaced - Roman's face, memories of our recent intimate moments, and the looming question: what if I was pregnant?

The thought was both exciting and terrifying. A baby could bring us closer, mending the cracks in our relationship. Or it could drive us further apart, intensifying the hidden tensions that had arisen over the past few days. I remembered our last argument, the sharp words we exchanged, and how Roman had withdrawn, leaving me to navigate the turbulent waters of my emotions alone. This week had been especially quiet. He was barely home, preferring to drown himself in work.

I bit my lip, torn between hope and despair. The prospect of motherhood was alluring, but the reality of my relationship with Roman cast a shadow over it. Would he support me? Would he agree to become a father? I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I glanced toward the bathroom, which I would soon need.

Though a week had passed since I noticed the delay, I hadn't taken a test because, with each passing day, I felt Roman drifting further away from me. His phone calls were brief, his messages even shorter. I could sense his discomfort in our conversations; he changed the subject at the slightest hint of vulnerability. I couldn't shake the thought - had he sensed my anxiety, or had he simply realized he no longer had feelings for me and decided to ignore me?

Last night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, I replayed the moments we had spent together this week. Or rather, the fact that we hadn't spent any time together at all.

Roman came home late every night, often smelling faintly of whiskey and stress. Each time, I tried to reach out to him, to connect, but he remained distant, as though an invisible wall had grown between us.

"Are you okay?" I asked one night, my voice laced with concern. Roman simply nodded, offering a half-hearted smile before retreating to the shower once again. The lack of communication hurt; he had become a stranger in our own home, and that loneliness only deepened my isolation.

The thought of telling him about a possible pregnancy filled me with anxiety. What if he reacted badly? What if he didn't want to be a father? Thousands of scenarios played out in my mind, each more destructive than the last.

Taking a deep breath, I got up from the bed. I needed answers, and the only way to get them was to face my fears. When I entered the bathroom, the air was filled with the scent of lavender, remnants of the soap Natasha had used earlier for cleaning. And the nausea intensified. Natasha was already there, casually leaning against the counter with a knowing look in her eyes. I had asked her for a favor half an hour ago.

"Hey, are you ready to take the test?" Natasha asked, handing me a small white box as if it were a grenade.

"I don't know, Natasha." I sighed, feeling a wave of hesitation wash over me. "What if it's positive? What if it's negative? I just... I can't handle this right now."