Back in college, I had already sketched, sewn and perfected a wedding dress meant only for me.
And I had told him, so many times, I wanted to marry him in the dress I had created.
And now… was he truly going to stand by and let his parents scheme while shattering my dream with his own hands?
Doubt gnawed at me, creeping into every corner of my mind, unraveling the last threads of trust I had left.
After that night, I packed my things and moved back to my mom’s place.
Life carried on. I went to work every day, stuck to my routine, never missing a beat.
After all, I wasn’t the one who should be panicking.
And sure enough…
A week passed before someone finally cracked.
Just before the end of my shift, my phone buzzed with a string of messages.
[Aurelia, I’ll pick you up after work. My mom made all your favorite dishes.]
Anthony rarely took me home unless it was for something important.
This time, it was clear he hadn’t come up with this on his own.
After a moment of thought, I typed a single word in reply.
[Okay.]
One way or another, I deserved an explanation.
The doorbell rang, and in an instant, Anthony’s mom was at the door, rushing forward with a radiant smile.
"Aurelia! You’ve finally arrived! I’ve missed you so much!"
I forced a smile, my face carefully blank.
"Auntie, I’m sorry. With the wedding coming up soon, I’ve been spending more time with my mom."
Her face lit up and she seized my hand, patting it reassuringly.
"Don’t worry, dear. Once you’re married, I’ll make sure Anthony takes you back to visit often."
She spoke cheerfully, but her eyes kept drifting, almost as if searching for something lingering on my stomach.
As she led me to the table, I noticed Amelia, Anthony’s sister, sitting there.
She gave me a stiff nod, her face like stone.
It was clear she wasn’t in the best of moods.
Anthony thoughtfully pulled out a chair for me and the whole family echoed in unison, urging me to sit carefully, as though even sitting down could harm me.
I couldn’t help but sneer inwardly.
Pregnancy, what a powerful weapon it had become.
I had barely taken a few bites when Zora, Anthony’s mother, got straight to the point, her smile stretching wide as she placed a piece of meat in my bowl.