Chapter 3 - The Expulsion and the Confession**
The chaos that followed felt like a nightmare scene from a cheap drama. Eleanor shrieked insults, grabbed her designer handbag, and stormed toward the front door, pausing only to hiss a final curse at Marcus for being a “spineless disappointment.”
The remaining guests stood around in stunned, paralyzed silence. My mother, who had rushed over from the kitchen with a paper towel and a glass of water, gently guided me to the sofa.
“Drink some water, honey,” my mother urged softly, her eyes blazing with suppressed fury as she glared at Marcus, who remained standing alone in the center of the room like a pariah.
Within twenty minutes, the baby shower had completely disintegrated. Relatives offered quiet, sympathetic hugs, whispered words of support, and departed quickly, leaving our home feeling cold, empty, and haunted.
When the front door closed behind the last departing guest, the silence in the living room was deafening.
Marcus stood by the window, staring down at his shoes, unable to meet my eyes.
“Ava...” he started, his voice cracking pathetically. “I can explain. It wasn't what you think. Mom was just... she was panicking. She’s terrified of losing me, and when we found out we were having a baby, she just—”
“Save it, Marcus,” I interrupted, my voice devoid of emotion. I stood up slowly from the sofa, keeping my hand protectively over my swollen belly. “Don't finish that sentence. Because every single word that comes out of your mouth right now is just another layer of poison.”
“You can’t just shut me out!” he cried, taking a step toward me. “We’re married! We’re having a child!”
“We were married,” I corrected him coldly. “Or at least, I thought we were. But while I was working seventy-hour weeks to pay off our mortgage while pregnant, while I was sitting in doctor’s offices alone because you were ‘too busy with family matters,’ you and your mother were plotting behind my back to strip me of my parental rights.”
Marcus fell to his knees in front of the sofa, grabbing my hands. They were ice-cold. “I never agreed to the custody part, Ava! I swear to God! Mom brought it up with her estate lawyer, and I told her it was insane! I love you!”
“If you loved me, you would have stopped her the second she raised her hand against my face,” I said, pulling my hands firmly out of his grip. “Instead, you grabbed me. You held me in place so she could strike me again if she wanted to. I saw the look in your eyes, Marcus. You were protecting her interests, not mine.”
He sobbed, burying his face in the cushions, but I felt no pity. Only a cold, hardened resolve.
I walked upstairs to our master bedroom, locked the door behind me, and picked up my phone. I didn't call a marriage counselor. I called my father’s personal attorney, Victor Vance, the most ruthless family law litigator in the state.
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“Victor,” I said steadily as he answered on the second ring. “I need to file for an emergency divorce, temporary sole custody of my unborn child, and a permanent restraining order against my husband and his mother. Can you meet me at my office in an hour?”
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