The Wife Who Vanished: His Eternal Regret

when a five-year-old boy ran onto the ballro

a dress that cost more than my car, announcin

g them out, Emili

nted them, Hayden lied and

lio shoved me hard to "

rd onto the c

ing the baby I had wanted for y

s mistress and illegitimate son, leav

he had only married me years ago because he th

was just an inconvenience

way my assets to save his company f

ng without me

he offered to buy my s

ne so badly, I wou

urich and left a single white tulip

ana Acosta died

ri was just ge

pte

ffervescent and golden, when a five-year-old

around my husband's leg, screaming the

ad

ute slipped fr

seemed to split the air, shattering into

ting smile he had just directed at me while toasting my a

ild, then up at the woma

n Cle

ing a clutch bag with a grip so tight her knuckles were white. He

oice smooth, carrying effortlessly over the stunned crowd. "But Leo

tilted on

ited for him to push the child away gently and expl

n the boy's head. A protective, familiar

oice low but audible in the su

's not

ho ar

not

side my abdomen, doubling me over. I grabbed the edge of the ta

ment etched into the fo

Elana. Then we start a fa

morning. I had swallowed that tiny tablet with a sip

e he said he wasn't ready. Because

ing. He alread

toward me, but the boy tugged at his pa

tation, the last five years

"Rome" and "Paris." The way he looked at me when I mentioned baby

I whispered. It

n the weeping child and me. "It's complicat

I did

ed, a hot knife twisting. I ga

at reasonable, condescending tone he used when I was being 'emoti

shaking, but my mind was su

ad proposed to me in a hospital room when I was sick with pneumon

me into staying, into loving him, into s

ll a per

ightening up despite the agony in my gut. "Be

ned a

d. I heard his footsteps, bu

is crying!

tsteps

agues, past the whispers that were already curdling into laughter. I wal

vision. The house was dark

. I walked into our bedroom-my bedroom

lly. Clothes. My l

photo on the nightstand. We loo

he home office. I turned it on. Th

ng faces being chewed into confetti was the

ut a sheet of paper. I didn't need

rds at the top:

It felt heavy, like a shackl

n to hammer against the windowpane, matching

dge of the desk, staring ou

the reflection in the glass, "