When I first told Elroy I was pregnant, he barely reacted. Just stayed calm, distant.

Then he disappeared to some church—lit a candle, prayed for a long time—and came back with a charm he swore would protect me and the baby.

I told myself he just sucked at showing feelings. I was touched.

But it was all an act.

The charm was for Brigitte.

The charm he gave me was fake. So was his love.

He sliced an apple, held a piece to my lips. I turned away. He hesitated, looking thrown.

Then, softly, "Babe... did you pick up my phone this morning?"

His brow creased. Waiting. Watching.

The longer I said nothing, the more nervous he got.

"What did you hear?"

I looked away, drained. "Nothing. Your phone was across the room. I knocked it off by accident."

He exhaled, all relieved, and tucked the blanket around me like everything was fine.

Then, real quiet, he asked, "If our baby doesn't make it... could we adopt?"

So ready to keep his promise—to her.

I gave a faint smile. "Remember what you said at our wedding? That if you ever betrayed me, you'd spend your life drowning in guilt. Never know peace."

Funny how vows shine so bright... then vanish.

Elroy's face twisted. "Babe, I'd never hurt you! You have to believe me!"

I let out a dry laugh, pulled the blanket over my head.

"I'm tired."

Tired of pretending this was love.

***

The day before my due date, I went home.

Elroy had kept me locked in the hospital since the second I got pregnant—on-call doctors, round-the-clock care.

But now? No need. The baby was never coming.

The house overflowed with baby stuff. I used to think he picked it out with love.

Now I knew—it was all for Brigitte's kid.

The computer was still on.

A notarized doc sat open, naming the next Lousteau heir.

I scrolled. Mother's name: Brigitte Tillon.

Our wedding photos, dating pics, even that dumb pottery from college—they were all still out.

The more perfect it looked, the more it crushed me.

Did he still love me?

I traced his face in a wedding photo.

We were the couple everyone envied. Elroy spoiled me so much, people wouldn't shut up about it.

I still remember when I said yes—how he cried, promised forever, swore he'd never let go.

And the time he blew up at the maid when Brigitte slept in our bed because she had a fever.

He wanted them gone.

I stopped him.

The maid was old. Brigitte was still a student.

That one kind moment cost me everything.

Looking back, the signs were always there.

He was always "tutoring" Brigitte.

What kind of tutoring does a college student need?

Elroy gave her everything—his heart, his favor, even the damn inheritance.

Eight years, and what did I get?

Lies. Betrayal. Fake love with a polished smile.

The front door creaked open.

They stumbled in, tangled up in each other, kissing like they'd never have to come up for air.

I couldn't move. Just stood there, frozen.

All that talk about hospital care—just an excuse to clear me out so they could hook up in peace.

I was a ghost in my own home, watching them play house.

Brigitte's moans bounced off the walls. She tilted her head back, breathless.

"Elroy, if I'd met you first... would you have married me?"

He moved faster, voice sharp.

"Stop dreaming. If it weren't for Celine, I wouldn't have looked twice."

She whined, clinging to him.

"But you still ended up in my bed. You even said it was hotter with her home. Liar."

Her voice climbed with pleasure. I slapped my hands over my ears, but Elroy's words still sliced through.

Each one gutted me—sharp, brutal, unforgiving.

He said, "Yeah, I still love her. But eight years is a long time. A little thrill now and then—what's the harm?"

That was it. That was his excuse.

I let out a bitter laugh, lips trembling.

The pain hit hard, spreading like wildfire. My stomach twisted, and the floor rushed up to meet me.

I hit the ground with a thud. Loud enough to snap Elroy out of his bubble.

He came running—half-dressed, panic all over his face.

He scooped me up and sprinted to the car.

In the backseat, he clutched my hand, shaking, crying like it actually hurt him.

The panic was real—but so were the lipstick stains and fresh love bites.

"Babe, please... let me explain after the baby's born..."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

I turned away, smiling through the wreckage.

***

Inside the OR, Dr. Jourdain prepped the syringe.

"One shot, and you'll be in shock-state for about a day. Ready?"

I nodded, pale as paper.

"Don't forget—swap the consent form with the divorce papers."

"Got it."

The needle slid in. Cold crept through my veins. My eyes drifted shut.

Outside, Elroy was losing it—pacing like a madman. Nobody had ever seen him this wrecked.

Dr. Jourdain's colleague walked out holding a form.

"Mr. Lousteau, your wife suffered major hemorrhaging. We need your signature."

Elroy kicked the nurse's desk, yelling, "I don't care what it takes—just save Celine! Save my wife!"

He scribbled his name, hand shaking like a leaf, eyes wild as the doctor rushed back in.

Ten minutes later, I was wheeled out under a white sheet.

The doctor's voice was quiet, heavy.

"Mr. Lousteau... I'm sorry. We did everything we could."

Elroy pulled the sheet back, staring at my still face.

His legs gave out. He hit the floor, mumbling over and over, "I don't believe it... I don't believe it... I don't believe it..."