Chapter 3

My legs suddenly went weak. I grabbed the wooden planter of the monstera to steady myself.

I looked at Edward, the man I'd loved for seven years, the man I woke up to every morning, the father of my daughter, the man who once held my hand at our wedding and promised to love me "for better or worse, in sickness and in health."

Now he stood there, admitting he got another woman pregnant, without a single trace of guilt.

"How long?" I asked.

"What?" Edward looked confused.

"How long have you two been together?"

He hesitated, then shot a glance at Diana.

Diana kept her head down, a flash of something in her gray-green eyes.

Edward finally said, "A year."

A year?

One autumn a year ago, I was drowning in work, staying up late every night to get the gallery's annual exhibition ready. Edward said he wanted to support me, taking over the school runs for Lila.

Back then, I believed I had the best husband in the world.

Turned out, "supporting me" was his cover for sneaking around with Diana.

"A year," I echoed, then laughed bitterly. "On my mom's birthday last September, you said you had to go to Biaston for work and left early. Were you with Diana?"

Edward's lips moved, but he didn't say a word.

Just then, Diana looked up, her eyes red. "Please don't blame Mr. Stone. I started it. I didn't know he had a family at first. By the time I realized, it was too late. I..."

"Shut up," I snapped.

Diana clamped her mouth shut, tears brimming in her eyes but refusing to fall.

I turned to Edward. "You let a woman who 'didn't know you had a family' carry your child for an entire year? Are you stupid, or simply heartless?"

He stepped closer, reaching for my wrist. "Olivia, I never meant to hurt you..."

I jerked back, yanking my hand away like I'd touched a hot stove.

His hand hung awkwardly in the air for a moment, then dropped to his side.

There was something in his eyes I'd never seen, a mix of panic and a kind of desperate defiance, like he'd been exposed and now nothing else mattered.

His tone shifted from anxious, defensive excuses to a cold, confrontational candor. "You want the whole truth? Fine. I'll tell you."

He stepped closer. I instinctively backed away, my back hitting the edge of the flowerpot.

Diana tugged at his sleeve from behind, whispering, "Mr. Stone, don't do this."

Yet there was no real dissuasion in her tone; it sounded far more like tacit indulgence.

Edward looked down at me. Those blue eyes that had once stolen my heart now held only a cold glint.

"Do you remember last April?" he asked. "You found out you were pregnant again, and you were very happy. You told me you wanted this baby, and you were already shopping for cribs."

My heart seized up. Last April? The child who had been taken away before it could even fully form?

Edward kept going, each word clear and cruel, "I told you we weren't ready for another baby. I said Lila was still too young, I was swamped at work, and money was tight.

"You believed me. You cried for three days, then went to the hospital all by yourself and went through the procedure."

My nails dug into my palm, the pain making my fingers shake.

"That wasn't the truth." Edward lowered his head, his voice barely audible. "I didn't want that baby. It wasn't because of work or money. I simply didn't want a child from you."

I felt the world split open in front of my eyes, and the crack spread outward from his moving lips.

It was like an invisible blade, slicing into my forehead, cutting straight down to tear apart my seven‑year marriage, six years as a mother, and every bit of my love and trust.

On either side of that crack were bottomless pits, and I was stranded in the middle, teetering on the edge, about to fall.

"What?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I didn't want a child from you," he repeated, his tone almost reckless, like he had nothing left to lose. "I wanted one from Diana.

"Unlike you, she's young and healthy. You almost died giving birth to Lila. After that, you've never really recovered, always exhausted and sick.

"Olivia, you're not cut out to raise another kid. I'm done worrying all the time."

I finally grew calm. That calm came from something deeper, something beyond pain.

"So you made me abort my baby, then went and got her pregnant?" I said flatly. "Edward, do you hear yourself right now? What you said is worse than any betrayal and..."

I couldn't go on. A lump of red‑hot grit seemed stuck in my throat, burning with every word I tried to speak.