Chapter 1 — Shattered Foundations

Maisie

Maisie Carter’s feet felt heavy as she climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor of their small-town home, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the faded beige wallpaper. It had been a shared project once—a weekend of laughter and paint smudges, a small act of creation for their future. Now, it felt confining, the patterns faded and worn. She clutched a grocery bag in her right hand, its plastic handles cutting into her palm, as if the weight of it could somehow tether her spiraling thoughts.

Luke had been distant for weeks now. His late nights at the office, the polite but perfunctory smiles, the way his body seemed to recoil ever so slightly when she reached for him—it all painted a picture she had tried desperately not to see. She told herself it was work stress, the pressure of new projects piling up. But those flimsy reassurances had worn thin. The truth, whatever it was, hovered like an unwelcome shadow between them.

Still, she had made small efforts to bridge the growing distance, clinging to faint hope. The slice of pecan pie she’d bought him at the bakery down the street was one such effort. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a peace offering, a threadbare olive branch. She adjusted her grip on the bag as she mounted the last step, willing herself to believe this gesture might spark some warmth between them again.

Her pulse quickened when she heard Luke’s voice coming from behind the cracked door to their bedroom. A small flicker of hope sparked in her chest. He was home earlier than usual. Perhaps tonight they could talk—really talk. She straightened her shoulders, preparing herself to step inside, but then her steps faltered.

“...I can’t keep doing this.”

The words were like a stone dropping into a still pond, sending ripples of dread through her. Maisie froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat. Luke’s voice was low, measured, but utterly devoid of the affection she had once heard in every syllable.

“I’ve made my decision, Claire. It’s better for everyone this way.”

Claire.

That single name cut through her like a jagged blade. She staggered back, pressing herself against the wall as the grocery bag slipped from her hand. The plastic handles snapped, and its contents spilled onto the floor. The small slice of pie tumbled out, landing upside down on the worn wood. An apple rolled, the soft thud echoing in the suffocating silence. Maisie barely noticed.

Her vision blurred as Luke’s voice continued, each word a muffled dagger. She strained to hear, desperate to make sense of what was happening, though some small part of her already knew.

“Maisie deserves someone who can give her what she needs. And I—I need to follow my own happiness. I’ll tell her tonight.”

The air seemed to vanish, her lungs refusing to fill. The walls of their home, the home they had built together, seemed to loom in on her, alien and oppressive. A strangled sound escaped her lips, and she pressed her trembling hands to her mouth to stifle the rising sob. She had suspected something for weeks—the late nights, the half-hearted apologies, the way he no longer called her "Mais." But hearing it, the confirmation of it, shattered something inside her.

She stumbled back, her feet moving on instinct as her thoughts fragmented into flashes of memory. Luke’s arm around her waist as they danced in the kitchen, their laughter filling the small space. His hand brushing her hair from her face as they lay in bed, whispering promises of forever. The sharp contrast between those moments—so vivid, so alive—and the cold, calculated detachment she now heard in his voice was unbearable.

Her legs carried her down the stairs, though she barely registered the movement. Each step felt like a betrayal, as though the ground itself had turned against her. By the time she reached the front door, her chest was heaving, her throat raw with the effort of holding back sobs. She didn’t remember grabbing her jacket or slipping on her shoes, but the next thing she knew, the crisp autumn air stung her cheeks as she stepped outside.

The wind rustled the oak tree in the yard, scattering amber and crimson leaves across the porch steps. Somewhere in the distance, children’s laughter rang out, light and carefree. The contrast was unbearable. Maisie wrapped her arms around herself, trying to still the tremors that wracked her body, but the ache in her chest only deepened.

How had she been so blind? The signs were all there—the chair in the corner of the living room, his favorite spot, untouched for weeks. The faint scent of perfume on his shirt, not hers. The way he had stopped looking at her, truly looking at her. Every detail she had ignored, every hope she had clung to, came crashing down on her now with relentless clarity.

Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the porch steps, her breath coming in short, shuddering gasps. She wanted to scream, to cry, to unleash the storm of anguish building inside her. But she sat frozen, paralyzed by the weight of her despair. The cool wood beneath her hands felt grounding, but it couldn’t stop the world around her from spinning out of control.

The door creaked open behind her. Her body tensed, her breath hitching in her chest. Slowly, she turned, dread curling like icy fingers around her spine.

Luke stepped out onto the porch. He was still dressed in his work clothes, his tie slightly loosened, his dark brown hair neatly combed. He looked composed, but his hands fidgeted at his sides, betraying the unease he was trying to mask.

“Maisie,” he began, his tone measured, almost clinical. "We need to talk."

Her lips trembled as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I already know,” she said, her voice brittle but sharp.

He faltered, his hazel eyes widening slightly in surprise. For a brief moment, a flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. When he spoke again, his words were detached, almost rehearsed. “Then you understand why this is for the best. Maisie, we haven’t been happy for a long time. You know that as well as I do.”

“Don’t you dare.” The words came out in a low, trembling growl. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “Don’t you dare put this on me.”

“Claire and I—”

“Don’t say her name,” she snapped, her voice rising. The fury in her tone seemed to catch him off guard. “Don’t you dare say her name to me.”

He flinched, his composure cracking for a moment. “This isn’t—this isn’t just about me, Maisie. It’s about you too. You deserve—”

“Stop.” The word sliced through the air, cold and final. Tears blurred her vision, streaming unchecked down her cheeks. “Just stop.”

Luke opened his mouth as if to speak but seemed to think better of it. His gaze dropped to the ground, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but the words were hollow, stripped of any real meaning. He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out as if to touch her arm, but she recoiled.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It doesn’t fix anything.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Maisie felt the weight of it in her chest, pressing down with crushing force. Then, without another word, she turned and walked down the steps. Each step felt like a knife twisting in her heart, but she kept moving. She had to get away—from him, from the house, from the life they had built together that now lay in ruins.

She wandered aimlessly through the town, the hours bleeding together in a haze of pain and disbelief. By the time she returned home, the sky was a deep, inky blue, and the house was dark. She curled up on the couch, clutching a threadbare blanket to her chest as the reality of her new life began to sink in.

Luke was gone. The man she had loved, the life they had shared, the dreams they had built together—it was all gone, shattered into pieces she didn’t know how to put back together.

But as the tears slowed and the ache dulled to a low throb, a new thought emerged. Faint, but insistent.

She wasn’t alone.

Sliding a trembling hand over her stomach, Maisie closed her eyes and let the faint flicker of hope take root. She didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was certain—she would do whatever it took to protect the life growing inside her.

For herself. For her child.

For the chance to start over.