Husband's Lies, Mistress's Son

oice echoed through the phone. "That means no external contact, no public appearances, for the durati

t was a frantic drum against my ribs. "Isolation is precis

thing. Just pack your essentials. A new life awaits." His words, meant

a memory, a ghost. The crystal vase he bought me for our first anniversary. The custom-made piano in the living room, a gift aft

e shackles. Symbols of a lie. Each object, once che

e into jagged pieces. The crystal vase followed, shattering on the polished marble floor, its shards reflecting my distorted image. The piano. Oh, the pi

le of trash bags. The remnants of our shared life, now just refuse. I dragged the bags to the cur

Clothes that were mine, not chosen to impress him. I called a discreet shipping

me home that nig

t cheerful. He smelled of a cloying, sickly sweet perfume that wasn't mine.

mured, his arm snaking ar

like a burning brand. The perfume, thick and heavy,

brow furrowed with a practic

anaged, my voice

y," he said, opening it to reveal a glittering diamond pendant. "A l

er the dim light. It meant nothing. I stared

y. Is it... us?" He pulled me closer, his eyes searching m

barely a whisper, but it cut through the silence lik

Elenora, we've talked about this," he began, the familiar script rolling off his tongue. "M

arin's toxic words echoing in my mind.

glanced at the screen, and his eyes widened. "Damn it," he mutt

, my voice laced with a bitter

lfway out the door. "I'll call you,

al on the side table. His second phone. The one he used

ge. Fro

ng for you. He misses his Dad

. It wasn't just a separate life. It was a complete, agonizingly re

fog of betrayal. Had I felt sick lately? A little lightheaded?

come home that

the house. I drove to a small, nondescript clinic on the outskirts of to

punch to the gut. "Congratulations, Ms. Dawson," she

ready for. The child he had just last night, for the hundred