Chapter 2
The vehicle turned into Maple Bridge Estates, an upscale gated neighborhood lined with mature trees and manicured greenery, home to the city's wealthiest families.
Edward and Helen's private residence sat tucked at the far edge of the community: a sprawling three-story single-family home with a private backyard garden.
The second the car pulled to a stop, Edward leapt out of the car, pressed his palm to the smart entry scanner, and shoved the front door open.
An unnatural hush hung over the yard. At this hour each evening, their full-time nanny Lucy would normally be busy in the kitchen, the warm aroma of home-cooked meals drifting through the air, while the gardener tended to the lawn and flower beds.
Tonight, the entire property lay deathly quiet, shrouded in an eerie, hollow stillness.
Edward strode inside briskly. The living room seemed unchanged at first glance, yet a subtle, empty coldness lingered in every corner. He quickened his pace, raced up the staircase, and threw open the master bedroom door.
The walk-in closet stood wide open, every last piece of Helen's clothing gone, only empty hangers swaying gently in the faint breeze.
Her skincare vanity table, jewelry dish, and personal accessories were all gone without a trace. His heart sank sharply, and he spun on his heel to rush toward the nursery.
The baby bassinets still sat in place, yet every soft blanket and swaddle was folded neatly away. Cabinets once overflowing with infant formula, diapers, and newborn supplies stood completely bare, as if every trace of the triplets had been erased overnight.
Frantic and breathless, he sprinted back downstairs and kicked open the housekeeper's quarters. Lucy's personal belongings had vanished entirely; the room was spotlessly empty, with no sign anyone had ever lived there.
The entire mansion felt drained of all warmth and life. Only his belongings remained, untouched and abandoned in the silent house. Edward collapsed heavily onto the living room sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling as chaotic thoughts swirled in his head.
With shaking fingers, he unlocked his phone and scrolled through contacts until he found his mother-in-law's number. After a long moment of hesitation, he pressed dial. The line rang several times before Mary's cold, unyielding voice answered. "Hello."
"Mrs. Sutton, it's Edward. Is Helen staying with you?" he blurted out urgently.
A long, heavy silence stretched across the line, thick with suppressed fury and grief. Then Mary let out a sharp, bitter laugh, her tone laced with unbridled resentment.
"Edward, you've got some nerve calling me after everything you've done! Don't pretend you have no idea what you've put my daughter through."
Edward's jaw tightened. He opened and closed his mouth, at a complete loss for words. After a strained pause, he stammered awkwardly, "I truly don't understand what you're referring to. What happened?"
"You don't understand?" Mary's voice rose sharply, scathing accusations cutting through every word. "My daughter fought for her life after giving birth to triplets, bleeding heavily and struggling through crippling postpartum pain, and you visited her barely twice a week—ten minutes each time, if that.
When she was hospitalized, weak and fighting for recovery, where were you? Off indulging your mistress, living a careless, selfish life. How could you ever treat her this cruelly?"
Edward's lips parted, ready to defend himself, yet no words came. Crushing guilt settled heavily in his chest, thick and suffocating.
"I have no idea where Helen is—and even if I did, I would never tell you," Mary replied, her tone frigid and unyielding. "Figure this out on your own, Edward."
The line went dead immediately, leaving only the hollow, monotonous drone of a dial tone echoing in his ear.
Edward sat motionless in the silent, empty living room as night fell over the neighborhood outside. Pale moonlight spilled through the glass windows, draping over him like a thin sheet of frozen frost.
His mind replayed the last time he'd visited Helen in the hospital, five days prior.
He'd brought a brightly colored bouquet of flowers that day, and when he'd pushed open her hospital room door, he'd had so much he'd wanted to say—yet hadn't known how to start.
Soft golden sunlight slanted through the tall window, gilding Helen's pale features. She lay quiet in the hospital bed, her hair loose and tangled across the pillow, her gaze weary, distant, and hollow.
The three newborns slept soundly in their bassinets, curled together in tiny swaddled bundles, their breaths light and fragile. He crossed to the bedside, set the flowers on the nightstand, and spoke in a stiff, awkward tone. "I just came to check on how you're feeling."
Helen only turned her head slightly to glance at him, her expression calm, almost detached. She murmured a quiet, indifferent reply.
"How are the babies doing?" he asked.
"They're okay," Helen answered, her response short and clipped.
"Get some rest. I still have work to take care of, so I'll head out," he said, already turning toward the door.
"Mm." Her voice remained soft, distant, and uninterested.
He'd walked straight out of the suite without a second thought. Looking back now, he finally noticed how different her eyes had been that day—no trace of the warm, tender affection she'd once held for him.
Instead, there was only quiet detachment, as if she were staring at a complete stranger. But at the time, he'd been too distracted to notice... or simply too unwilling to care.