The Baby Was Hers. The Betrayal Was His

The candles on the dining table had been burning for an hour before Luna finally admitted to herself that the wax dripping was the only thing moving in this house.

She checked the clock again. 8:37 p.m.

Their reservation time—if you could call a home-cooked dinner a reservation—had been seven sharp. The creamy mushroom soup had formed a skin on top, the steak she’d seared to a perfect medium earlier was now drying out in the oven on the lowest heat, and the chocolate anniversary cake, iced with a carefully piped “5”, waited in the center like an accusation.

Around the cake, spread neatly over the white tablecloth, were folders: hospital records, test results, long receipts from fertility clinics. She had lined them up like a paper timeline of their last five years. In her mind, it was supposed to be meaningful. They would sit, flip through these pages, hold hands, grieve what they had lost, and decide—together—that they would keep going.

Her phone lit up on the table, breaking the heavy quiet.

Ethan: “Running late. At the hospital with Chloe. Don’t wait up if you’re tired.”

Luna’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass. She read the message twice, then a third time.

At the hospital with Chloe.

She typed, erased, then finally hit send: “Is everything okay? Which hospital? I can come.”

The reply came almost instantly, as if he’d been expecting her question.

Ethan: “She just had a follow-up checkup, nothing serious. I’ll explain later. Don’t overthink. You know how you get.”

Don’t overthink.

Her chest tightened at the familiar phrasing. It wasn’t cruel on the surface; Ethan Bennett rarely said anything outright cruel. He didn’t have to. Subtle pressure was more his style, just as subtle as the power that trailed after his last name.

Bennett.

The word alone could quiet half a room in Glenside City. Bennett Group—luxury hotels, high-end real estate, and a sprawling investment arm Ethan had been groomed to manage even before he’d finished university. When they married, everyone said Luna had married well. Someone had even joked at their wedding reception, champagne glass raised high, “Bring us a little heir soon, Luna. Bennett Group needs the next CEO in training.”

Five years later, there was still no heir. Only a long list of failed attempts.

The front door finally clicked open at 8:52 p.m.

Luna stood up too quickly, the chair legs scraping against the hardwood floor. She smoothed her dress—ivory silk, the same shade as her wedding gown—and walked to the hallway.

Ethan stepped in, loosening his tie, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to his tailored suit. His dark hair was slightly mussed, his expression tired. Behind the fatigue sat something else she had seen more often in the last year: impatience.

“You’re back,” she said, forcing warmth into her voice. “I kept dinner warm.”

His eyes flicked past her to the dining room, taking in the candles, the plates, the cake, the spread of hospital files. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he said. “It’s just a date on the calendar.”

“Our fifth anniversary,” she reminded him softly.

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he walked past her, shrugging off his jacket. “I told you I’d be late. Chloe had a follow-up for that fainting episode. You know my brother would’ve taken her if he were still—” He stopped, the rest of the sentence hanging between them like smoke.

If he were still alive.

Luna swallowed. “I know. I just… you could have told me earlier. I would’ve understood.”

“I did tell you.” Ethan’s tone cooled. “I texted.”

An apology hovered on her tongue. She bit it back, then let it out anyway. “I’m sorry. I was just worried.”

He sighed, as if her worry were another task on his already crowded schedule. “You worry about everything. Let’s eat before the food turns to stone.”

They took their seats at the table. Luna lifted the soup lid, the fragrant steam long gone, replaced by a lukewarm smell. Ethan tasted a spoonful, then set his spoon down.

“It’s fine,” he said vaguely.

She pretended not to notice he didn’t take a second spoonful.

“So… how is Chloe?” Luna ventured. “What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing new. Just routine checks,” he replied, reaching for his water instead of wine. “She’s been under a lot of stress since Daniel’s accident. She needs someone to make sure she doesn’t forget basic things like appointments.”

“I could go with her next time,” Luna offered quickly. “I’m not working right now, I have time. It’d be good for her not to depend on you for everything.”

He looked at her then, really looked, something shuttered in his gaze. “She doesn’t depend on me for everything. Don’t make it sound so dramatic.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You’re reading into things again.” His voice sharpened. “Chloe is family. Daniel asked me to look after her and Liam. You remember his will.”

Of course she remembered. Daniel Bennett, the eldest son, had been the golden heir until a car crash on a rainy night left his name carved in stone instead of shining on the Bennett Group building. There had been whispers then, about who would lead the company. The board had turned their eyes to Ethan, the dutiful second son, now the primary male heir.

And with Daniel’s death, the pressure on Luna had doubled. No heir from the first son. None from the second.

Luna pulled one of the folders closer, opening it carefully. “I thought tonight we could go through these. Everything we’ve done the last five years. The first IVF cycle, the hormone treatments, the laparoscopy—”

Ethan’s fork clinked against his plate. “Why would we want to relive all that?”

“Because we survived it,” she said quietly. “Because we’re still here. I know I failed the last implantation. And the one before that. I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. Again. And I’m willing to keep trying, if you are.”

His shoulders tensed. “You didn’t ‘fail’ anything. It’s biology. Luck.”

