He Realized Too Late I Was His Secret Backer

After the miscarriage, I started seeing ghosts in everything.

Every day I'd text Roy Weiss to ask whether he loved me.

The first ninety-nine times, he answered gently.

It was the hundredth time that he snapped back at me, three messages, one after another.

【*Tamara Winfield, do you have nothing better to do?*】

【*The baby's gone, you don't have to suffer through it anymore, so now you've decided to torture me instead?*】

【*Instead of dreaming up nonsense, go look in a mirror. Look at that dead, ghastly face of yours.*】

I froze.

A second later, the messages were recalled, and a voice note popped up in their place.

"Sorry, my assistant sent those by mistake. Don't take it to heart."

Whether it was a mistake didn't matter anymore.

All I knew was that our marriage was over.

……

I checked myself out, swallowing the ache low in my belly.

I didn't rush home. I went to the law firm first and picked up the divorce papers.

By the time I got back, the sky had gone fully dark.

The living room light was on, and Roy was sitting on the couch.

He looked up at the sound of the door, frowning.

"I went to the hospital and the doctor said you'd checked out. Where did you go? You couldn't even answer a text or a call?"

"You just had a miscarriage. Don't you know your body's weak and needs rest? And you're out running around."

I didn't answer.

I changed into my slippers and poured myself a glass of water.

He watched me, his gaze resting on my face for a few seconds, before he finally spoke.

"I already explained about this afternoon. My assistant grabbed the wrong phone."

"She's apologized to me, and I gave her an earful too. I promise nothing like that will happen again."

An assistant, grabbing her boss's personal phone by mistake?

I let out a soft laugh, set down the glass, and looked at him.

Roy was very good-looking.

I knew that from the first moment I saw him.

At thirty-three, he was better than most men his age, and even now, lounging on the couch in loungewear, he looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine.

I used to love watching him. I thought I could look at him a lifetime and never tire of it.

But today I suddenly realized his beauty had nothing to do with me.

Like a beautiful dress in a shop window. You stand there staring through the glass for the longest time, thinking it's yours, when you've never once actually held it in your hands.

"Roy," I said. My voice came out calmer than I'd expected. "That assistant of yours, what was her name again?"

He paused.

"Christine. Why?"

"How long has she been with you?"

"About six months." Then he added, "Why are you asking? I told you it was a misunderstanding. Do you have to keep picking at it? Can't you just pretend you never saw it?"

Four questions in a row.

I didn't take up any of them and kept going. "I remember when she first started, you mentioned her to me once. You said the new assistant was useless, nothing like the sharp, efficient type you usually liked. After that you never brought her up again. I assumed you'd let her go."

"Turns out you didn't let her go at all. And since she showed up, I've noticed that over these past six months you've been working later and later, traveling more and more."

Roy's brow furrowed again.

"Tamara, what exactly are you trying to say?"

I smiled a little. "I'm only stating facts."

His frown deepened, his tone slipping into impatience. "Tamara, I understand you're emotional because of the miscarriage, and I can be understanding about that. But you can't start imagining things over a few messages sent by accident. It's not good for you, and it's not good for trying for the next baby either."