A month had passed since that disastrous tenth anniversary night. Thirty days marked by the weight of humiliation, guilt, and resentment. Every corner of the mansion still seemed imbued with the echoes of the guests' murmurs, the bewildered glances, and Alex's silent pain.
Since that chaotic night, Helen had not set foot in a bar again. Not because she had found peace, but because she now had another purpose keeping her occupied: transforming the mansion into a home that felt like hers, whether Alex liked it or not.
Every morning, she walked through the rooms with a critical eye, mentally listing everything that needed to be changed. She had the old furniture removed—those pieces that reminded her of the life she had once shared with him. She painted the walls in warm tones, replaced the heavy curtains with light fabrics that let the sunlight in. In the living room, she got rid of the ornaments Alex had chosen and replaced them with fresh flowers, modern paintings, and details that reflected her new self—a woman determined to leave the past behind.
The project kept her busy, giving her a sense of control amid the inner chaos that was devouring her. It wasn't just a home renovation; it was her way of rebuilding herself.
Time had not softened the wound. On the contrary, each sunrise brought back the painful memory of what their marriage had become: a battlefield where only ruins remained.
The morning was cool, and soft sunlight poured through the dining room windows. Helen sat across from Alex, wearing a white silk nightgown, her face expressionless as she stirred her coffee. Alex, in a rolled-up gray shirt and slightly messy hair, watched her in silence, as he had done countless times over the past months.
She took a piece of bread to her mouth, but with the first bite, her face turned pale. Feeling a wave of nausea, she abruptly stood and ran to the bathroom. Alex dropped his utensils and rushed after her.
—Are you okay?— he asked worriedly from the doorway.
Helen didn't respond. She leaned over the sink, breathing heavily, her hands trembling. Alex grabbed her shoulders, an instinctive gesture of protection he couldn't suppress, no matter how much she rejected him.
—I'm taking you to the hospital,— he said firmly.
She tried to resist, but dizziness overwhelmed her. Alex held her tighter and, without giving her room to protest, carried her to his car.
Helen, lying on the examination bed, felt her pulse racing. It couldn't be…
A doctor in a white coat entered with a clipboard in hand, her expression calm.
—Ma'am, the tests confirm that you are pregnant. You're about four weeks along. Congratulations.
Helen felt the world come to a halt. Her mind raced back to that night a month ago, to the man she had been with. A chill ran down her spine.
Alex frowned, remaining silent for a few seconds, trying to process the information. Then coldness settled on his face. He knew the child wasn't his. He hadn't touched her. She had never allowed it, and he would never have forced her. He had sworn never to hurt her again—and he had kept that promise.
After the doctor gave them some recommendations and left the room, Alex turned to Helen.
—Abort it,— he spat out harshly.
Helen lifted her face, fury flashing in her eyes.
—Never.
—I won't allow you to bring a child into this house that isn't mine. It's a humiliation.
Helen stared at him with terrifying firmness.
—If you force me to abort, I will kill myself. And this time, I'll really do it.
Alex closed his eyes for a moment. He knew she was capable of it. The memory of Luke and the child they had lost, stabbed him like a dagger. He had already destroyed her too much. He couldn't bear another death. He couldn't continue being her executioner.
With clenched fists, he averted his gaze and left the room without another word.
The months that followed were agonizingly slow for Alex.
From a distance, he watched her around the house, in the garden when she took in the fresh air, or in the living room, under the warm glow of a lamp, caressing her growing belly with infinite tenderness, whispering barely audible words, as if already speaking to the baby inside her.
Every tiny garment she knitted was a silent blow to him. The small sweaters, the soft-colored wool hats, the delicately embroidered blankets—all spoke of the hope she had found away from him.
Alex saw her smile for the first time in a long time. There was light in her eyes again, her sadness seemed to slowly dissipate.
Although Helen had remodeled the mansion to feel like a new woman—and partly to torment Alex—now it all seemed insignificant. Knowing she was pregnant changed everything.
One afternoon, after returning from a prenatal checkup, she made a decision. She didn't want her child to grow up among the ghosts of the past, within walls built on pain. She needed to start over, far from everything that had once destroyed her—far from Alex.
Helen confronted him in the living room. She wore a loose dress, her hair tied in a high ponytail, and a serene yet firm expression. Alex felt his chest tighten.
—I want a divorce,— she said bluntly.
Alex felt a chill run down his spine.
—No,— he answered hoarsely.
—I want it. And this time, there's no discussion. I need to start anew, without you.
—I can help you raise that child.
He said it firmly, but deep down, he knew it was more than an offer; it was a debt he felt he owed her.
Helen smiled sadly.
—No. I don't want to risk losing another child because of you.
Those words destroyed him. Alex nodded slowly, realizing there was no turning back.
Their marriage was dead.
Without uttering another word, he signed the papers in overwhelming silence.
Helen's decision was final. She sold the mansion without hesitation, stripping away everything that tied her to that place full of painful memories.
As for Alex, he watched everything he had built crumble between his hands. The house that had once been his refuge now belonged to strangers. The company, the one he had built with so much effort alongside Helen, no longer belonged to him either. He sold it without a second thought, not caring about the legacy or the prestige he had achieved. Nothing made sense without her.
He deposited half the money from the sale into Helen's account. It wasn't an act of generosity, but of justice.
—This money is yours,— he told her the last time he saw her. —It always was.
Helen looked at him squarely, without a trace of tenderness in her eyes.
—Nothing you do will give me back what I lost. The only thing I want from you, Alex, is distance.
He nodded with sorrow. He knew there was no redemption possible.
Helen bought a plane ticket and left, without looking back. She didn't leave Alex a destination, nor a goodbye—only the emptiness, the abyss of her absence.
As for Alex, he moved into a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, a hollow space that reflected his own existence. No luxuries, no comforts. Just cold walls and loneliness as his only companions.
He had once had it all. A home, a family, a love that had once been pure.
And he had destroyed it himself.
Years later, Alex was walking through the streets of a city that no longer felt like his own. The rain had left the pavement wet, and the streetlights flickered in the night.
Suddenly, he saw her.
Helen had returned, walking on the opposite sidewalk, holding hands with a little girl with dark, curly hair. The child laughed as Helen spoke to her sweetly. Her face was illuminated, radiant.
Alex felt a weight on his chest. He wanted to cross over, to call out to her. But he stopped.
Helen walked away with the little girl, without looking back.
And Alex stayed there… watching the woman he had once loved disappear from his life forever.