Isla’s days blurred together as her belly swelled, the unmistakable sign of her growing child bringing a mixture of joy and heartbreak. She would run her hand over the curve, talking softly to the life growing within her, wondering what their future held, yet often feeling more alone than ever.
It was during one of those lonely mornings, as Isla sat by the window in her room, absentmindedly tracing circles on her stomach, that her phone buzzed. Her heart skipped-she’d grown used to the rare text or call from Dante, reminders that he was still aware of her existence even if he never showed his face.
With a mixture of hope and dread, she picked up the phone and answered.
“Isla,” Dante’s voice was as smooth and controlled as always, with not a hint of warmth. “How are you feeling?”
Isla’s fingers tightened around the phone, her heart aching with the hope that maybe he was calling to tell her he was coming to see her. “I’m… managing,” she replied, trying to keep the strain out of her voice. “The doctor said everything is progressing well, but…” She paused, not sure if she should voice the loneliness that had become her constant companion. “It’s been… hard, Dante.”
Dante was silent for a moment, and Isla dared to hope he might understand, might offer her something more than just a clinical question about her health. But when he spoke again, his tone was as detached as ever.
“That’s good to hear. I’m making sure all your needs are met, Isla. Just focus on taking care of yourself and the baby.”
“Dante,” she whispered, a plea slipping into her voice, “It’s not just about material things. I… I need you here.” Her hand instinctively covered her growing belly. “The baby will need you too. Don’t you want to be part of this?”
Dante’s sigh was barely audible on the other end of the line. “I’m handling important matters, Isla. Things that will ensure our child’s future security. I trust you understand.”
“But I don’t,” Isla said, her voice wavering. “I don’t understand why you can’t spare even a single day to be here. Why you can’t be part of this-of us.”
Dante’s tone hardened. “Isla, don’t forget our arrangement. I never promised you anything more than what I’m providing now. Your comfort and health are my priority.”
Isla closed her eyes, biting back the rush of anger and disappointment. “It’s not comfort I need,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s you.”
There was a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, she thought he might hang up. But then he spoke again, his voice as controlled and distant as ever.
“I’ll check in with you soon. Take care of yourself, Isla.”
The line went dead, and Isla stared at the phone, her heart sinking further with each passing second. She’d clung to the faintest hope that Dante’s absence was temporary, that he was simply busy, that things would change. But with each call, each brief, impersonal exchange, that hope dwindled, leaving her with nothing but the reality of his indifference.
Days passed in solitude, each one a repetition of the last. Isla would wake, eat her meals alone, take slow walks around the mansion grounds with Matteo watching silently from a distance, and spend her evenings in the nursery, preparing for the arrival of her child. It was a lonely routine, yet the only solace she had was the gentle kicks and movements she could feel from the baby growing inside her.
One afternoon, she was in the nursery, folding tiny clothes and organizing shelves when Matteo entered, clearing his throat.
“Miss Isla, Mr. Dante wanted me to relay that he’s arranged another doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow,” Matteo said, his tone formal yet laced with a touch of sympathy.
Isla forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, Matteo,” she replied, folding a soft blanket and placing it on the crib. “I suppose he’s still too busy to come himself.”
Matteo hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Mr. Dante… has his priorities. But please know, Miss Isla, he ensures everything is done with you and the child in mind.”
Isla’s hand stilled on the crib railing, a wave of frustration washing over her. She turned to Matteo, her eyes pleading. “Matteo, have you ever seen him? Has he ever come to check on me in person?”
Matteo’s gaze shifted to the floor, his silence answering her question more loudly than words ever could. “I understand this is difficult, Miss Isla. But he is a man of his word, and he is providing everything he promised.”
“Yes, everything he promised,” she repeated bitterly, wrapping her arms protectively around her belly. “It’s just that what he promised… it’s not enough.”
Matteo’s shoulders sagged slightly, but he nodded. “I’ll inform him of any updates on your condition,” he offered before excusing himself.
Isla watched him leave, feeling the familiar heaviness settle in her chest. She returned to her room that evening, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, wondering if her child would ever know the man who had put them both in this situation. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the curve of her stomach as her thoughts drifted.
“Little one,” she whispered softly, “I’m here for you, no matter what. Even if…” She stopped, her voice catching. “Even if he’s not.”
The baby moved in response, a tiny kick that brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of peace, hoping that somehow, things would change-that Dante would eventually realize what he was missing.
As the weeks passed, her condition began to take a toll. Her energy waned, and some days it felt like all she could manage was lying in bed, staring at the empty room around her. The physical strain of pregnancy, combined with the emotional weight of Dante’s absence, left her feeling drained, both in body and spirit.
One night, as she lay in bed, unable to sleep, her phone buzzed again. She reached for it, her heart leaping momentarily at the thought that it might be Dante. But when she looked at the screen, it was only another impersonal message from him:
I’ve ensured the nursery is fully prepared. Let Matteo know if anything else is needed.
Isla’s grip tightened on the phone, frustration boiling over. She typed a response, her fingers trembling with the force of her emotions.
Dante, the nursery doesn’t need anything more. It’s me-I need you here. I’m scared, and I’m doing this alone. This isn’t just about material things or making sure I’m “comfortable.” I need you. I need you to be part of this.
She hit send, her heart pounding, the silence stretching as she waited for his response. Minutes passed, then an hour, with no reply. She finally set her phone down, a hollow ache settling in her chest. She was alone, just as she had been from the start.
The days stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. Isla grew weaker, her emotions fraying with each passing hour. She spoke to her child in quiet whispers, promising to be strong, to give them all the love she could, even if Dante continued to keep his distance.
But in the dark of night, when she lay awake, the weight of her loneliness pressed down on her like a crushing burden. She’d wanted so much more than this-had hoped for some connection, some warmth from the man who was supposed to share this journey with her. But with each unanswered call, each cold, impersonal message, she realized that her hopes might be in vain.
And so, she continued on, her heart heavy but resolute. She would be strong for her child, even if Dante was nothing more than a distant shadow in their lives.