“But my test results—” She flipped through until she found the AMH report, the hormone chart. The numbers glared up at her. “The doctor said my ovarian reserve is low for my age. If I’d gone earlier, if I hadn’t delayed—”

“You didn’t delay.” His mouth was a hard line now. “We married young. We tried early. Luna, enough. You’re not the only variable here, alright?”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” He picked up his fork again, then dropped it. “Look, the point is, this obsession with treatment is… exhausting. For both of us. My mother calls me twice a week asking about ‘progress.’ The board members joke about the ‘next generation.’ Every family dinner turns into a fertility conference. Maybe it’s time we accept that some things are out of our control.”

Luna’s stomach clenched. “So you want to stop?”

“I’m saying we should let things be. If it happens, it happens.” He leaned back, gaze drifting away from her to the city lights outside their high-rise window. “No more injections. No more surgeries. No more scheduling sex like it’s a board meeting.”

A flush of shame heated her cheeks. “I thought you wanted this. A child. An heir.”

He laughed once, without humor. “Want doesn’t matter if we’re spending our lives in clinics and waking up to bad news every month. There’s more to life than chasing something that clearly doesn’t want to be caught.”

The words were soft, but they cut deep. Clearly doesn’t want to be caught. Her body. Her womb. Her failure.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, because it was the only thing she knew how to say anymore.

His eyes slid back to her, and there it was again—that faint flicker of resentment. “Stop apologizing. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just… too focused on it. On babies. On proving something.”

“Proving what?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“That you deserve this family. This name. This life.” He gestured vaguely around them—the spacious apartment, the designer furniture, the city skyline. “You already do, Luna. But a child isn’t a ticket you have to punch to stay here.”

The words sounded kind on the surface, but beneath them she heard the unspoken condition: for now.

She forced a smile. “Maybe we could go back to your parents’ house this weekend,” she suggested. “I haven’t seen Mom Bennett in a while. We could talk about… options. Maybe adoption, or surrogacy, or—”

“No.” The refusal was immediate, clipped.

Luna froze. “No?”

“My mother’s been… volatile,” he said carefully. “Since Dad started talking about restructuring the inheritance. She’s not in the mood to discuss ‘options.’ She still thinks you’ll get pregnant naturally, if we just ‘relax.’ You know how she is.”

Relax. As if relaxation could overwrite a medical diagnosis.

“But we should at least visit,” Luna insisted, voice small but stubborn. “I miss them.”

He rubbed his temples. “I’ll go this weekend. Alone. There’s a board dinner Saturday and Dad wants me there early. You don’t need to be in the crossfire of their questions. Trust me.”

Her heart sank. “Do you… regret marrying me, Ethan?” The question slipped out before she could catch it.

He went very still.

“After five years,” she continued, the words trembling, “no child, no heir. Just hospital bills and hormone charts and your mother’s disappointment. If you’d married someone else—someone who could give you a baby easily—your life would be simpler.”

He stared at his plate for a long moment. When he finally looked up, his eyes were tired. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

“What’s the right one?”

“You’re asking if I regret you.” He shook his head once. “Luna, you’re not the problem. You just… want this too much. You let it define you. Define us. That’s what’s suffocating me.”

Suffocating.

The word lodged in her chest like a stone.

She nodded, unable to trust her voice. “I’ll try to… want it less,” she said quietly.

The irony of the promise scraped at her throat. Want it less. Want their child less. Want his legacy less.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up his phone, the faint blue light washing over his face. His features softened almost imperceptibly.

Luna forced herself to move, stacking plates, pretending not to notice the way his attention drifted to the screen again and again.

In the kitchen, she scraped uneaten steak into the trash. The anniversary cake sat untouched on the counter, the white icing starting to crust at the edges. She peeled off the silver “5” topper, sticky with frosting, and dropped it in the bin. It landed with a soft, final thud.

Only she had remembered their vows. Only she had thought tonight mattered.

By the time she returned to the bedroom, Ethan was already in bed, propped up against the headboard, scrolling. The bedside lamp cast a pool of warm light around him.

She changed in the bathroom, wiped the smeared eyeliner from beneath her eyes, and slipped under the duvet. For a moment she lay stiffly, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint tap of his thumb on the screen.

“Ethan,” she began, “about Chloe—”

“There’s nothing to ‘about’,” he cut in, not looking up. “She’s family. She needed a ride. That’s all.”

“I know. I didn’t mean… It’s just, you spend a lot of time with her lately. I’m worried you’re overworking yourself, that’s all.” She tried to keep her tone light.

He set the phone down on his chest, still screen-up. “You’re jealous of my sister-in-law now?”

“I’m not jealous,” Luna protested quickly. “I just… miss you. Miss us. We don’t talk anymore unless it’s about appointments or your mother or the company.”

His expression flickered, something almost guilt-like crossing it before he masked it with a strained smile. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

Not about what mattered, she thought, but she swallowed the words.

A notification pinged softly on his phone. The screen lit up again.

A message preview flashed at the top, and before Ethan could angle the device away, Luna’s gaze caught on it.

Chloe: “I’m home. Thanks again for today. The doctor said we’ll know more after the next scan. Here’s the location they gave me.”

Below the text, a map thumbnail popped up with a small pin.

Glenside General Hospital – Maternity & Gynecology Center, 12th Floor.

Luna’s breath caught, the blood roaring in her ears as the word Maternity burned into her mind.

“Ethan,” she said slowly, eyes fixed on the glowing screen between them, “why is Chloe sending you a location for the maternity department at the hospital?”