Chapter 4
Vivian
The days after the announcement spun by in a fog of shock and humiliation. Lisa moved through the house with the serene intensity of a cult leader, glowing with a new secret. Ryan tried to act like nothing had changed, but the air between us was sharp enough to slice bread.
I waited for someone to say it was all a mistake. For Ryan to come to his senses, or Lisa to apologize and promise it was a one-time thing. Instead, it was like we’d all agreed to pretend our lives hadn’t detonated in the middle of my living room.
The following Monday, I woke to find Lisa’s room empty.
I thought maybe she’d gone for a walk, but when I checked the garage, her car was still there.
I called her cell; it went straight to voicemail.
I found her in the kitchen twenty minutes later, sitting at the counter in her pajamas, staring at a strip of plastic on the marble.
She looked up at me, face pale, lips trembling.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice so soft I barely recognized it.
She blinked twice, then held up the test. “It’s real,” she whispered. “Vivian, I’m really pregnant.”
I waited for the punchline, for her to say she was joking or that she’d made a mistake.
She started crying. “I’m so scared,” she said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
I put an arm around her, numb and mechanical. “We’ll figure it out,” I lied.
In my head, a voice screamed: This is not happening. This is not my life.
Ryan came home early that afternoon, which almost never happened. He went straight to Lisa. They stood together in the foyer, heads close, whispering. I watched from the staircase, feeling invisible.
Finally, Ryan turned to me. “Can we talk?” he asked, not waiting for a reply before leading me into the study.
He closed the door. I stood with my back to the window, arms folded.
He looked terrible: dark circles, rumpled shirt, fingers trembling. “I never meant for this to happen,” he said, staring at the carpet. “It just did.”
I waited.
He glanced up, guilt pooling in his eyes. “It wasn’t about you, Vivian. I— I was lonely. You were so focused on the treatments, on getting pregnant, that I felt like I didn’t matter anymore.”
I almost laughed. “So you slept with my sister?”
He flinched. “She was… there. She listened. I don’t know how it happened.”
I let the silence stretch, then said, “What do you want to do?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know.”
I nodded and left, closing the door behind me.
That night, Lisa tiptoed into my room after midnight.
She curled up at the foot of my bed, eyes red, voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Vivian.”
I didn’t answer.
She laid a hand on my calf, tentative and feather-light. “I didn’t want this to happen. I just— I fell in love. And now I’m scared I ruined everything.”
I almost asked if she’d planned it. But then I looked at her: hair wild, skin blotchy, face hollowed by fear. For all her plotting and manipulation, she was just as lost as I was.
So I just said, “Yeah. Me too.”
She started crying, big gasping sobs that shook the mattress. I let her cry until she fell asleep on top of the covers, then tucked her in before going to the guest room to lie awake until sunrise.
For three days, the house was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the click of Lisa’s phone as she scrolled. She called her doctor, made appointments, and started reading books about pregnancy. She avoided Ryan, and Ryan avoided me.
I went through the motions: work, errands, pretending to care about things that didn’t matter. I watched as Lisa started wearing looser clothes, her hand drifting to her stomach every time she thought no one was looking.
Ryan buried himself in work, coming home late and leaving early. When we passed in the hallway, he barely looked at me.
On Friday, I heard the two of them talking in the garage.
“Are you sure you want to keep it?” Ryan asked, his voice shaky.
Lisa: “I don’t have a choice. I could never… You know.”
Ryan: “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
Lisa: “What about Vivian?”
A pause. Then, “She deserves the truth.”
Lisa started crying, and Ryan comforted her.
I went to my room, locked the door, and smashed a coffee mug against the wall. I swept up the shards before anyone could see.
That afternoon, I had to go into the city for work. The courthouse was swarming with reporters; some big corruption trial had everyone on edge. On my way out, I ran into Alejandro Bellandi. He was alone, tie loosened, scanning his phone.
He saw me and smiled. “Vivian, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, embarrassed by how much I wanted him to remember me.
He noticed my red eyes and the stack of files in my arms. “Rough day?”
I almost told him everything. Instead, I said, “I’ve had better.”
He nodded, then asked, “Do you want to grab a coffee?”
I was about to say no, but then I thought, Why not? What did I have left to lose?
We went to the café across the street, the same one from months ago. He held the door, bought my drink, and didn’t judge when I added three packets of sugar.
For the first few minutes, we talked about work, the weather, the city. It was easy, almost relaxing.
Then he said, “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I smiled, or tried to. “It’s been a rough week.”
He didn’t push, just nodded and sipped his espresso.
We sat in silence for a while, watching the rain streak the windows.
He said, “You seem like someone who’s always had to be the strong one.”
I snorted. “You have no idea.”
He smiled. “I might.”
For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything: about Ryan, about Lisa, about the baby. But I didn’t. Not yet.
He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. It wasn’t flirty; it was just… kind.
“I’m here if you ever need a friend,” he said.
It was more comfort than I’d had in years.
That night, back at the house, Lisa was waiting in the living room.
She’d made tea, set out cookies, and dimmed the lights.
She patted the couch. “Sit with me?”
I did, because saying no was harder than just surviving the moment.
We sat in silence for a while.
Finally, Lisa said, “Are you going to hate me forever?”
I shook my head. “I just want to know why.”
She took a shaky breath. “When you told me you couldn’t get pregnant, I wanted to help. I really did. But the longer I was here, the more I saw how unhappy you both were. I thought maybe if you let go—if you moved on—things would get better.”
I stared at her, unblinking. “So you took my husband?”
She winced. “It wasn’t like that. It just… happened.”
I wanted to scream, but what was the point?
I just said, “I hope you’re happy.”
She started crying again, loud and messy.
I left her there, tea cooling on the coffee table.
Later, I heard Ryan and Lisa arguing in the kitchen.
Lisa: “She knows. She hates me.”
Ryan: “She doesn’t hate you. She hates me.”
Lisa: “What are we going to do?”
Ryan: “I’ll tell her. But not tonight.”
Lisa: “I can’t keep lying, Ryan.”
Ryan: “I’ll tell her. I promise.”
I pressed my head to the bedroom wall, listening until the voices faded.
I wondered if, deep down, I’d always known this was how it would end.
The next day, I went for a walk. I let the wind whip my hair and the cold numb my face.
I thought about Alejandro, and how he’d looked at me like I mattered.
I thought about Lisa, and how, for all her cruelty, she was still just a scared little girl trying to fix her own broken life.
And I thought about Ryan, who’d stopped loving me long before he found the courage to say it out loud.
That night, after midnight, I heard a soft knock at my door.
It was Ryan.
He looked at me, eyes hollow.
“I’m going to leave,” he said. “After we figure out how to do this.”
I nodded, too tired to care.
He took a step closer. “Vivian, I’m sorry.”
I nodded again.
He left, closing the door behind him.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
It was over.
It had always been over.
And somewhere in the house, my little sister smiled in her sleep, one hand curled protectively around her stomach.