Seven Months Pregnant—My Stepsister Called My Baby a Bastard Chapter 01

Seven Months Pregnant—My Stepsister Called My Baby a Bastard Chapter 01

While opening a delivery, I found an ergonomic gaming chair my husband, Graham Holloway, had ordered.

Seven months pregnant, I assembled it and sat down to test it, sighing as the pressure eased off my back.

Graham came home laughing with his stepsister, Talia Reese, and found me reclining in it.

Talia immediately frowned. “Maren, why are you using someone else’s stuff?”

“I didn’t know it belonged to someone else,” I said, looking at Graham. “My back has been killing me, so I thought you bought it for me.”

Graham shifted awkwardly and said, “That was my fault because Talia wanted it for gaming. Let her have this one, Maren, and I’ll order you another.”

I got up at once.

Frowning, Talia said, “Forget it. I don’t want it after she’s used it.”

Graham hurried after her to calm her down in the guest room.

I watched them disappear together.

Ignoring the uneasiness in my chest, I grabbed my things and left for my prenatal appointment.

By the time I left the hospital, darkness had nearly fallen, and torrential rain had trapped me inside.

Water had flooded the train-station entrance, and the wind was strong enough to snap trees in half.

I stood among the restless crowd, protecting my stomach with one arm while calling Graham.

I called twenty-two times. He never answered.

When my aching back nearly gave out, an older woman beside me caught my arm.

“Honey, where’s your husband? He let you come alone in weather like this?”

I forced a smile and almost told her he was busy.

Then I saw Talia’s new Instagram Story.

[Gaming at home during a downpour. Best day ever!]

In the photo, Talia had one arm hooked around Graham’s neck, laughing without a care.

My phone sat abandoned in the corner, its screen filled with my missed calls.

Storm clouds swallowed the city outside, while everything inside that picture looked warm and peaceful.

I raised my head slowly and blinked against the sting in my eyes.

“My husband died.”

“Just now. It was horrible.”

***

The woman froze, her eyes filling with sympathy.

“Then how are you getting home?”

Ever since Talia lost her boyfriend and her job, Graham had stopped attending my prenatal visits every two weeks.

He had to chase off her persistent ex, rewrite her résumé, and take her shopping whenever she felt down.

All I received were empty reminders.

“You can manage by yourself, right, Maren?”

“Take a rideshare and be careful.”

He did not know the road outside the hospital was under construction.

He did not know the driver had to drop me a quarter mile away in the summer heat.

I had supported my back as sweat ran down my neck, taking every step with care.

Another pregnant woman had walked beside me, steadied firmly by her husband.

Her mother-in-law had followed with an umbrella held over her head.

I had paid alone, waited alone, and watched my baby’s 3D ultrasound alone.

The moment I saw my daughter’s face clearly, my nose had burned with tears.

I quickly sent Graham the best image.

I wondered whether he would treasure it like other first-time fathers did.

I finished the blood draw and reached the pharmacy.

Only then did Graham finally reply.

[Where’s the first-aid kit? Talia cut her hand making dinner.]

A voice message followed immediately.

Talia’s pampered whine poured through the speaker.

“Maren, come home and save me!”

“I only wanted to recreate your beef curry, but Graham won’t even let me do that.”

His low voice sounded openly indulgent.

“You’re not Maren.”

“Mom and Martin have always treated you like a princess.”

“If they found out I made you work in my house, they’d kill me.”

You are not Maren.

Apparently, that meant I had been born to handle every burden myself.

The wind slammed the lobby’s glass doors in their frames.

Anxiety spread through the crowd.

Almost everyone stranded at the hospital received calls from worried friends or family.

My phone stayed silent.

Meanwhile, comments piled up beneath Talia’s post.

Denise praised the stepsiblings for being so close.

Martin asked whether Talia was scared of the storm.

How sweet.

If my mother had still been alive, I would have had ninety-nine worried messages by now.

I took a deep breath and locked my phone.

I waited for the rain to weaken and watched the lobby empty as families arrived.

Only then did the fifth overpriced rideshare I requested finally accept the trip.

By the time I pushed open my front door, exhaustion had left my hands trembling.

The laughter inside stopped abruptly.

Graham held a glass of water, the last trace of a smile still on his face.

“You’re home?”

“How did you get soaked that badly?”

At seven months, my stomach was too large for me to see my feet.

I struggled out of my drenched shoes.

“The car couldn’t enter the condo complex. I had to wade through the flooded street.”

He paused, then stepped forward to support me.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve picked you up.”

Tell him what?

That I had called more than ten additional times and received no answer?

Or that every vibration made me grab my phone, only to find an emergency alert instead?

[FLASH FLOOD WARNING. STAY HOME UNLESS TRAVEL IS ESSENTIAL.]

Talia peeked around his shoulder and stuck out her tongue playfully.

“Sorry, Maren.”

“We always silence our phones when we game.”

“We were college roommates. I thought you knew that.”

What a performance.

I gently pulled away from Graham and walked around them.

I had left for the hospital at eight that morning and reached home at seven that night.

I was too tired to speak.

Talia kept chattering in my ear anyway.

While I disinfected the scrape on my calf, she complained about the thunder and how frightened she had been.

As I rubbed stretch-mark oil over my stomach, she gasped.

“That looks awful.”

Then she launched into the thrilling story of how she and Graham had defeated a game boss.

“Please,” Graham teased. “Someone was too scared to keep her eyes open.”

He placed reheated leftovers in front of me, grinning at her.

“You only act brave.”

“Graham, you’re dead!”

They dissolved into laughter again, trading private jokes about things I could never join.

I used to laugh along and think their stepsibling bond was wonderful.

Now they only sounded loud.

Painfully loud.

I pushed the leftovers around my plate with my fork.

Everything was something Talia loved.

There was a salad with unpasteurized cheese my obstetrician had told me to avoid, plus shrimp that could trigger my allergy.

“Could you two please be quiet?”

Neither of them acknowledged me.

They were remembering how fiercely they had fought when their parents first married.

My pulse hammered in my ears.

I reached out and seized the plate.

Using every bit of strength I had left, I hurled it at their feet.

Ceramic shards and sauce scattered across the floor.

At last, the room went silent.

Supporting my back, I caught my breath and forced out each word.

“Did you not understand me?”

“Shut your mouths.”