Weight of The Untold

Chapter 48

Week 12: The fetus is around 5.3 centimetres long from head to bottom and weighs about 58 grams, the size of a lime. The fetus can move in response to pressure in your abdomen but it's still too early to feel any movement.

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We all arrived at the Miller mansion in Liam’s shiny black SUV. Honestly, what is it with rich people and black cars? I noticed it years ago when my parents made me choose from their collection—I picked black without hesitation. Even back in high school, I always imagined Jerry driving a sleek black SUV. Always. Something about them felt powerful. Untouchable.

The mansion rose before us, all clean lines and quiet grandeur. Multi-million dollar luxury wrapped in glass, stone, and silence. As soon as we stepped inside, a pregnant woman greeted us, glowing in that effortless way wealth seems to allow.

I didn’t need an introduction. She had to be the stepmother.

“Hi guys,” she said warmly, her voice sweet and airy. “You’re finally here.” She pulled us into hugs one by one.

“Hey, Christelle,” Meg said easily. “Okay, this is Kyla—my best friend since childhood—and this is Hazel.” She glanced at Hazel, smiling softly. “My girlfriend.”

Thank goodness they didn’t break up.
I’d been terrified to ask in the car, so I stayed quiet, pretending not to notice the tension that had followed us all the way here.

“Oh, hey girls. Nice to meet you. My name is Christelle. I’m sure you already know what I am to Megan.”

We nodded politely.

“Nice to meet you too,” Hazel said.

“Oh—she’s a Brit,” Christelle said, amused.

“Yeah, she’s from London,” Meg added.

“Oh, Liam,” Christelle smiled toward him, but he brushed past her without a word, already climbing the stairs. Definitely heading to his room.

“Right,” she sighed, disappointment flickering across her face.

“He’s still not talking to you?” Megan asked gently.

“And there’s no hope of him doing so anytime soon.”

Hazel and I shared a glance. That said everything.

“Are you at least going to join us at the table?” Megan called out to Liam, who was already halfway up the stairs.

“Yes,” he replied, without stopping.

Christelle led us into the dining area. She looked impossibly young—early thirties at most. Mr. Miller had definitely chosen someone younger this time.

“Your father is in his study,” she told Megan. “He had to take an important call, but we’ll start dinner soon.”

I glanced around, taking it all in. The house had changed since the last time I was here—more modern, more polished. Staff moved quietly, already taking our bags upstairs to separate rooms.

“Your father is in his study,” Christelle told Meg gently. “He had to take an important call, but we’ll start dinner soon.”

I let my gaze drift around the house while she spoke. So much had changed since the last time I’d been here. The place felt sleeker now—less warmth, more polish. Quiet footsteps echoed somewhere down the hall as staff carried our bags upstairs, already assigning us to rooms without asking.

Everything here moved efficiently, effortlessly. Money did that.

We sat down, the air thick with anticipation as we waited for Mr. Miller.

“So, Hazel,” Christelle began pleasantly, folding her hands together, “how old are you?”