DEAR EX WIFE,YOU WERE NEVER A CHAPTER

Sophia’s POV

I never imagined my life would begin to unravel inside a cold, overly white hospital room with the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

I sat on the examination table, legs swinging nervously, fingers clasped tightly in my lap. The doctor stepped in, her smile soft but unreadable. She held a folder I instinctively knew contained more than just routine results.

“Mrs. Cole,” she said gently, “You’re not unwell… you’re pregnant.”

My world stilled.

Pregnant.

It didn’t feel real. I blinked at her, waiting for her to laugh, for someone to pop out and tell me this was all a mistake. But the doctor’s smile didn’t falter.

“You’re already nine weeks along.”

I nodded slowly, murmuring thanks as she handed me the file and walked out, leaving me alone with the news.

I stared at the floor. Nine weeks. Two months. That meant the night I’d stumbled home crying after overhearing Ethan talk about how much he regretted our marriage the night he was drunk and angry, and for the first time in a long time, he reached for me like I still meant something that was the night everything changed.

I pressed a hand to my stomach. A baby. His baby.

But how could I tell a man who barely looked me in the eyes anymore?

***

My five-year marriage had been a silent war of sacrifices.

It wasn’t built on love, not from him anyway. I was the daughter of the Cole family’s housekeeper. My mother had served them for thirty years until age and illness finally caught up with her. I stepped in to help her when I was just seventeen—cooking, scrubbing, ironing Ethan’s shirts long before I even understood the weight of his name.

His parents loved me. Maybe more than they loved their own son. They saw me as loyal, responsible, grounded everything Ethan wasn’t at the time.

When his reckless lifestyle threatened the family’s reputation, his father laid out a condition in his will: Ethan would only inherit the company if he married me. The housekeeper’s daughter. Myself. The one who called him “sir” even after he grew into the man who now barely acknowledged my existence.

He was furious. He despised the idea. But money speaks louder than love, and I had neither to offer.

So he married me.

We stood before hundreds of guests, the press, the board, even his disapproving exes. I wore white and smiled. He wore a frown and didn’t look at me once during our vows.

That was five years ago.

Since then, I’ve lived in his mansion like a ghost in my own story. No kisses. No affection. Just cold glances, late nights, and silence.

I’d told myself I could earn his heart one day. That if I were kind enough, patient enough, he'd finally see me. But hope is a cruel thing. And now hope had given me a child I wasn’t sure he’d want.

***

When I got home, the mansion was