I pressed my back against the icy refrigerator, one hand braced over my swollen belly, trying not to shake. He surged forward, grabbed my wrist, and slammed my shoulder into the metal door—his eyes bloodshot, wild. “Stop lying!” he roared. I swallowed hard. “I’m carrying your baby…” He froze for a heartbeat, then sneered like I’d just stabbed him. But when the fridge door swung open, what was inside stole my breath—now I knew why he needed my silence… forever.
The ice of the refrigerator didn’t just chill my skin; it seemed to seep through my spine, freezing the very marrow of my bones. I stood there, one hand clamped over the hard, protective curve of my seven-month belly, the other braced against the handle of the appliance. My breath hitched, a shallow and jagged…
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