Pregnancy. One of the most beautiful moments in a woman’s life. That is, of course, if she has a loving husband who supports her every step of the way.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t that lucky. Not only did I suffer from constant morning sickness throughout my pregnancy, but I also had to endure Ethan—the man I once believed would love and cherish me forever.

Before my pregnancy, we had a wonderful relationship. Ethan always treated me like a queen, making me feel like the luckiest woman alive. He constantly found little ways to show his love and affection.

When we decided to have a baby, Ethan was just as happy as I was. He hugged me tightly, grinning from ear to ear as he held the positive pregnancy test in his hands.

But the moment my body started to change, it was as if he had become a completely different person.

At first, it was just small remarks.

"You could at least dress better instead of walking around in pajamas all day," he muttered once.

Never mind that I had spent the entire day hunched over the toilet, nauseous at the slightest smell.

Then, the comments turned into complaints.

"All you do is lie around all day," Ethan grumbled one evening, kicking off his shoes. "This house is a mess!"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Ethan, my back is killing me, and I feel sick all the time. I can barely stand without feeling dizzy."

But he didn’t care.

Then Ethan started coming home late, always glued to his phone, texting someone.

Every time I asked, he brushed it off. "It’s just work," he’d say.

One night, I was eight months pregnant. My belly was huge, my feet were swollen, and even breathing felt like a struggle. Ethan came home late again, reeking of women’s perfume.

"Where have you been?" I asked, my voice weaker than I intended.

Ethan didn’t even look at me. He tossed his keys onto the table and shrugged off his jacket.

"None of your business," he muttered and walked straight into the kitchen. "SOPHIE!" His voice thundered through the apartment.

I flinched. My heart pounded. It took everything in me to push myself up from the couch. My back ached. My legs felt stiff. I grabbed the armrest for support and forced myself toward the kitchen.

"What is it?" I asked, breathing heavily.

Ethan stood by the fridge, glaring at me. "Where’s dinner?"

My stomach twisted. I swallowed hard. "I feel sick again. I tried, but every time I smell food, I run straight to the bathroom."

Ethan rolled his eyes. He turned to the sink and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Could you at least have washed the dishes?"

His voice rose. "I come home exhausted, and this place is disgusting! No food. No clean plates. What do you even do all day?"

Tears burned my eyes. "Ethan, I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I feel terrible." My voice cracked.

He scoffed. "The only thing you do is sit around in your sweatpants."

I placed a hand on my belly. "I’m carrying our daughter. My body is working hard—"

"Don’t start!" He cut me off. "My sister was pregnant. She did everything. She cooked. She cleaned. She still looked good. And she never ignored her husband in bed!"

I gasped. My chest ached as if he had punched me. "Pregnancy isn’t the same for everyone. I never thought it would be this hard either, but I’m doing this for her. For us."

Ethan scoffed. "Stop making excuses. You’re just lazy!"

He stormed out. A second later, the front door slammed. I stood there, gripping the counter, tears spilling down my face.

I sat down on a chair and covered my face with my hands. My body trembled, my shoulders shook, and my chest ached with every breath.

How had it come to this? How could the man who once promised to love and cherish me now treat me like I was nothing?

That night, I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts spun in circles, tormenting me with endless questions.

Where had Ethan gone? Was he with someone else? Hours passed, the silence in the house growing heavier, until just before dawn, a message appeared on my screen.

He’s here. He needed space.

It was from his mother. A wave of relief washed over me, but it didn’t last. He hadn’t gone to another woman—at least not tonight.

When Ethan returned, things only got worse. His gaze was filled with resentment, his words sharp and cold.

He constantly criticized me, making me feel like a failure.

"This place is always filthy." "You just lie around all day." "You don’t even try to take care of yourself."

His voice was filled with disgust, and each comment cut me deeper.

One day, I told my best friend everything. She listened, her expression growing darker with each word.

"Sophie, you need to leave him," she said firmly.

I shook my head, my throat tightening. "I can’t. I’m pregnant. I have no money, no job, nowhere to go."

"You have people who care about you. You’re not alone," she insisted. "You don’t deserve this."

I wanted to believe her, but fear held me back. No matter how much Ethan hurt me, I didn’t know how to walk away.

Then, one evening, everything changed.

Ethan was in the shower. His phone, which he never left unattended, lit up with a notification.

My hands trembled as I picked it up and unlocked it.

A dating app. Dozens of messages. Women he had been flirting with, meeting, and sleeping with while I sat at home, carrying his child.

My stomach dropped, and I clutched my belly as if to shield my baby from the pain. But at that moment, my mind cleared. I had to leave him. But I needed a plan.

The next day, I put it into motion. And soon enough, just as I was about to give birth, Ethan walked through the door with another woman.

"This is Rachel, my girlfriend," he said smugly.

I was shaking with rage and disbelief.

"You heard me," he continued. "I’m leaving you. Here are the divorce papers."

I stared at him, then at the folder, unable to process what was happening.

"What about our child?" I whispered.

Ethan shrugged. "I don’t want you or your baby."

Tears welled in my eyes.

"You’re a monster," I whispered.

Without thinking, I grabbed the pen and signed the papers.

Ethan smirked. "At least I don’t look like you."

But he had no idea what was coming.

I gave birth to my daughter, Lily, on the same day I finalized my divorce.

For a while, we stayed with my mother. I recovered quickly and realized something—I had lost a husband, but I had gained strength.

Months later, a knock at my door startled me. I opened it and froze. Rachel stood there.

"It’s over," she said. "Your plan worked."

Relief washed over me.

Ethan had unknowingly signed everything over to me—the house, the money.

And then, one night, he came crawling back.

"Sophie, please! I have nothing left!"

I crossed my arms and smirked. "Poor thing."

"You set me up!" he screamed.

I smiled. "No, Ethan. You set yourself up."

"You’ll never find anyone else!" he spat.

I laughed. "Look at me. I look amazing, and you? You’re homeless."

I turned away, locked the door, and held Lily close. I had her, and I needed nothing else.