SIX YEARS AGO
SANDRA DAWSON
I emerged from slumber, my tangled locks a testament to a restless night. After a swift trip to the bathroom, I returned to the bed where Andre and I shared a passionate encounter just hours before. Our one- year milestone as husband and wife has been a whirlwind of love and growth , but our desire to start a family has been met with heartbreak. Despite our hopes, each pregnancy has ended in miscarriage, leaving us yearning for a different outcome.
As I navigate the complex Web of family dynamics, I've been yearning for the blessing of motherhood since our wedding day. However, fate has yet to grant me this desire, leaving me with a sense of longing.
Meanwhile , Andre's mother has been a guest in our home for the past week, and her constant criticisms have become a heavy burden. It's no secret that she never warmed up to me, and her disapproval hangs in the air like a palpable tension.
" Can't you see that Sandra's barreness is a liability to our family's legacy?" My mother-in-law's voice rose in desperation. " You need an heir, and I need a grandchild. It's time for drastic measures. Either you divorce her and find a suitable partner , or I'll take matters into my own hands"
Her words hung in the air, and I felt like a pawn in their game. My husband's silence was deafening as he sat at the dining table, his eyes fixed on some invisible point. It was clear what they wanted: for me to produce children like a factory, only to have them taken away and replaced with a paycheck . The cruelty of it all was suffocating.
As I gazed at Andre, my husband, I couldn't help but feel the weight of his indifference. Our marriage, a union born out of familial obligation rather than love had long been a facade. When his mother unleashed her venom, Andre's silence was a telling sign of his true feelings. His gaze, once a warm refuge , had turned cold and dismissive , piercing my heart like a dagger .
Weeks later, Andre's calm demeanor unsettled me. He returned home from work, his composure harbinger of impending doom. I attempted to greet him with the usual warmth of a devoted wife , but he brushed me aside, his eyes avoiding mine.
He retreated to our room,and I followed, my heart sinking and each step. Emerging from the bathroom , he retrieved a file from his suitcase, the contents of which I dreaded . With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the file at me, a black pen sliding out, it's presence a stark reminder of the decisions that lay ahead.
Your original passage is deeply emotional and charged with betrayal, heartbreak, and power imbalance. If you're looking to elevate the language while keeping the raw emotion intact, here's a refined and emotionally resonant version:
I opened the file, and the tears I had tried so hard to suppress came crashing down with violent urgency.
"You know what this is, Sandra," he said quietly, without looking at me.
"Dre... please, don't do this. You don't mean it. I know you don't," I whispered, my voice trembling.
Without waiting for his response, I rose from the bed, let the file fall from my hands, and kissed him-desperately, searching for something familiar. But he didn't move. Didn't kiss me back. He just stood there, staring at me with empty eyes. And when I reached for more, he shoved me back onto the bed with sudden anger.
"What's the point of doing this with a woman who can't even give birth?" he spat.
I dropped to my knees, sobbing, begging, "Please, don't divorce me. I love you, Dre. And I know... I know deep down, you love me too."
He looked down at me with a cold expression, pulled me to my feet, and gently wiped away my tears-before delivering the truth I had refused to face.
"I never loved you, Sandra. I needed something from you-an heir. A son, a daughter, I didn't care. But you can't give me that. And let's be clear-I'm not doing this because my mother told me to. I'm leaving because I can't bear the shame anymore.
"I'm not sorry for anything. I took you out of the gutter. I cleaned you up. I made you beautiful. So no, I'll never apologize for this. Now, sign the damn papers. Don't worry about the money-I've taken care of everything. The house is yours too. Consider it part of your alimony.
"And don't panic-I'm not leaving tonight. I thought maybe, just maybe, we could spend this last night together. One final memory. What do you say?"
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I just stood there-speechless, unable to find the words. He took my silence as consent. Without saying anything more, he lifted me into his arms and carried me to our bed, where we made love for the last time.
Afterwards, he rose quietly and disappeared into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he emerged, fully dressed, and walked out the door.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
He wasn't even present when our divorce was finalized. His lawyer handled everything.
I was awarded three cars, the penthouse, and a substantial settlement. It was more than enough to start over-and enough to support my parents and sister.
It wasn't the ending I had imagined... but perhaps it was the beginning I needed.
Two weeks after our divorce, I fell ill. I was throwing up constantly, my stomach in knots, and waves of nausea crashing through me. At first, I thought it was the flu—or maybe food poisoning. But nothing could have prepared me for the truth.
The sickness was from something… different. Something special. A miracle I had longed for.
But how was I supposed to tell Andre? He had cut off all ties with me. Blocked my number, deleted our pictures, disappeared from my world like we never existed.
Yet this child—our child—would need a father.
I stared at the pregnancy test in my hand, then flung it onto the bed in frustration. Tears welled in my eyes as I reached for my phone and called the only people I could count on.
"Hello, sweetie... How are you holding up?" My mother's voice was a balm to my nerves.
"Mom?" My voice trembled.
"Everything will be fine. We're on our way, okay?"
"Alright. I'll be waiting."
Thirty minutes later, my parents pulled into the garage. I rushed out to greet them, burying myself in their embrace like a lost child.
"Where's Sarah?" I asked.
"She's actually busy right now, but she said she'll call you later," Mom replied.
"Come here, my little angel," my father said gently. I moved into his arms, feeling the safety I hadn't felt in weeks. He had always been my rock.
They had found out about my sudden marriage in the worst way possible. Now, news of the divorce was plastered everywhere—our faces splashed across gossip sites. Strangers online called me a gold digger, tearing me apart without knowing anything about me.
"Everything will be alright," my father whispered again.
"I'm sorry," I choked. "I should've told you both about the wedding from the start. I was just... scared. Ashamed. I married him because of the money, and I thought you'd judge me."
"Oh, sweetie… stop," Mom said, brushing my hair gently. "Don't do that to yourself. Sarah explained everything."
"She did?" I was stunned.
"Yes. She told us about the family business failing. About how we almost lost the house. She needed help. You needed help. And you—" her voice trembled—"you were so brave to do what you did. For all of us."
"I had to do something," I whispered.
I closed my eyes, and the memory of meeting Andre for the first time flooded back. I was a struggling waitress, and he looked at me like he knew me. Like I was more than I believed I was. I brushed the bittersweet memory away.
"Do you love him?" my father asked.
"Yes," I said with a sigh. "It was a contract marriage... but I grew to love him. He was amazing to me."
That was a lie.
He wasn't amazing. He wasn't even kind.
But somehow, I fell in love with him anyway—hopelessly, stupidly.
At fundraiser parties, I was nothing but decoration. I had to smile, nod, stand still—play the part of the perfect wife.
The worst was the night Victoria—his mother—publicly humiliated me at a gala. She berated me in front of guests, while Andre simply stared at her, silently demanding she behave. But his silence wasn't protection. It was indifference.
Later that night, she introduced him to the daughters of wealthy businessmen. Andre didn't protest. In fact, he seemed intrigued. He left me standing in the corner for hours, pretending I didn't exist, until he was ready to leave.
But I'm free now.
I should be happy.
I shouldn't be remembering these things.
"What is this?" My mother's voice snapped me back. She held up the pregnancy kit, her face pale with shock. My father stood frozen beside her.
"I'm pregnant," I said quietly.