Chapter 1
My husband, Alban Massy, insisted on taking a young, beautiful female PhD student abroad for a research project, with no return date in sight.
Before he left, he said to me, sounding so sure of himself, "This is for academic purposes. Don't read too much into it. Just be good and wait for me at home."
I watched them walk away side by side, not throwing a fit or shedding a single tear.
For five years, he vanished without a trace, not even a call.
Today, he finally came back, basking in glory with his team and all those honors.
He stood at my doorstep, ringing the bell like he owned the place.
I opened the door, holding my four-year-old daughter's hand.
My daughter, Lara Massy, pointed at him, her voice full of innocence. "Mommy, who's that man at the door?"
Seeing his face go ghostly pale in an instant, I couldn't help but smile.
*****
The doorbell rang.
It sounded with a steady rhythm, carrying a confident insistence that demanded to be answered.
I was telling Lara a story.
Lara looked up at me, her big, shiny eyes fixed on mine.
"Mommy, someone's at the door," she said.
I put down the storybook and gently ruffled her hair.
"Be a good girl, Lara. Play by yourself for a bit," I said.
I got up and walked to the door.
I didn't bother checking through the peephole.
I already knew it was him.
He still pressed the doorbell exactly the same way. After five years, not a thing had changed.
I opened the door.
Standing outside was a man in a crisp suit.
His assistant stood behind him, a pile of luggage in tow.
He looked thinner, and there was a sharper, more arrogant edge to his expression.
His eyes behind the glasses locked onto me, like he was checking out something he'd just gotten back.
It was Alban.
He was my husband, at least on paper.
He spread his arms, acting like he expected a welcome-home hug.
"I'm back," Alban said.
His voice was calm, as if he were just the man of the house returning from a business trip.
I stayed perfectly still, showing no reaction.
His arms froze awkwardly in mid-air, left hanging as he waited for a hug that never came.
He frowned, his eyes drifting past me as he glanced into the house.
"After so many years, this is how you greet me?" Alban said, a hint of reproach in his voice.
He actually sounded a bit annoyed with me.
"The place hasn't changed at all. Not bad, you've kept it tidy," he said as he moved to step inside.
I held out my hand to stop him.
"What are you doing?" I said, my voice cool.
He froze, caught off guard.
"I'm home. Why are you keeping me out here?" Alban said, sounding impatient.
I looked at him calmly, unbothered.
"This isn't your home," I said coldly.
His face darkened.
"Camille, what's that supposed to mean?" Alban shot back, his tone sharp.
"You've been gone for five years without a word, and you still think this is your home?" I said, my voice icy.
"Didn't I already tell you? It was all for academic research. Don't make a big deal out of it," Alban said.
He said it with that smug, entitled look, as if nothing was wrong.
"Now I'm back, with all these honors. Shouldn't you be happy for me?" Alban said.
His gaze was sharp and critical, like he was weighing my every reaction.
It was like I was the one at fault just for being upset.
Just then, Lara rushed over to me.
She wrapped her arms around my leg and peeked out from behind it, her big curious eyes fixed on the man standing at the door.
She was only four years old, with her hair done up in two adorable little pigtails.
Alban's gaze froze in an instant.
He stared hard at Lara, his face turning pale as if all the blood had drained away.
He looked like a plaster statue, suddenly weathered and lifeless.
Lara looked up at me, her face full of curiosity.
Her voice was clear and innocent, like a little bell ringing.
"Mommy, who's that man at the door?" she asked.
I gave Lara a gentle smile.
Then I looked up at Alban, his face as pale as a ghost.
A smile spread across my face.
"Just a stranger, honey," I said.
I slammed the door in his face.
The hallway outside fell eerily silent, like all the life had been sucked out of it.
Then, suddenly, he started pounding on the door, wild and desperate.
"Camille, open the door now!" Alban's voice thundered from the hallway, desperate and furious.
His shouts rattled the door, each word dripping with panic and anger.
"Tell me the truth. Whose kid is that?" he demanded, his voice cracking with rage.
Lara was frightened, holding onto my leg for dear life.
I bent down, picked her up, and gently covered her ears with my hands.
"Don't be scared, Lara. It's just some loud sounds," I whispered to her.
I carried Lara back to the living room sofa and picked up the storybook again.
"Let's continue our story," I said.
My tone stayed calm and even.
Lara leaned against me, nodding quietly, but her eyes remained anxious, still fixed on the direction of the door.
The banging on the door continued.
"Camille, you cheating slut. How dare you mess around behind my back!" Alban was practically screaming, his voice raw with fury and humiliation.
He was hurling filthy insults.