My Unborn Daughter Warned Me Not To Marry Him Chapter 05
The Empty Nursery
[Third-person POV: Josh]
Sloane’s cheeks flush pink. She leans into him, all shy and sweet.
“Josh, baby, you said I was the one. Remember?”
“You said you only stayed with Autumn out of guilt. Because she gave you your start.”
“You don’t have to force yourself anymore. I’m here. I’m your bride now.”
She loops her arms around his neck. Rises up on her toes. Aiming for that kiss.
Josh yanks her arms off him. Hard.
“Ow. Josh! You’re hurting me!”
That whimper used to melt him every time.
Not today.
His eyes are ice. Sloane actually shivers.
“Where is Autumn? What did you do to her? Talk. Now.”
“I didn’t do anything, I swear!”
His hand closes around her throat.
“I told you. I told you. Don’t ever touch her.”
Sloane claws at his fingers. Can’t breathe. Can’t speak.
Guests scream. Someone drags Josh off.
Sloane coughs. Tears streak her makeup.
“I didn’t touch her, I swear to God! She called *me*! She told me to put on the dress and show up! This gown is custom. No way I could’ve gotten it without her signature!”
Josh sees it in her face. She’s not lying.
That’s when the real panic hits.
“She set this up. She set this up herself. Why. Why?”
He presses a hand to his chest. Can’t breathe. Something cold and huge is climbing up his throat.
He shoves people out of his way. Runs. Doesn’t stop till he’s at the penthouse door.
And there, on the doorstep, his hands won’t work.
Six months. He hasn’t been home in six months. Not once since the fight.
He told himself she needed to grow up. Learn to be a proper CEO’s wife. Stop making scenes over Sloane.
So he moved into a hotel with Sloane and told himself Autumn would come around.
His fingerprint keeps missing the sensor. His hand is shaking too hard.
The door finally opens.
A faint smell hits him. Copper. Old blood.
His heart slams so hard it hurts.
He stumbles into the bedroom.
Dried blood. A big stain on the cream carpet. A cold, dark trail leading down the hall.
“Autumn?”
Nothing.
He tears through every room. Screams her name. Bathroom. Kitchen. Guest room.
Last door. The one he’s been avoiding.
The nursery. The one she painted by hand. Their first family photo on the wall: his arms around her from behind, both of them holding the ultrasound photo up between them. He’s smiling softly. She’s glowing.
On the pink-and-white crib lies one thin sheet of paper.
Next to it, the sonogram. Torn clean in half.
Josh picks up the paper. His hands won’t stop shaking.
No. No no no. This isn’t real.
VOLUNTARY SURRENDER OF PARENTAL RIGHTS.
Closed adoption. No contact. Records sealed.
Autumn’s signature at the bottom.
Steady. Not one shaky letter.
His knees hit the hardwood.
His forehead drops onto the empty crib.
And a sound rips out of his chest, low, animal, gutted, the kind of sound that doesn’t stop for a long, long time.
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