Updated Nov 25, 2025 • ~10 min read
At twenty weeks pregnant, I woke to Leander pacing. Three am. Never good.
“What’s wrong?”
“CorkTech. Emergency board meeting called. They’re filing for bankruptcy.”
I sat up. “What? When?”
“Tomorrow. The hostile takeover I barely survived—apparently it damaged the company more than anyone realized. They’ve been bleeding money for months. New CEO couldn’t stop it. Now they’re insolvent.”
“How is that your problem? You stepped down.”
“I still own thirty percent of shares. If the company goes bankrupt, that’s worth nothing. But more than that—three thousand employees lose their jobs. People I hired. People who’ve been with me for years.”
“Leander, you can’t save everyone.”
“I can try. The board is asking me to come back. Take over again. They think I can turn it around.”
“Can you?”
“Maybe. If I dedicate every waking hour to it. If I leverage every connection. If I sacrifice everything else.”
The words hung heavy. Everything else. Like our plan to disappear. Like our quiet life. Like preparing for Briony.
“They want you back,” I said carefully. “Do you want to go?”
“Part of me does. I built that company. Watching it die feels like watching a child suffer. But another part—the part that chose you—knows going back means losing what we’ve built. I can’t do both. Save the company or build our life. Not both.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is.”
He sat on the bed. Looked wrecked.
“What would you do?” I asked. “If I wasn’t in the picture? If it was just you and the company?”
“I’d go back in a heartbeat. Throw myself into saving it. Work hundred-hour weeks. Whatever it took.”
“And with me in the picture? With Briony coming?”
“I choose you. Both of you. Over everything. Even the company I built.”
“But you’ll resent me. For making you choose. For being the reason you couldn’t save it.”
“I won’t—”
“You will. Maybe not now. But in five years when the company is gone and you wonder what if? You’ll blame me. Us. This life we chose.”
He didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.
“What if—” I started, then stopped.
“What if what?”
“What if you went back? Temporarily. Six months. Save the company. Then come back to us.”
“You’d be seven months pregnant. Eight months. Potentially giving birth without me.”
“I’d survive. Women have babies alone all the time.”
“Not my wife. Not my daughter. Morgana, I can’t miss that.”
“But you can miss saving three thousand jobs? Watching your life’s work die?”
“Yes. Because I’ve learned something. Companies are replaceable. You’re not.”
“That’s romantic. But Leander, be honest. Can you really walk away? Can you really watch CorkTech fail knowing you might’ve saved it?”
Silence.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I want to say yes. Want to choose you without hesitation. But you’re right. Part of me needs to try. Needs to save what I built. Even if it costs me.”
“Then do it.”
“No. I’m not leaving you pregnant—”
“I’m not asking. I’m telling you. Go. Save your company. I’ll be here when you’re done. Six months. We can survive six months.”
“What if you can’t? What if the pregnancy gets complicated? What if you need me?”
“Then I call you and you come. But Leander, I’ve survived worse than being pregnant alone. I crashed a wedding, got accidentally famous, exposed a corporate conspiracy, and married you. I can handle this.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“But I can. And you need this. You need to try. If you don’t, you’ll always wonder. I’d rather you go and fail than stay and resent me.”
“I won’t resent you—”
“Yes you will. Maybe not consciously. But it’ll be there. Every time someone mentions CorkTech. Every time you wonder what if. It’ll poison us slowly. Better to try and fail than never try.”
He pulled me close. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“I don’t want you to go. But we don’t always get what we want. We get what we can handle. And apparently, we can handle this.”
“Six months. That’s all. If I can’t save it in six months, I walk away permanently.”
“Deal.”
The next day, Leander went to the board meeting. Agreed to return as CEO. Six-month contract. All or nothing.
He came home looking determined. “It’s bad. Worse than I thought. But I think I can turn it around. If I’m ruthless. If I make hard choices.”
“You’re good at hard choices.”
“Am I? Because leaving you feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“You’re not leaving. You’re working. There’s a difference.”
But it didn’t feel different. It felt like abandonment.
He moved into a hotel near CorkTech offices. Claimed the commute from the penthouse was too long. He needed to be close. Available 24/7.
“It’s temporary,” he promised. “Six months. Then I’m done. Forever.”
I believed him. Or tried to.
The first week was manageable. He called every night. We video chatted. He looked exhausted but alive. Energized by the challenge.
“I forgot how much I loved this,” he admitted. “The strategy. The problem-solving. Building something.”
“I’m glad you’re happy.”
“I miss you though. Miss seeing you. Feeling you. Being there.”
“Six months will pass quickly.”
It didn’t.
Week two, he missed our appointment to hear the baby’s heartbeat. Emergency meeting ran long.
“I’m so sorry,” he said when he finally called. “I’ll make the next one.”
He didn’t. Missed that one too. And the one after.
At twenty-four weeks, I went to my appointment alone. Again.
“Baby’s doing great,” the doctor said. “Strong heartbeat. Good size. Any questions?”
“When does resentment turn into actual problem?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Wrong question for you.”
I called Paisley from the parking lot. Cried.
“He’s missing everything,” I said. “Every appointment. Every milestone. He’s supposed to be here and he’s not.”
