Chapter 3
It had been seven years.
How many seven-year stretches did one get in a lifetime?
I'd tied my youth, my career, and every social connection I had to Yannick's ship.
The sunk costs were too heavy.
Asking me to jump ship now would be like skinning me alive.
I placed my hand gently on my flat stomach.
Through the thin fabric, I felt a gentle warmth under my palm.
A little life was quietly growing inside me.
This was the miracle I'd wished for every single day and night.
It was the only thing left from our seven years together.
I closed my eyes.
In my mind, I imagined a baby with a milky scent.
He'd wrap his tiny fingers around mine and smile at me with innocent, unguarded joy.
This was the light that pierced through the abyss.
If I were to divorce now, this child would be born into a broken home.
It was innocent.
It shouldn't have to suffer because of the selfishness of adults.
I took a deep breath and smoothed out the lab report, one crease at a time.
I folded it up again and tucked it away in the deepest corner of the drawer.
I buried all my bitterness, all my hurt, and all my doubts.
Along with seven years of everything I'd poured into this, I pushed it all down, locking it away with everything else.
I told myself that divorce wasn't an option.
At the very least, until this child came into the world, I wouldn't leave Yannick.
Since I'd decided to keep all this bottled up, I had to pretend everything was fine.
I arranged the throw pillows in the living room neatly, putting everything back in its place.
I polished the framed photo of us on the coffee table until it gleamed.
As long as Yannick still managed to come home on time every day and Mallory didn't bring her provocations out in the open, I was willing to turn a blind eye, pretending nothing was wrong, and be the perfect invisible wife.
I had to piece together a whole family for the little life still taking shape inside me, even if it was just for show.
That evening, I heard the familiar beep of the keypad lock from the entryway.
Yannick actually made it home before seven for once.
He was carrying an elegant little box.
Inside was the chestnut cake from the bakery I used to love.
He took off his shoes and, without a second thought, passed me the cake.
He said, "Just grabbed it since I was passing by. Sorry that I ignored you at dinner last night. Don't be upset, alright?"
His tone had that air of someone expecting gratitude, like he was doing me a favor.
I looked at his immaculately styled hair and the subtle wrinkles at the collar of his shirt.
I swallowed the bitter taste rising in my throat.
I put on a gentle smile and took the cake from him.
"Don't worry, I'm not mad. Go get changed. I'll handle the cake," I said.
The dining room chandelier cast a warm, golden glow over us.
We sat across from each other, just like a typical loving couple.
The rich, sweet chestnut cream melted in my mouth.
But even its sweetness couldn't hide the bitterness rising at the back of my tongue.
I set my fork down and looked at him.
"Yannick, I won't argue with you about the rumors at work anymore," I said.
He stopped cutting the cake and looked up at me.
"As long as this family still matters to you, I won't interfere with how you handle things outside," I added.
As soon as the words left my lips, I forced myself to swallow my pride, burying it deep inside.
A look of surprise flashed across Yannick's face.
Then, a pleased smile quickly took its place.
He came up behind me, circling the table.
His broad hand gently settled on my shoulder.
"Lilyanna, you finally get it," he said. "Everything out there is just for appearances. You're my rightful wife."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
I closed my eyes and placed my hand on my flat stomach.
Again and again, I told myself that this was enough.
The cost of keeping up appearances was a thousand cracks hidden in the shadows.
It was two in the morning.
The only sound in the bedroom was Yannick's steady breathing.
The phone screen on the nightstand suddenly lit up.
The glow was harsh and piercing in the darkness.
I rolled onto my side.
My gaze landed on a message notification that had just popped up.
It was from Mallory.
She said: [Yannick, it's thundering outside. I'm so scared.]
[You used to say you'd hold me and cover my ears whenever there was thunder.]
Right after that, she sent a crying cat meme, looking all sad and pitiful.
That was the exact cat emoji I used to spam in college.
Even the way she signed off, right down to the little symbol at the end, was exactly how I used to message him.
A chill ran through me.
Yannick wasn't just chasing thrills outside.
He was slowly molding Mallory into the old me, the girl who only had eyes for him and depended on him for everything.
He craved the freedom that came with being a hotshot bachelor.
But he couldn't let go of the vanity that came from being blindly adored.
He copied every bit of the affection he once gave me and poured it, unchanged, into another, younger woman.
Nausea churned in my stomach, twisting and turning as the truth sank in.
I didn't shed a single tear.
My breath stayed steady, not even a ripple of emotion crossed my face.
I reached under my pillow and grabbed my phone.
I turned off the flash and aimed the camera at Yannick's lit-up screen.
I hit the shutter and took three shots, one after another.
Then I locked the screen on my phone and tucked it back under my pillow.
Beside me, Yannick rolled over.
He let out a sleepy little noise, completely lost in peaceful sleep.
I gazed at that all-too-familiar face beside me.
In the past seven years of my life, I swallowed my pride and compromised many times.
And in the end, all it amounted to was this nauseating charade.
How could Yannick so easily, without a hint of guilt, pass on all the affection he once gave me to someone else, as if it never meant anything at all?