The funeral hall in Buenos Aires smelled of white flowers and melted wax. Candles flickered on every surface, casting long shadows across the pale walls.

Milena Garcia knelt in front of her mother’s portrait, her white mourning dress stretched tight over her seven-month belly.

Her face was thin and pale. Dark circles sat under her eyes. She had not left this room for seven days.

Her mother had died suddenly.

Milena had stayed by the body the entire time, refusing to go home, refusing to rest.

She burned incense when the priest allowed it, changed the flowers, and answered every relative who came to pay respects.

Her husband never appeared.

Manuel Buford was a busy man. Everyone knew that. He ran one of the largest companies in the country. Meetings, flights, late nights… Milena had always told herself these things were normal.

A good wife understood. A good wife waited.

“Milena, the final prayers are about to start,” her aunt said from behind her. “Is Manuel still not here?”

Milena kept her eyes on the portrait. “He’s working. He must be stuck in something important.”

Her cousin, Valeria, gave a short, sharp laugh. “Stuck for seven whole days? Your mother is dead, Milena. Not even a phone call from your dear husband?”

The words cut deep, but Milena forced herself to stay calm. “He… he is busy. He’d come by soon.”

Valeria pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “Busy, huh? Then explain this.”

She turned the phone so everyone nearby could see. The video was already trending. Bright fireworks exploded against a night sky. A large outdoor restaurant by the river was lit with golden lights.

At the center of the celebration sat Manuel Buford. He looked calm and elegant in a dark suit. Beside him sat Camila Esteban, laughing as she pointed at the fireworks.

Manuel’s jacket rested on her shoulders. His eyes never left her face.

The caption read: “Manuel Buford of Buford Group books entire riverside venue for Camila Esteban’s birthday. True love on full display.”

Silence filled the funeral hall. Relatives who had been quiet before now stared.

Some covered their mouths. Others looked at Milena with pity that felt worse than mockery.

Milena’s hands went cold. She stared at the screen until the fireworks faded. She told herself it must be old footage. Or a mistake. Manuel did not celebrate birthdays.

He barely remembered their own anniversary. He was not the kind of man who ordered fireworks.

She stood up slowly, one hand under her heavy belly. “I need a moment,” she said.

No one stopped her.

Outside, the night air was cool. Milena ordered a taxi with shaking fingers. She gave the driver the name of the riverside restaurant from the video.

The whole way there, she repeated the same thought: it cannot be true. He would never do this. Not while her mother was being buried. Not while she was this pregnant.

The restaurant still glowed with lights when she arrived. Soft music played. A few guests lingered on the terrace.

Milena walked past the hostess without speaking. She knew exactly where to look.

She found them near the edge of the terrace, away from the remaining guests.

Camila leaned against the railing, still wearing Manuel’s jacket. Manuel stood close, one hand resting lightly on the small of her back as they spoke in low voices.

Camila laughed at something he said. The sound was light and free.

Milena stopped a few steps away. For a moment, she could not move.

The image from the video was real. The fireworks, the jacket, the way he looked at Camila… all of it was real.

“Manuel.”

He turned around.

For a second, his face showed surprise.

Then it smoothed into the same calm expression he always wore at home.

“Milena, what are you doing here?” His voice was quiet but cold. He did not step toward her.

Camila looked between them, then gave a small, polite smile that did not reach her eyes.

Milena’s throat felt tight. “I… I saw the video. I thought… I needed to see for myself.”

Manuel glanced at the remaining guests, then back at her. “This is not the place. You should be at the funeral. Or at home resting. You’re seven months along.”

“My mother is dead,” Milena said. The words came out low and rough. “I called you for seven days. You never answered.”

“I had meetings. Then Camila’s mother fell ill. I was just helping.”

Camila spoke softly. “It was only a mild fever. Manuel was kind enough to stay with me. I didn’t want to trouble him, but he insisted.”

Milena looked at the jacket on Camila’s shoulders. The same jacket she had once carefully hung in their closet. “You found time for fireworks,” she said. “But not for my mother’s farewell.”

Manuel’s jaw tightened. “You’re making a scene. Go home, Milena. We’ll talk later.”

“Later?” Her voice rose before she could stop it. “There is no later. Why are you doing this to me?! Tell me now! You left me alone for seven days while I buried my mother. You sat here watching fireworks with another woman. And now you tell me to go home?!”

Camila shifted uncomfortably.

Manuel’s expression grew colder.

“You’re being emotional,” he said. “It’s understandable. But this conversation ends here. Take a taxi home. Get some rest. Think of the baby.”

He turned slightly, as if the discussion was finished. As if she were already dismissed.

Something inside Milena broke with a quiet, final snap.

She stared at him for a long moment. The man she had married three years ago. The man she had tried so hard not to trouble. The man who had never once looked at her the way he looked at Camila tonight.

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

The taxi ride blurred. Tears came hard once the door closed. She pressed both hands against her belly and cried until her chest hurt.

The baby moved once under her palms, a soft push that made the tears fall faster.

“I’m… sorry,” she whispered to the child. “I’m so sorry.”

A child born into a house where it was not wanted would never be happy.

A child whose father could leave its mother alone at a funeral would grow up knowing that same emptiness. She could not do that to this baby. She could not do that to herself.

By the time the taxi stopped in front of the private hospital, Milena’s face was calm again. She wiped her cheeks, paid the driver, and walked inside.

************

The doctor on night duty looked at her with concern. “Mrs. Buford? You’re quite far along. Are you certain?”

“I’m certain,” Milena said.

The papers were signed within the hour. The procedure was scheduled immediately.

She did not call anyone. She did not leave a message for Manuel.

After that, she signed a second set of papers brought by a lawyer she had contacted on the way.

The divorce papers.

************

Across the city, Manuel Buford’s phone rang as he finally returned to his car.

His assistant’s voice was careful.

“Sir, we located Mrs Buford. She went to the hospital after leaving the restaurant.”

Manuel frowned. “Is something wrong with the pregnancy?”

There was a short pause. “She… terminated the pregnancy, sir. And she signed divorce papers the same night. The lawyer has already filed them.”

Manuel sat very still in the back seat. The city lights moved past the window, but he did not see them.

For the first time in three years of marriage, something close to shock crossed his face.

He had expected anger, tears, accusations that would fade after a few days, the way they always did.

He never expected her to do something like this!