Fate || BENNIFER

Cruel Irony

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Recommendation: Listen to Bruises by Lewis Capaldi before reading.
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*8 WEEKS BEFORE*

In the corner of the living room, a bunch of boxes sat close to the door, Ben's things. They were more a collection of memories, of the life we had built together. I couldn't understand it. After a decade, we would've sworn we were different people.

My stomach lurched, the butterflies I had been feeling since the fight, since the moment he left, morphing into a nauseating, twisting sensation. It had happened too fast and felt too overwhelming. One moment we were arguing, our voices rising, our words sharp and hurtful, the next, he was gone. My mind played back the scene in a dizzying loop. His face, usually soft and warm, had been tight, his jaw clenched, his eyes holding a stranger's gaze. The words I had flung at him, fueled by anger and hurt, echoed in my mind. I hadn't meant it when I told him to leave. Not really. The anger had been a shield, a desperate attempt to stop the pain. But now, the shield was gone, and the pain, raw and unfiltered, was searing through me. I had fought, begged, pleaded, tried to hold on to the thread of our love, but Ben hadn't met me halfway. And then, he walked out the door.

He would be back, I told myself. He always came back. He would realize what he had lost, what he had thrown away. He would see the gaping hole he had left in my heart and he would come back to fill it. But as I stood there, the silence in the house a heavy, oppressive weight, the doubt crept in. The boxes were a constant reminder. I knew, deep down, that he wasn't just gone for a while. He was gone. And maybe, just maybe, he was gone for good.

A wave of nausea, stronger this time, washed over me. I stumbled towards the bathroom, my legs shaky, my head spinning. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as I gripped the wall, my vision blurring. I fumbled with the door, struggling to find the handle. Finally, I managed to fling it open and stumbled inside. Thank goodness, the toilet lid was up, a cruel irony given that it was usually Ben who left it up. I didn't even have time to kneel down before my breakfast was finding its way back up.

The wave of nausea receded, leaving me drained and shaky. My vision swam as I sat hunched on the bathroom floor. My phone buzzed. I reached down, fingers clumsy, and pulled it from my pocket. A reminder blinked on the screen: "Lunch with Leah. Nobu. 1:30pm".

I had forgotten, completely forgotten. The thought of canceling, of being alone in the house, was unbearable. Gathering what little strength I had, I pulled myself up. My legs felt like jelly, threatening to buckle under my weight. I braced myself against the marble countertop, a grounding point in the world that was starting to spin. My walk-in wardrobe felt bigger than ever, but I pushed on. I settled on a simple black jumpsuit. I knew I was late, already a few minutes past the appointed time.

As I walked out the front door, the black SUV awaited me. My assistant smiled.

"Nobu?" She asked.

"Yes." I replied.

The drive was a blur. I gazed out the window, my thoughts swirling in my mind. As the car pulled up to the restaurant, the paparazzi swarmed the entrance. I forced a smile, the practiced curve of my lips betraying nothing of the chaos within. I felt like a puppet, my movements dictated by the strings of public expectation.

Inside, Leah was already seated at the table in the corner. She looked up as I approached, her smile as warm as ever.

"Punctual, as usual." She laughed.

"Sorry." I apologized, my voice a tired rasp. "Had a bit of a rough morning."

"I can tell. You look pale." Leah said, her brow furrowed with concern.

"I'm fine now." I shook my head.

"Are you sure? Because we can leave right now." She insisted.

"I can't go back to that house. I really need this." My words sounded like a plea.

"Okay. Let's order then." She understood.

I was never sick, or at least I never let it show. That was the reason behind Leah's concern, because as our lunch continued, I only seemed to look worse. Leah didn't bring it up for a while, and I hoped I was hiding it well. But eating so slowly, having trouble to focus on our conversation, and my eyes closing intermittently, was betraying me.

"Jennifer, you don't look good." Leah finally said, her voice gentle but firm.

"Grace has been sick, now it's my turn." I sighed. "That's all."

"That doesn't mean you don't need to rest." She said.

"I will." I promised.

"Don't make me tell your children's nanny to watch over you." Leah tried to lighten the mood.

The attempt at humor worked, and I managed a weak laugh. But then, the nausea returned after simmering beneath the surface for the past hour. I scrambled to my feet, and Leah, instantly alert, quickly guided me through the crowded restaurant, her hand hovering over my back, providing a steadying presence. She pointed towards the door and I stumbled into the restroom, making it to the nearest stall just in time.

I leaned against the toilet bowl, my body still shaking. This was not how I had imagined my day going. A soft knock came from the other side of the door, followed by Leah's voice.

"Let's go home." She said softly, but leaving no room for argument.

The brake lights flickered, casting a red glow on the side of my face. I turned my head, confusion twisting my brow.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Leah was already out of the car and halfway towards the store across the street.

"I'm getting you a pregnancy test." She called back.

"What?" I asked louder than I intended.

"Look down, so no one will see you." Leah instructed.

Suddenly feeling exposed in the car, I hunched lower in the seat. This was ridiculous. I couldn't believe that was happening, or maybe I just didn't want to think it was real. I tried to breathe deeply, to calm the storm raging within me, but the feeling of panic refused to subside.

The minutes stretched into an eternity, but finally, Leah reappeared. She slid into the driver's seat while I stared at the dashboard.

"Why?" My voice barely audible.

"We've been through this before. I know you better than yourself." Her voice soft.

I wanted to argue, to tell her she didn't know me better than myself, to tell her she was overreacting, that it was just a flu, stress-induced sickness, anything but what Leah seemed to think.

"I hope you're wrong." I just managed to say that.

The gate opened, and Leah pulled into the driveway. Then she stopped the car and turned to look at me, her expression a mixture of concern and a flicker of something that might have been sadness. I didn't need to say a word. The fear, the apprehension, the growing dread reflected in my eyes spoke volumes.

"I'll leave you alone. Call me if you need to talk... or anything." Leah said gently. "But don't disappear."

I nodded faintly, unable to speak, my throat constricted by a suffocating mix of fear and uncertainty.

Only when Leah's car was out of sight, and I was completely alone, did I finally dare to look down. My fingers slightly trembled as I held the small box with two pregnancy tests inside, and a potential reality I wasn't yet ready to accept.