Chapter 4

Even the flimsy, "easy-tear" stockings I'd bought her before wouldn't rip like that from just walking.

And the location of the tear... it was way too suggestive, too perfectly placed for the imagination to run wild.

The rest of the journey passed in heavy silence.

When we reached home, Millie, as if suddenly remembering something, quickly pulled out her keys and opened the door.

She stopped dead in the doorway, stunned.

I stepped around her. There in the living room, my mother was feeding our two children lunch.

It looked like a perfectly harmonious scene.

I moved closer to Millie. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

She shot me a venomous glare and hissed under her breath, "You didn't tell me your mother was coming?"

With that, she hurried straight to the bedroom.

My mother looked up, puzzled. "What's going on? Are you two arguing?"

My mom adores her grandchildren, especially our son. She'd longed for a boy for so long.

The thought of telling her he might not be my biological son... I was terrified she wouldn't be able to bear it.

I forced a strained smile. "It was nothing, Mom. She's just tired from my business trip. Please, don't worry and finish your meal."

I followed Millie to our bedroom and pushed the door open.

She was changing. She jumped when she saw me, hurriedly pulling on her pajamas.

But in that fleeting moment, I saw it—or I was almost sure I saw it—the faint, telltale mark of a love bite near the back of her shoulder.

A fresh wave of rage, hot and bitter, surged through me. "You just left the kids alone to eat takeout and watch TV all day? What kind of mother does that?"

Millie's eyes widened, ready to unleash a torrent of criticism. But a glance toward the open door made her lower her voice to a sharp, furious whisper. "If I didn't work hard, your pathetic salary wouldn't be enough for anyone! If you were man enough to earn ten thousand a month, I'd happily stay home and take care of the family. Since you can't, just shut up!"

With that, she opened her laptop and started working on some document.

The words about the paternity test were on the tip of my tongue, but I'd been in such a panic earlier that I hadn't taken a picture or printed the report.

I decided then—I would go back to the office, print a copy, and present her with the cold, hard evidence. Then let's see what excuses she had left.

As I turned to leave, my eyes caught a few large words on her screen from my peripheral vision.

She was looking up travel guides for Paris.

A foolish, desperate hope flickered weakly in my chest. Had her conscience finally kicked in? Was she planning to confess, apologize, and then arrange a fancy overseas trip to make amends?

We've been married for six years. If she was somehow pressured into being with Tucker back then, and if her attitude was genuinely remorseful... maybe, just maybe, our marriage could survive this.

But he would have to take his son back.

I couldn't stand the sight of the boy.

I glanced at my watch. It was getting late; I'd fetch the documents tomorrow.

After washing up, I pulled out a quilt and pillow, preparing to rough it for the night on the bay window.

A sentence drifted over from the bed. "It was cold. Sleep here."

Oh? Was this her showing concern? If her attitude improved just a bit more...

If she put on that pink nurse dress with the white Balenciagas and pink high heels... maybe there was still room for negotiation.

I moved closer to her from behind and reached out to hold her.

Millie waved my hand away. "I'm really tired, and I have things to do tomorrow. Just go to sleep."

Fine. My mistake. So much for giving her a chance. She couldn't even recognize the olive branch I was extending.

I lay down on the bed, sullen, and angrily scrolled through my phone.

It was past 2 a.m. before I slowly drifted off.

When I opened my eyes, thin strands of sunlight were streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

I reached out beside me. "Millie, time to get up."

Huh?

I patted the space around me. It was cold. Empty.

I sat up quickly. No one in the bedroom.

The bathroom was empty too.

I walked out to the living room. "Mom, where's Millie?"

Mom was braiding our daughter's hair. She looked up at me. "You didn't know? She said she's going on a business trip. Said she'll be gone for about a week. She left with her suitcase at 5 a.m."

"Oh," I replied numbly.