It was supposed to be a special day. Ben and I were celebrating our first wedding anniversary, and I had been waiting for this moment for months—counting down the days until I could finally share my secret with him.

After half a year of trying, I had finally seen those two pink lines. My heart nearly exploded when I found out I was pregnant. Every fiber of me wanted to run to Ben immediately, but I held it in, waiting until I was safely along so I could surprise him in the most meaningful way possible.

“Even two months is too soon, Becca,” my friend Tiffany warned. “But… I love that you want it to be an anniversary present. It’s perfect.”

I imagined Ben’s face lighting up, his laugh filling the room, his voice trembling with joy: We’re going to be parents.

To make it unforgettable, I booked the restaurant where we had our wedding reception—a cozy, candlelit place with warm lighting and live piano music. I even pulled out the same dress I had worn that night, wanting the whole evening to feel like a full-circle moment.

I arrived early, my heart fluttering. Too excited to wait, I ordered water and kept glancing at the door. Any moment, Ben would walk in. Any moment, our lives would change.

But minutes turned into half an hour. The waitress stopped by with a sympathetic smile, asking if I’d like a drink. My secret spilled out before I could stop myself:

“No alcohol for me—I’m pregnant!”

She beamed and congratulated me, but her kindness only made the silence of Ben’s absence sharper.

Forty-five minutes. An hour. I tried calling him. Straight to voicemail. My fries went cold on the plate as dread slowly gnawed at me. Finally, I paid and left, my excitement replaced by a tight ball of fear.

On the drive home, I tried to reason with myself. Maybe he was caught at work. Maybe there was traffic. Maybe his phone had died.

But when I pulled into the driveway, his car wasn’t there. The house was dark. Only the glow of my grandmother’s TV flickered across the street.

Inside, the silence hit me like a wall. And then I saw it: a plain white envelope on the kitchen counter.

My hands shook as I opened it.

Your grandma made me do this. Bye forever, Becca.

I read it once. Twice. Ten times. The words made no sense, and yet they tore through me.

I bolted across the street and pounded on Grandma’s door.

“What did you say to Ben?” I shouted the moment she opened it. “He’s gone! He left a note saying you made him do it!”

Her sigh was heavy, tired, as though I was the one who’d disappointed her.

“I had to do what’s best for you, Becca,” she said calmly. “Ben isn’t the right man for you. Deep down, you know that.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice cracked. “He’s my husband. And I’m pregnant! How could you—how could you sabotage this?”

“Oh, honey.” She reached for my hand, but I pulled back. “I only ever wanted the best for you. Someone more suitable. Someone like Charlie.”

The name made my stomach turn. Charlie—her best friend’s grandson. Arrogant, smug, the boy she’d tried to push on me since I was sixteen. I thought she’d finally given up when I married Ben.

“I don’t care about Charlie! I love Ben!” I screamed. “What did you do?”

Grandma’s expression hardened. “I told Ben that if he truly loved you, he would leave you. That letting you go was the only way to give you a real future. And if he didn’t… well, I told him he’d be responsible for ruining your life. I may have also mentioned the inheritance.”

The room tilted. Betrayal burned through me hotter than any flame.

“You blackmailed my husband into leaving me?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“I saved you,” she said simply. “You’ll understand one day.”

I stared at her, the woman I had trusted my entire life, and all I felt was disgust.

“I don’t think I ever will,” I said. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.”

I stumbled out into the night, back to my empty home. Tears blurred everything as I collapsed onto the living room floor. My hands instinctively moved to my stomach.

I dialed Ben again and again, my voice breaking into voicemail after voicemail. I begged him to come back, to talk, to fight for us. But silence was the only answer.

By the time dawn crept through the curtains, the reality was clear: I was pregnant. Alone. And my husband had disappeared because of the one person I thought I could trust most.

Lying there, sleepless and broken, one question clawed at me over and over:

What if Ben didn’t want to be found?