“He’s trying to save his company—”
“I know! And I told him to! But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less!”
“Do you want me to come? Be your birth partner?”
“No. I want my husband. But I can’t have him because he’s busy saving the thing he built before he met me.”
“Morgana, maybe you should tell him how you’re feeling.”
“And make him feel worse? Make him choose between me and three thousand jobs? That’s not fair.”
“Neither is you suffering alone.”
She was right. But fair didn’t matter. Reality did.
At twenty-six weeks, Leander came home for the weekend. First time in three weeks.
“You look pregnant,” he said, touching my belly.
“I am pregnant. You’d know that if you were ever here.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Nothing about this is fair! You promised six months! It’s been two and you’ve missed everything!”
“I’m doing this for us—”
“You’re doing this for you! For your ego! For your need to be the hero who saves the company!”
“That’s not true—”
“Isn’t it? Be honest! Would you rather be here, feeling our daughter kick? Or in meetings, being the indispensable CEO?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Morgana, I love you—”
“I know. But you love CorkTech too. Maybe more. And I can’t compete with your first love.”
“You’re not competing—”
“I’m always competing! With your work. Your need to fix things. Your compulsion to save everyone. I thought I was enough. But I’m not. I’m just one more thing you have to manage.”
“That’s not how I see you—”
“Then how do you see me? Because from here, I’m the pregnant wife you visit between board meetings. That’s not a marriage. That’s an inconvenience.”
He left looking gutted. Went back to the hotel. Back to his company.
Back to what he really loved.
I cried for hours. Atkins came over. Held me while I sobbed.
“You need to decide,” she said. “Stay or leave. But you can’t live in this limbo.”
“I’m seven months pregnant. Where am I going?”
“My couch. Your sister’s guest room. Somewhere he has to actually miss you instead of just feeling guilty.”
“What if he doesn’t miss me? What if he’s relieved?”
“Then you have your answer. And you leave. For real.”
I packed a bag. Left a note.
Leander – I can’t keep competing with CorkTech. I won’t. I’m at Paisley’s. Figure out what you actually want. Then let me know. – M
I moved into Paisley’s guest room. Seven months pregnant. Heartbroken. Furious.
“He’ll come,” Paisley said. “Once he realizes what he’s losing.”
Days passed. He didn’t come.
Just texts: Please come home. We can work this out.
You know where I am. You choose to be at CorkTech instead.
That’s not fair. I’m trying to save three thousand jobs.
And I’m trying to save our marriage. Guess which one you find more important.
He stopped responding.
Fine. At least I knew where I stood.
At thirty weeks, he showed up at Paisley’s door. Looking wrecked.
“Can we talk?”
I let him in. Barely.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what you said. About competing with the company. You’re right. I’ve been choosing CorkTech over you. Over us. Over our daughter.”
“So you’re finally admitting it.”
“I’m admitting I’ve been an ass. That I took you for granted. That I thought I could have everything—save the company and keep you. But I can’t. I have to choose.”
“So choose.”
“I’m choosing you. I’m walking away from CorkTech. Effective immediately. The board will figure it out. But I can’t miss any more of your pregnancy. Can’t miss Briony being born. Can’t miss us.”
“You’d really leave? With the company still failing?”
“I’d rather fail at business and succeed at marriage than the reverse. CorkTech can find another CEO. Briony can’t find another father.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to forgive immediately.
But trust was broken. Again.
“You say that now. But what happens next crisis? Next company that needs saving? Next time your phone rings with an emergency?”
“I ignore it. Because you’re my priority. Both of you. Always.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Stay. Here. At Paisley’s. For the next week. No work calls. No emails. No emergencies. Just us. If you can do that—actually be present—then maybe I believe you.”
“Done. I’ll tell the board I’m unavailable.”
He did. Called right then. Told them he was taking family leave. Effective immediately.
Then he turned off his phone. Sat on Paisley’s uncomfortable couch.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now we remember how to be married when you’re not performing or saving companies.”
It was awkward. Strange. We’d spent months apart. Grown in different directions.
But slowly—day by day—we found each other again.
He came to my appointment. Heard Briony’s heartbeat. Cried.
“I’m sorry I missed so much,” he said.
“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
“Am I though? Or am I just performing presence until the next crisis?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“No. This is real. You’re real. Briony is real. CorkTech was just work. Important work. But work nonetheless.”
“And if it fails?”
“Then it fails. I tried. That’s enough.”
By the end of the week, something had shifted. We were tentatively us again.
“Come home?” he asked. “To the penthouse? Be a family again?”
“On one condition. You commit to therapy. Real therapy. For your workaholism. Your need to save everyone. Your inability to put me first.”
“Already scheduled our first session. Tuesday. We both go.”
“Both?”
“You need therapy too. For trusting manipulative people. For enabling my workaholism. For your own control issues.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Fine. We’re both disasters. We’ll fix it together.”
“Together,” he agreed. “Always.”
We went home. To the penthouse. To our mess.
And hoped that this time, we’d actually meant it.
That choosing each other wasn’t just another performance.
But actual commitment.
Built to last.
We’d see.
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