Chapter 72: Seventy Two

I couldn’t breathe.

I’d spent all night staring at the two pink lines, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain the neighbors could hear it. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Declan’s face when I told him. Would he be happy? Would he feel trapped? Would he look at me like I had destroyed everything he had worked for?

By morning, the decision had been made: I had to tell him.

I felt stupid for ever thinking he would want anything but. Sure, this wasn’t ideal, but we loved each other, and we would figure this out. Together. Like we had promised to each other, so many times.

I knew, just knew, that he would take care of this. Take care of me.

The campus felt foreign as I walked across the quad, clutching my hoodie around me even though the sun was warm. Every student I passed seemed to be laughing, chatting, living in a version of the world where nothing had fallen apart.

I felt like everyone was looking at me. Like they all knew the secret I was carrying, quite literally inside me.

But I knew it was just my paranoia.

When I reached his office, I stopped for a second, breathing deeply and trying to calm myself down. My heart thundered in my throat as I reached for the handle, but the faint murmur of voices made me pause.

I froze, my fingers clutching the metal tightly.

“…truly exceptional work, Declan,” the Dean was saying, his voice carrying clearly through the crack in the door. “You know as well as I do that the committee has been watching your progress for years. This award isn’t just a pat on the back; it’s a milestone. It means they’re considering you for positions that people twice your age only dream about.”

Declan’s deep, warm voice followed, the one that usually untied every knot inside me. “I’m grateful, sir. Honestly, I didn’t expect it to come this soon. There’s always someone else, someone with more publications or bigger projects.”

“Humility is good,” the Dean chuckled, “but don’t underestimate yourself. Your paper on ecological transitions has become a reference point across departments. Sponsors are paying attention. There’s already talk of you being invited as a keynote speaker for the International Conference on Environmental Policy next spring.”

Declan let out a low whistle. “That’s… incredible. I’ve poured everything into this research.”

“I know,” the Dean said, his tone softening. “We’ve all seen it. You’ve taken on extra teaching, mentored new faculty, and still managed to make your mark as one of the rising stars in the field. I wouldn’t be surprised if the board fast-tracked your tenure application.”

A pause, and then the Dean’s voice grew firmer. “But with opportunity comes scrutiny. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” Declan said carefully.

“I’ll be frank with you, Declan. This award…along with the fellowship possibilities we’re lining up, it all comes with an expectation. The committee digs deep into the personal and professional lives of their candidates. They want clean, untarnished reputations. No distractions. No controversies. If there’s even a whisper of something… inappropriate, they’ll move on to the next candidate.”

A dull roar filled my ears. No distractions. No controversies.

Declan chuckled lightly, a practiced sort of ease in his tone. “I assure you, sir, my focus is entirely on the work.”

“I believe that,” the Dean replied. “But we both know the academic world can be vicious. All it takes is one baseless rumor to derail years of hard work. Keep your record spotless. Don’t give anyone ammunition.”

“I won’t,” Declan said, the faintest edge of steel in his voice. “My research and teaching are my priorities.”

“Good,” the Dean said approvingly. “You have a real shot at becoming one of the youngest full professors in the program’s history. The consultants you’ve worked with are already recommending you to international institutions. Doors are opening. Don’t let anything shut them.”

They talked for a few more minutes about funding proposals and the logistics of the award ceremony. I stood frozen, the words blurring into static.

Spotless.

No distractions.

No controversies.

The handle slipped from my grasp. I stumbled back a step, my breath catching in my throat. The pregnancy test burned in my mind’s eye, those two accusing lines screaming the truth at me.

A baby. Our baby.

And a scandal that could undo everything for him.

I turned and fled down the hallway, my vision blurring as tears filled my eyes.

Outside, I collapsed onto a bench, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I wanted to tell him. God, I needed to tell him. But how could I? How could I tell him, now?

How could I look him in the eye and tell him that I was about to ruin the very future he had spent years building?

The memory of Mara’s smirk flickered like a cruel echo: Everything in the world is about power.

And I had none.

The panic coiled tighter, until it felt like my lungs were caving in inside me. There was only one way to protect him, to keep his name from being dragged through the mud, to stop Mara from ever having this kind of weapon over him.

I had to leave.

The thought hit me like a freight train as it solidified into a terrifying clarity. There was no other choice.

My fingers dug into the edge of the bench as sobs threatened to tear through me. I pressed a fist to my mouth, trying to stifle them, the salt of my tears burning against my lips.

Leave.

Disappearing would break me, but staying would destroy him.

And so, with my heart splintering in my chest, I made the only decision that seemed to make sense.

I had to walk away from him. From everything.

I had to.