I Blessed Their Marriage Instead of Ours

Chapter 7: The Future Was Mine Too

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The next morning, I woke up in a hotel room with my phone still switched off on the nightstand. For a few seconds, I forgot why I was there. Then I saw the overnight bag on the chair, remembered Damien's apartment, and everything came back at once.

I had left with almost nothing. A wallet, my documents, two changes of clothes, and the folder I had quietly taken from the apartment before going to the courthouse. The folder contained copies of our wedding plans, the deed to the condo, account statements, and the paperwork from the fertility clinic.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the last item for a long time.

Isla had called it our baby. So had I. We had spent years talking about having a family, and when the clinic finally confirmed the pregnancy, I had cried harder than she did. I had thought it meant we were finally moving forward.

But Isla had postponed our wedding because she was showing while already being legally married to Damien.

The contradiction was so ugly that I couldn't keep pretending it was merely complicated.

I turned my phone on.

It vibrated so violently that it nearly slipped from my hand. There were more than a hundred missed calls, dozens of messages, and several voicemails. Most were from Isla. A few were from her assistant. Two were from my mother.

I opened Isla's messages first.

"Nate, tell me where you are."

"I left Damien's place. I'm home now."

"Please answer me. I know I lied, but I can explain why I couldn't finish the divorce."

"I went back to the courthouse. I'll do it today. I swear."

"Don't punish our baby because you're angry with me."

That last message made my stomach turn.

I called my mother instead.

She answered on the first ring. "Nate? Are you all right? Isla called us at six this morning. She sounded frantic."

"Mom, can I stay with you and Dad for a while?"

There was a pause, and then her voice softened. "You never have to ask."

I closed my eyes.

"I'm coming over."

Before leaving the hotel, I called the fertility clinic. I didn't make any dramatic decisions. I simply asked them to flag my file so that no further consent forms, parental acknowledgments, or financial authorizations bearing my name could be processed without speaking to me directly.

The receptionist sounded surprised but professional. She confirmed the note and reminded me that Isla's medical care remained private and entirely her decision.

That was exactly how it should be.

I wasn't trying to control her body. I was trying to stop pretending that a pregnancy could force two people into a marriage after trust was gone.

Then I called a lawyer.

By noon, I was sitting across from a family attorney named Miriam Cole, explaining seven years of my life in sentences so short they sounded ridiculous.

"We were engaged."

"She married someone else."

"She says it was temporary."

"She's pregnant."

"I don't know what she has told people about us."

Miriam listened without interrupting. When I finished, she folded her hands on the desk.

"First, you are not married to Ms. Farrow, so there is no divorce between the two of you. Second, we need to separate emotional questions from legal ones. Property, joint accounts, contractual obligations, and parentage are all different issues."

I nodded.

"The condo?" she asked.

"Jointly owned."

"Accounts?"

"Some joint, some separate."

"Wedding deposits?"

"Mostly mine."

"Then we document everything before anyone moves money. Do not empty joint accounts. Do not retaliate. Do not sign anything she sends you without review."

Her calmness steadied me.

For months, every argument with Isla had ended with me wondering whether I was irrational. Sitting in that office, hearing someone reduce the mess to facts, felt like stepping onto solid ground.

When I left, Isla was waiting beside my car.

I stopped.

She looked terrible. Her hair was tied back carelessly, her eyes were swollen, and she was wearing the same dress from the day before under a long coat.

"How did you find me?"

"Your card notification showed the parking garage."

I almost laughed. Even now, our lives were still tangled in small ways.

Isla rushed toward me. "I filed today."

She held out a stack of papers.

I didn't take them.

"The lawyer said there may be a waiting period, but I filed. Damien signed. It's done, Nate. Or it will be. I did what you wanted."

"What I wanted?"

She flinched.

"Isla, I wanted you not to marry him in the first place."

"I know."

"I wanted you not to lie yesterday."

"I know."

"I wanted you to come home after the courthouse instead of spending the night drinking with him."

Her face crumpled.

"Nothing happened."

"That's not the point anymore."

She reached for me. I stepped back.

"Please don't do that," she whispered.

"Do what?"

"Look at me like I'm a stranger."

I stared at her.

"You made yourself one."

Tears filled her eyes.

"I panicked at the courthouse. Damien was crying. He said once the divorce went through, I would abandon him completely. He said he had nobody else."

"And you believed him."

"I felt responsible for him."

"More responsible than you felt toward me?"

She shook her head desperately. "No."

"Then why was I always the person expected to understand?"

She had no answer.

I continued, quieter now. "Every time Damien needed something, you gave it to him. Every time I needed a boundary, you called me jealous. You didn't have to love him more than me to destroy us. You only had to keep choosing his feelings over mine."

Isla covered her mouth.

"I can fix it."

"No. You can change what you do next. That's different."

She stared at me as if the distinction terrified her.

I opened my car door.

"Where are you going?"

"My parents' house."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

She grabbed the edge of the door, not quite touching me.

"Nate, what about the baby?"

I looked at her stomach, then back at her face.