Chapter 4: Goodbye, Villain

After lunch, I went home alone. I took the long way, driving past the park where Jason and I had our first date, the old movie theater now boarded up. I told myself it was just to clear my head, but really, I just wasn’t ready to face the silence of our house.

After that, Jason started working late more often. Sometimes, I could even smell faint traces of women’s perfume on him. Chanel No. 5, once or twice—something floral and expensive, not mine.

At first, it made me sad. Eventually, I just felt numb. Like maybe this was how all marriages ended up—two people circling each other, careful not to touch too hard for fear of breaking.

But our monthly activities never stopped—if anything, they became even more intense. The passion was still there, but it felt desperate, like we were both holding on to the only thing left that was real.

A few days later, Jason and I returned to the Carter family’s old house. The kitchen smelled like garlic and fresh-baked cornbread, and Mom Carter’s laughter filled every corner of the house. She brought out her famous chicken soup. I hadn’t even tasted it yet before I felt nauseous. The wave of scent made my head spin and my stomach clench. For a second, I thought I’d pass out.

Mom Carter was overjoyed. "Oh, are you pregnant?" Her voice was giddy, the way only a Southern matriarch can be when she thinks she’s getting grandkids.

Before I could answer, Jason cut in. "Impossible." He sounded annoyed, dismissive, and for a second I hated him for it.

Mom Carter didn’t believe him and insisted Jason take me to the hospital. She pressed a hand to my forehead, fussed over me, practically dragged us to the car herself.

On the way, Jason was all seriousness. "I remember we always took precautions." His hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles pale in the glow from the dashboard.

I smiled coldly. "You don’t like kids?" My words came out sharp, brittle. I stared out the window at the endless line of brake lights ahead.

Jason’s eyes dropped. "I don’t like them." The way he said it—quiet, almost apologetic—made something twist in my chest.

The comments rolled in:

[It’s not that he doesn’t like kids, he just doesn’t want anyone else in his life except the heroine.]

[Is the supporting character pregnant?]

[If I remember right, next the supporting character tries to use the baby to threaten the male lead, but he just tells her to get an abortion.]

[The male lead will soon run off with the heroine. Where does that leave the supporting character?]

[She still has to cause drama, or how else can the main couple’s love shine?]

[So cliché. The author must’ve never eaten Wonder Bread.]

I cursed inwardly. Damn it, why do I have to be the villain? What kind of logic was this? It was like the world had decided I didn’t even get to be the star of my own life.

Jason still took me to the hospital. But while we waited for the results, his phone rang. He looked at it, mouth pressed in a thin line, and his foot tapped an anxious rhythm against the floor tiles.

He hung up, glanced anxiously between the printer and me, and sounded rushed. "Emily, something urgent came up at work. Get the results and go home first—I’ll talk to you later." He looked apologetic, but I knew that tone—it meant I was second place, again.

"Can’t you wait a bit? The results are almost out." I tried to keep my voice even, tried not to sound like I cared too much.

Jason frowned at his phone. "Emily, I really can’t get away." He avoided my eyes, already halfway out the door.

I lowered my eyes. "Then go." My voice was flat, emotionless, the way you talk to someone you’re trying not to beg.

Jason seemed to sense my mood and added, "When I’m done, I’ll take you shopping and out to eat." He tried to smile, tried to fix it with money and distractions, but it just made me feel lonelier.

"Okay." I tried to smile back, but it felt fake. His big hand hovered over my head, as if wanting to stroke my hair, but he pulled away and hurried off. The door clicked behind him, and I was alone again.

The comments wouldn’t let up:

[The male lead’s off to save the heroine.]

[The scene I want is finally coming.]

[I want to see the steamy part...]

Not long after Jason left, the test results came back: five weeks pregnant.

I was actually pregnant. Everything was playing out exactly as the comments predicted. My hands shook as I stared at the paper, the words blurring. A part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Sitting on the hospital bench, my mind raced through recent events. I watched couples holding hands, moms-to-be with swollen bellies, and felt like I was standing outside a store window, watching a life I’d never get to have. My stomach twisted. I remembered Jason’s hand in mine at sixteen, the warmth of his palm, the way he used to say I was his whole world. Now, all I could do was clutch my stomach, holding back tears I refused to let fall.

My conclusion: Why do I have to be the villain?

I’m a living, breathing beauty—why should I just be a supporting character in someone else’s story? I deserved better than this—a future that was mine, not just a footnote in someone else’s romance.

So I called my lawyer, transferred my assets, drafted the divorce papers, one thing after another. I moved with a calm I didn’t know I had, my hands steady as I signed my name on the dotted line.

My lawyer was efficient—he slid the papers across his desk, then offered me a donut from the box on the credenza—just another day at the office. He said everything could be settled in about three days. I took a bite of jelly donut, feeling more alive than I had in weeks.

Jason came home very late that night. I was already fast asleep. He stood by the bed for a long time, then gently tucked me in. Soon, I heard him showering in the bathroom. The sound of water was oddly comforting, a reminder that life kept moving forward, no matter what.

Maybe it was the pregnancy, but I fell asleep quickly and remembered nothing else. In my dreams, I was the lead, and the audience watched only me.