The illusion of safety lasted exactly eleven days.
Eleven days of Stefan staying with me in the tiny apartment, cooking for me, rubbing my swollen feet, talking to the baby every night with his ear pressed to my belly. Eleven days of making love so tender and desperate it sometimes felt like goodbye.
I almost believed we could make it work.
▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️
It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon. Stefan had gone out to buy more prenatal vitamins and fresh fruit. I was folding his clothes when his phone — which he'd left charging on the nightstand — buzzed.
I shouldn't have looked.
But something in my gut told me to.
The screen lit up with a message preview from an unknown number. But I knew that number. I had memorized it in my darkest moments.
Elena:Stefan, please tell me she's okay. I'm losing my mind not knowing if my sister and the baby are safe. I love you both. Come home when you can.
My heart stopped.
Then it shattered.
The phone slipped from my trembling hands and clattered to the floor. Another message came in right after.
Elena:I know you said not to contact you, but I'm worried. Myra needs us. We're family.
Family.
The word tasted like blood in my mouth.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, one hand clutching my large belly, the other pressed over my mouth to stifle the sob ripping out of me. The baby kicked hard, sensing my distress, but I couldn't even comfort it.
He lied.
He promised. He blocked her. He swore on our child.
And he was still talking to her.
The hatred I felt for Elena exploded into something feral. But the pain I felt toward Stefan — the man I loved more than life itself — was so much worse. It felt like he had reached into my chest and crushed my heart with his bare hands.
▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️
When Stefan returned an hour later, arms full of grocery bags, he froze in the doorway.
I was sitting on the bed exactly where he'd left me, his phone in my lap, tears streaming silently down my face.
"Myra…?" His voice was already cracking.
"You're still talking to her," I whispered. My voice sounded dead. "After everything I said. After I begged you. After I told you I would rather die than share you with her again."
Stefan dropped the bags. "Myra, it's not—"
"Don't." I stood up slowly, one hand on my belly. "Don't you dare lie to me. She texted you. Multiple times. And you didn't delete them. You didn't block the new number. You let her back in."
He stepped toward me, eyes wide with panic. "She was worried about you and the baby. I told her I couldn't talk to her. I swear—"
"You swore!" I screamed, the sound raw and broken. "You promised me, Stefan! I told you if you kept contacting that bitch I would end my life. And you still did it!"
The pain in my chest was so intense I could barely breathe. I backed away from him until I hit the wall.
"I hate her," I sobbed. "I hate her so much for existing. For being the one you loved first. For still having pieces of you that I will never get. And now… now I hate you too. Because you chose her again. Even knowing I'm carrying your child."
Stefan looked completely destroyed. Tears fell down his face as he dropped to his knees in front of me.
"Myra, please… I'm sorry. I fucked up. I thought if I just answered once to tell her you were safe, she would stop. I was wrong. I'm so fucking sorry."
He reached for me, but I flinched away.
"Don't touch me."
The words came out colder than I'd ever spoken to him.
"I can't do this anymore," I whispered, voice trembling. "I can't keep fighting ghosts. I can't keep wondering if every time I close my eyes you're thinking about her. I can't raise this baby in a world where I'm always second place to Elena Gilbert."
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around my belly, sobbing so hard I could barely see.
Stefan crawled to me, gently pulling me into his arms despite my weak resistance. He held me tightly as I cried against his chest, his own tears falling into my hair.
"I love you," he kept repeating, voice hoarse. "Only you. I'll never speak to her again. I'll leave Mystic Falls. I'll burn every memory if that's what you need. Just don't leave me. Don't take our baby away from me."
I wanted to believe him.
But the heartbreak was too deep.
That night, we made love like it might be the last time.
It was rough, desperate, and soaked in tears. Stefan took me from behind, one hand on my belly, the other between my legs, fucking me hard and deep while whispering broken apologies and declarations of love. I came sobbing his name, and he followed with a shattered groan, holding me so tightly I thought we might fuse together.
Afterward, he refused to let me go, curling his body around mine and our unborn child.
But when I woke up the next morning, the bed was cold.
Stefan was gone.
And on the pillow was one final letter.
▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️
Myra,
I'm destroying you. I see it every time you look at me. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, but my presence is breaking you. I'm going to give you the space you truly need. I won't contact Elena. I won't contact anyone. I'll wait for you — forever if I have to.
Take care of our baby. I love you both with everything I am.
Stefan
▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️
I read the letter once. Twice. Three times.
Then I screamed.
The pain was so overwhelming I curled into a ball around my belly and cried until I had nothing left. The baby kicked frantically, but I could barely comfort it through my sobs.
I was completely alone now.
Heartbroken.
Pregnant.
And the hatred I felt toward Elena had poisoned me so thoroughly that even Stefan's love couldn't save me from it.
I didn't know if I would ever recover.
But for our baby… I had to try.