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Ethan walked forward without speaking, gently took the sponge from her hand, and shut off the faucet.
“You’re done.”
“Baby, it’s okay.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s really not.”
He took both her hands in his.
They were ice cold.
Wrinkled from water.
Red from soap.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Olivia lowered her eyes immediately.
“You were working.”
“And because I was working, they turned you into a maid?”
Her lips trembled.
“Your mom said if I wanted to be accepted in the family, I needed to help more. Your sisters said they were busy with school and stress. I didn’t want anyone angry at me.”
Ethan felt shame rise like acid in his throat.
“How long?”
She stayed silent.
“Liv.”
Finally, she whispered:
“Since the fifth month.”
The words hit him like a train.
Since the fifth month.
For three months, while he worked overtime to support everyone under that roof, his pregnant wife had been silently cleaning after four healthy adults.
His son suddenly kicked hard inside Olivia’s stomach.
She winced in pain.
Ethan’s eyes widened immediately.
“You’re hurting?”
“I’m okay.”
“Don’t lie to protect me.”
That was the moment she broke.
“I just wanted your family to love me,” she whispered before bursting into tears.
Ethan pulled her carefully into his arms.
She felt frighteningly thin beneath the oversized shirt.
And suddenly he realized something devastating:
Her silence had never meant peace.
It meant fear.
He led her upstairs slowly, helped her sit against pillows, removed her sandals, and immediately called her doctor.
After describing the swelling, exhaustion, dizziness, and stress, the obstetrician’s voice turned serious.
“She needs strict rest immediately,” the doctor warned. “At this stage of pregnancy, that level of exhaustion can become dangerous.”
Ethan stared at Olivia after ending the call.