Chapter 3

3.

“What about your final presentation at the Lisbon AI Summit?”

The moment the words left Eamon’s mouth, both Isabella and I were stunned.

I never knew he could be so impulsive when it came to her.

I couldn’t help but raise my voice. “You’re going to fly to Europe to help her compete? Thanksgiving is tomorrow! Both our families are coming over for dinner!”

I was planning to announce my pregnancy then.

Both our families had been pressuring us for years. Whenever his mom mentioned someone’s new grandchild at family gatherings, my mom would look on with envy.

Eamon, more than anyone, had been dreaming of a child. During our most intimate nights, he would whisper in my ear, “We should have a baby. A little girl who looks just like you.”

On the phone, Isabella’s voice trembled. “Eamon, is that… your wife?”

I cut her off. “Yes. We’re married.”

She choked on her words. Eamon frowned, still insistent. “It’s just technical support.”

Right, just technical support.

Then why was it “I never really competed” when I asked, but the second she called, he was ready to drop everything and fly to Europe?

The silence stretched on. Isabella was the first to speak. “Forget I asked.”

“Wait―” Eamon said urgently.

He covered the mouthpiece and pried my hand off his arm, his voice turning to ice. “Can you just stop making a scene?”

“She’s all alone in a foreign country. Do you have any idea how hard she’s worked to get here? What’s wrong with helping a friend?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“But it’s hard for me, too…”

This was supposed to be the year I finally made team lead. But because of my unstable condition after getting pregnant, our partners were worried about project delays. They were even thinking of moving me off the core team.

My friend had to pull strings just to get me a spot at the presentation day after New Year’s, but the algo engineer on my team got anxious just looking at my code and refused to partner with me.

I’m not some kind of genius. I got to where I am through countless late nights, debugging until my wrists ached. Now, because of this pregnancy, I might lose everything I’ve worked for.

Even so, I never once regretted carrying his child.

There was so much I wanted to say, so much pain, that the moment I tried to speak, tears started streaming down my face.

Eamon was hastily packing a bag. He saw me crying and paused.

I thought he would come and hold me like he always did, or at least try to comfort me.

But all he said was a detached, “Get some water. I have to go.”

My nails dug into my palms.

My voice was a raw whisper. “Are you really doing this? You won’t regret it?”

Eamon stared at me for a long moment, then looked down. “Get some rest.”

The apartment door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty space.

My hand rested on my lower abdomen. Through my tears, I thought for a long, long time. Then I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

“Hello, I need to schedule a consultation… about my options.”