---- Chapter 11 The next few days were a living nightmare. 2 Michael made a show of "concern" for my pregnancy, usually when Serena wasn't around. "Are you eating enough, Liv? Are you resting?" But his eyes were distant, his touch perfunctory. His real attention was on Serena and her baby. Our home, once a sanctuary, became their territory. The scent of Serena's perfume, a cloyingly sweet gardenia, filled the air, a constant, suffocating reminder of her presence. Baby paraphernalia - bottles, diapers, a swing - appeared in our living room, our kitchen. | retreated to the guest room, the irony not lost on me. + One morning, | woke to the sound of Michael cooing. Not to me. Not to our unborn child. | walked into the kitchen and found him feeding Serena's baby, a look of paternal bliss on his face. Serena sat opposite him, sipping coffee, looking like the queen of her new castle. She smiled at me, a smug, triumphant little smirk. "Morning, Olivia. Sleep well?" Michael didn't even look up. "Oh, hey Liv. Want some coffee?" The casualness of it, the utter disregard for my feelings, for ---- our marriage, for the child | carried. It was a fresh wave of abandonment. He was completely absorbed in his new family, leaving me on the periphery, an inconvenient spectator. My doctor had warned me about stress. The cramps I'd experienced at the brunch were a serious sign. | told Michael | needed to go for a check-up. "Sure, sure," he said, his eyes still on Serena's baby. "Can you take an Uber? I've got to help Serena with Mikey's doctor appointment today." His priorities were crystal clear. The pain of his neglect was a dull, constant ache, far worse than any sharp, sudden shock. It solidified my decision. There was nothing left here to save. | had to protect myself, and more importantly, my baby. This toxic environment, this constant emotional battery, was a danger to us both. My resolve to leave wasn't just about anger anymore. It was about survival.