Chapter 2
“No kidding–handsome dad, gorgeous mom. No wonder Henry’s such a cute kid himself.”
“Honestly, that family of three is enough to make anyone jealous.”
Scrolling through those comments, Jessica felt nothing anymore. The emotions that once would have stung her heart had faded into numbness. What lingered was only a dull ache for the woman she used to be–a woman who gave everything without reservation. Her eyes stung, tears pricking at the corners, threatening to spill
over.
A sharp pain twisted in her abdomen, and cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
Mabel, the housekeeper, noticed something was wrong and hurried over. “Ma’am, are you feeling alright? Should I take you to the hospital?“>
Jessica shook her head and quickly typed a message on her phone: “I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit.”8
“Are you sure?”
Jessica nodded and tried to give a reassuring smile.
She got up, poured herself a glass of water, and slipped into the bedroom. From her bag, she took out the medication the doctor had prescribed for conservative treatment and swallowed a few pills as instructed.§
Setting the glass aside, she glanced up at the wedding photo hanging on the wall–a blown–up image from their marriage registration. She had wanted to take proper wedding portraits for their new home, but Timothy had refused, claiming he disliked having his picture taken. If she really wanted a wedding photo, he’d said, she could just enlarge the registration photo. So, after seven years of marriage, that single, formal snapshot was the only photo of them together.
Jonight, Timothy had taken dozens of pictures with Sheila.R
It wasn’t that he hated the camera, Jessica realized. He just didn’t want photos with her. For seven years, she’d clung to that fragile, transparent lie.2
But not anymore. Tonight, she would tear away this paper–thin illusion and tell Timothy she wanted a divorce.
It was past ten when the sound of a car engine drifted in from outside.
A few minutes later, Mabel called out, “Ma’am, sir and young’master are home.”
Jessica’s lashes fluttered as she left the bedroom, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. As for her diagnosis, she had no intention of telling Timothy about the cancer. Even if she did, he probably wouldn’t care–and she had no desire to invite that kind of pity.
sire to in
Timothy entered first, rolling two suitcases behind him, his steps measured and graceful. His tailored suit hugged his slender frame, the silvery fabric catching the light with a cold sheen. He lifted his chin slightly, his deep–set eyes scanning the room until they landed on Jessica.3
She looked beautiful tonight. The pale gold blouse flattered her fair skin, and he realized how often he’d missed her gentle presence while traveling for work.
Timothy’s usually sharp features softened as he regarded her, his gaze steady and inscrutable. His voice was calm, almost gentle. “We have a guest. Will you arrange the guest room?“%
Behind him, Sheila stepped quietly into the foyer.
In her arms, their son Henry slept soundly, his small face nestled against Sheila’s shoulder.
Timothy had brought Sheila home. Bold as you please.\
Jessica stood frozen in place. Mabel, sensing the tension, didn’t dare move.”
Sheila reached out, lightly tugging Timothy’s sleeve. “Timothy, you’re married. Your wife is here. It wouldn’t be right for me to stay. I was just dropping Henry off–l have a room at the hotel.”
Jessica’s brow furrowed. The way Sheila spoke–as if she’d stayed here before.
Sheila shifted Henry in her arms and turned to Jessica. “Jessica, come take Henry, will you?”
Jessica blinked in surprise. Sheila knew her name. Awkwardly, she reached out her arms to take her son..
But Henry stirred, blinking sleepily, and clung tighter to Sheila’s neck.
“Miss Sheila, you promised you’d tell me a bedtime story tonight.”
“Henry, you’re home now. Your mom can tell you one. I have to go.“”
Sheila’s voice was gentle, patient.
But Henry only held her closer. “Don’t go, Miss Sheila? Please? My mom just puts stories on her phone for me. When I talk to her, it’s like talking to myself. It’s no fun. I can’t even tell my friends… she’s…”
The word “mute” hovered on his lips, but he swallowed it back, feeling uneasy about calling his mother that.
School events would always need parents to attend, and lately Henry had tried every way he could think of to get closer to Sheila. “It was great you went with Dad to the parent–child event at school today. My friends all thought you were my mom. They were so jealous.“}]
When he was little, he hadn’t cared; he’d depended on Jessica for everything. But as he’d grown, he’d started to complain about her silence. Only today did Jessica realize just how much it bothered Henry that she couldn’t speak.
Of course. He was growing up. He wanted to fit in.
Jessica drew back her outstretched arms, her hands awkwardly hanging in the air before she slowly lowered them. She signed with steady hands, her fingers spelling out the question she needed answered.
“Who is she?”
