It was the first time she'd seen him in three days, since the party. He didn't look tired or angry. Just... done. Like whatever they had left was already behind him.
She took the paper from him carefully, like it might burn her fingers. Her eyes scanned the words — not that she needed to, she already knew.
"Divorce?" her voice cracked.
Caius didn't answer. He walked across the room, calm as ever, and poured himself a glass of water.
"Why?" she asked, still holding the paper. "You couldn't even talk to me first?"
"I don't see the point," he said.
"I love you," she said quietly, the words barely leaving her lips.
He took a sip, then checked his watch. "I have somewhere to be. I want it signed before I get back."
Her chest tightened. "Wait—Caius, please."
She stepped toward him. "I can't sign it."
He stopped mid-step, then turned. "Why not?"
He gave a slight smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"I know," he said simply.
Her lips parted. "You... know?"
"I've known for a while." Caius walked past her, poured himself another glass of water from the bar cart. "I knew you might try to use that."
She felt cold all over. "Use?"
"I don't want it," he said without hesitation.
Her knees felt weak. "You don't mean that."
"Please," she said, her voice shaking now. "Please, just... let me keep the baby. I'll go away, I swear. I won't bother you again. Just this one thing, I'll never ask for anything else—"
She stared at him. "Caius—"
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She didn't even try to wipe them, she didn't care.
"You're so ugly when you cry." He handed her the glass. "Take."
"I'll do whatever you want," she whispered. "I'll sign anything. I'll disappear. Just let me keep it. It's the only thing I have left."
He dropped the glass. His eyes were colder now, like he was looking at something beneath him.
"If you don't remove it," he said quietly, "I'll make sure it's removed."
Heather's breath caught. "You wouldn't..."
"I will," he replied, like he was talking about cleaning a stain.
His voice was softer now, "You think I'd let you carry something I never wanted?"
She stepped back, her hand unconsciously protecting her belly.
"Please don't make me," she said. "I'll do anything. I'll still sign. I'll leave. Just let me have this."
He walked to the door, adjusted his coat. "You have until I return," he said. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Then just like that, he left.
Heather stood alone in the room. Her fingers pressed against her stomach. Her tears were silent now, and steady. She looked down at the paper in her hand, and folded in half, slowly. Then again, and again, until it was too small to read.
And all she could do was cry.