[COMPLETED] My Mafia Ex Mentioned Pregnancy at Our Divorce—Hours Later, His Two-Word Text Made Me Freeze

My phone buzzed for the third time.

I looked at the pregnancy test in my hand. Two pink lines. A truth I had discovered less than three hours ago and still couldn't fit inside my life.

Then I looked at Ethan's message.

I know I have no right to ask. Please just tell me you're safe.

That was it.

No demand. No reference to the test. No explanation for why the man who had dismissed me in front of two attorneys now cared whether I was safe.

I wanted to throw the phone across the bathroom. Instead, I set the test on the marble vanity, washed my face, and walked into the bedroom we had shared for three years.

The room was too orderly. Ethan's half of the closet was empty. His shoes were gone. The only evidence he had ever lived there was the indentation his watch box had left on the dresser.

His grandfather's watch.

I opened the bedroom safe. The old gold wristwatch lay in its velvet case, exactly where Ethan had said it would be. The leather strap was worn smooth. His grandfather had given it to him before he died, and Ethan had worn it on the day we married. He almost never left it behind.

For a foolish second, I wondered whether forgetting it had been deliberate.

Then the doorbell rang.

I closed the safe and checked the security monitor by the bedroom door. A young man in a dark suit stood outside. I recognized him from the Blackwood office. Not his name, only the way he had always moved aside when Ethan entered a room.

He pressed the bell again.

"Mrs. Blackwood? Mr. Blackwood sent me for his grandfather's watch."

I didn't move.

Ethan had told me to have someone send the watch to his office. He had not said he was sending someone to collect it. The distinction was small, but three years beside men who lived by distinctions had taught me to pay attention.

I called Ethan.

He answered before the second ring.

"Emma?"

"There's a man at my door asking for your watch. Did you send him?"

Silence.

Then his voice changed.

"No. Don't open it."

My stomach tightened.

"He's from your office."

"I know who he is. Stay inside."

"Ethan, what is happening?"

"Someone gave him an instruction I didn't authorize. I need to find out who."

I looked back at the monitor. The man was talking quietly into his phone, his face turned away from the camera.

"You told me we didn't need to stay in contact," I said. "Remember?"

"I remember."

"Then stop giving me orders without telling me why."

He drew a breath. For once, he didn't answer immediately.

"A security request was made using my name. It wasn't mine. I noticed it after we left the attorney's office. That's why I called."

"And you decided to ask if I was okay instead of explaining that?"

"Yes," he said. "It was a mistake."

I nearly laughed. Ethan Blackwood admitting a mistake was less familiar to me than the stranger outside my door.

"I'm calling my attorney," I said. "I'm not letting anyone in."

"Good."

"And don't come here."

A longer pause.

"All right."

I ended the call before he could make another promise.

The visitor waited another minute. Then he stepped away from the door and disappeared from the monitor. I saved the recording and sent it to my attorney, Hannah Price, along with a brief explanation. She called back almost immediately.

"Do not release the watch, Emma. And don't meet any Blackwood employee alone."

"You sound like him."

"I'm telling you what protects your interests, not his. There is a difference."

I sat on the edge of the bed. Hannah had spent weeks arranging my divorce. She knew how carefully Ethan's lawyers had documented every bank transfer and piece of property. She also knew how badly I wanted all of it behind me.

"Does the settlement change anything?" I asked.

"The transfer was completed. The money is yours. But a request for access to your home is not part of the settlement. I'll put that in writing."

I looked toward the bathroom. From the doorway, I could see the white pregnancy test lying beside the sink.

"Hannah, there's something else."

I tried to say it. My throat closed.

"Are you in immediate danger?"

"I don't know."

That was the most truthful answer I had given anyone all day.

Hannah said she would arrange for an independent security technician to review the door and alarm system. Someone who had never worked for the Blackwoods. She asked me to keep the saved recording and not delete the messages.

Before hanging up, she said, "If Ethan contacts you again, you can choose whether to reply. You don't owe him access to your life just because he's worried."

I thanked her and put down the phone.

For a while, I simply sat there. I had spent three years waiting for Ethan to notice me. Now he had noticed something was wrong, and I was frightened of what his attention might bring through my front door.

I returned to the bathroom and picked up the test.

It was still positive.

I knew that last night with Ethan had been only hours before our divorce. I also knew almost nothing about what a pregnancy test could tell me. I had accepted the explanation that hurt most because it seemed obvious in the moment. Monday's appointment would tell me more.

Until then, this child was mine to protect.

I slipped the test into the drawer beneath the vanity, where it would be out of sight. Then I opened Ethan's conversation again.

I wrote, I'm safe. Your watch is still here. My attorney will arrange delivery.

Three dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again.

Thank you, he replied. I am sorry about this morning.

I stared at the apology.

Did he mean the security scare? The divorce? The words about a possible pregnancy?

He had left me to interpret too many things for too long.

I locked the phone without answering.

At the other end of the house, the alarm chirped softly as the system registered an unsuccessful attempt to use an old service code. I looked at the security panel. Someone had tried to enter with credentials that should have been disabled when Ethan moved out.