26. Nora
CHAPTER 26
NORA
I swallow hard, feeling the coolness of my car’s steering wheel beneath my fingertips. It’s been days since I last set foot in the office, days since my life turned into a roller coaster with no end in sight. But today, the persistent nausea has finally granted me a reprieve, and though my stomach still churns with unease, it’s due to nerves rather than morning sickness.
I take a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to face what awaits me. My colleagues, the workload… Oliver.
The thought of him sends a sharp pang through my chest, a reminder of all the words left unsaid between us — words that now feel like we’ll never have a chance to say. We haven’t spoken since the day I told him about the pregnancy, and the silence that hangs between us is heavy with implications I’m not ready to face.
The walk to the office building does nothing to settle my nerves. Each step feels like wading through quicksand, yet somehow, I manage to make it to my desk without falling apart. I power up my computer, the familiar startup sound offering a slice of normalcy.
But even the mundane task of sifting through emails can’t keep reality at bay for long. A new message pops up, the subject line catching my eye: “Job Opportunity.”
Curiosity piqued, I click it open, skimming the contents. It’s from a contact at a local law firm, one smaller than the corporate giant I currently work for but still with a reputation for valuing their staff’s work-life balance. They’re looking for an experienced lawyer to join their ranks — a position that would’ve excited me once upon a time.
Now, however, the idea of starting over, especially with a baby on the way and uncertainty clouding every aspect of my future, feels daunting. Besides, despite the turmoil swirling within me, this job — my current job — is part of who I am. It’s the dream I’ve worked relentlessly to achieve.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I whisper under my breath, drafting a polite but firm refusal.
The salary they’re hinting at couldn’t possibly match what I earn here, and as much as everything else seems to be slipping through my fingers, I can’t afford to let go of the financial stability this job provides. Yes, things are complicated — to put it nicely — between me and Oliver, but I need to think practically. The pay here is too good to let go of, and soon enough I’ll have a kid to care for.
With a click, I send the email on its way, a small part of me mourning the lost opportunity. But bigger things are at stake now, and I can’t afford to be swayed by what-ifs and maybes — not when every decision I make from here on out isn’t just about me anymore.
A knock on the door draws my gaze away from the screen. Jenna stands there, smiling. “Hey. How are you feeling?”
“Good. Thanks. I’m over the worst of it.” I haven’t told anyone here about the pregnancy yet, and other than speaking with HR to coordinate my maternity leave, I’m not sure I’ll ever mention it.
Especially because people will surely suspect Oliver is the father, and that will stir up more drama than I care to entertain.
“You ready for the team meeting?” Jenna asks.
That’s right. We have a team meeting this morning. With Oliver.
My stomach twists, and I blink. “Uh, yeah. Ready.” With shaky legs, I stand and follow her out of the room.
The boardroom feels more like an ice chamber today. I slide into my seat, clutching the leather binder a little too tightly. My palms are sweating, and it’s not just from the nervousness of presenting my case strategy to the partners. No, it’s the presence of Oliver, sitting across the table, his attention fixed on the screen of his laptop, that has me wound up in knots.
“Good morning,” I murmur as I settle in, but the words fall flat, dissipating into the chilled silence of the room.
Oliver doesn’t look up. He doesn’t acknowledge me. It’s as if I’m just another piece of furniture, and the purposefulness of his disregard is palpable.
Throughout the meeting, I present my points with practiced precision, yet my voice sounds foreign to my own ears. It’s a mask of professionalism hiding the turmoil churning inside me. I steal glances at Oliver, hoping for any recognition, any sign that he still cares. But he remains impassive, his gaze barely meeting mine, his eyes an unfathomable steel that offers no comfort or connection.
It shatters something within me, a tiny crack in my resolve widening until I can hardly bear it. The man I once knew, who’d look at me with warmth and promise, seems to have vanished, leaving behind this cold stranger who shares his face.
Silently, I plead with him to show me something, anything, that might suggest he doesn’t want this to be the end. But there’s nothing, just the sterile click of keyboards and the dry rustle of papers being turned. The meeting drags on, and with each passing second, the distance between us grows until it feels insurmountable.
By the time I return to my office, the decision crystallizes in my heart like ice. I need to quit. It’s a terrifying thought, not just because it means walking away from a job that pays extremely well, but because it feels like I’m severing the last thread connecting me to Oliver.
I sit back in my chair, my hands trembling as I contemplate the enormity of what I’m about to do. Financially, it’s insanity. I have high rent, student loans, and now, a baby on the way. But how can I stay? Every minute in this building is a reminder of what we’ve lost, of the future we could have had together.
“Think about the baby,” I whisper to myself, my hand instinctively resting on my still-flat stomach.
This isn’t just about my broken heart; it’s about creating a life where stress doesn’t overshadow every moment, where I’m not constantly reminded of Oliver’s indifference.
Taking a deep breath, I open my laptop and start typing my resignation letter. With each word, I feel a mix of liberation and dire apprehension, but I know this is the right choice — for my peace of mind, for my well-being, and for the tiny life growing inside me.
Sitting back, I read the email over to myself. All of the right words are there, and it’s polite and concise. Except something is missing.
The human element.
I want to quit to Oliver’s face. Want to see his reaction. And, as much as this might not be healthy for me or kind, I want to see at least a sliver of hurt. I want him to regret the way he’s reacted to this pregnancy.
So, standing, I smooth my blouse and head out of my office. With each step, I feel shakier, but there’s no turning back. If I walk away from this job after quitting via email, there’s a good chance I’ll never see Oliver again.
I stride into his office, my heartbeat echoing in my ears like a drum. His head snaps up from the papers scattered across his desk, surprise flickering across his features for just a moment before he schools them into that facade I’ve come to dread — the one void of any warmth.
“Oliver.” Somehow, my voice holds steady despite the storm raging inside me. “I’m quitting.”
“Quitting?” He repeats the word as if it’s a foreign language, and his eyes search mine for an explanation.
“Yes.” I clutch the printed resignation letter. “It’s clear that our personal situation… it’s not working out. You don’t want to be involved with the baby… or me. It’s best if I just leave.” The truth is a bitter pill, jagged and hard to swallow.
For a split second, there’s a flash of something human behind his eyes — pain, regret, maybe? But it’s gone as quick as it came, replaced with a cold indifference that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Fine,” he says, the word slicing through the tension in the room. “I will support you and the baby financially. You don’t have to worry about that.”
His robotic response, devoid of any real concern, cements my decision. It’s like he’s offering alimony without the marriage, a monthly check in place of love and commitment. And God, it stings.
“Thanks,” I manage, but it’s a whisper, forced and empty. I won’t let him see the hurt, won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s wounded me so deeply.
I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I can’t. Not when every instinct screams at me to flee before the dam breaks and the tears start to flow. So I turn sharply on my heel and walk out, my hands shaking.
I keep my pace even as I navigate the maze of cubicles, ignoring the curious glances from my soon-to-be former colleagues. I can feel Oliver’s presence looming behind me, although I know he hasn’t moved from his chair.
Once I’m safely in the elevator, the metal walls feel like the only thing keeping me upright. As the doors slide closed, sealing away the life I thought I wanted, a single tear escapes, tracing a hot path down my cheek. I swipe it away fiercely, a silent vow made to the tiny heartbeat fluttering within me: I’ll build us a better future, one where we’re wanted, treasured, and loved.
Just you and me, little one.