“Stop it!” I shouted, startling the builder Andreas had hired. “Who told you to destroy this room?”
He replied calmly, “We’re just following Ms. Logan’s instructions, Ma’am. Please don’t get in the way.”
“Get in the way? This is my house, and this is my baby’s room! You’re the ones in the way—get out!”
The noise brought Andreas and Belinda over.
Seeing me breaking down, Andreas hugged me from behind—the same way he used to comfort me after every miscarriage.
“Hey, calm down,” he murmured. “I know you’re still hurting, but we’ll have another. Maybe it won’t come from your womb, but the result is the same, right? The baby will still be ours.”
I looked up at him, stunned.
Even after everything, his warmth wasn’t for me. It was for her—and for their child.
“Is that what you’re thinking, Andreas?” I asked quietly, my voice trembling. “That I’m just sad because I can’t conceive? That I should be grateful you found another woman to do it for me?”
He reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “Of course. That’s the main problem we’ve had all along, right?”
“Main problem?” I repeated, my voice breaking.
He nodded earnestly, as if he were saying something noble. “Yes. You’ve been depressed because you can’t get pregnant, and I just want to fix that. So…”
He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Why don’t we just trust Belinda? She’s your best friend, and I know she’ll do her best for our baby, to make you happy.”
I pointed at the faded wall hanging we had painted together and shouted, “You think letting her redecorate this nursery makes me happy? Don’t you remember how long I’ve waited for our child in this room?”
Without the slightest shame, he replied, “Selena, it’s just a nursery. The decorations are outdated anyway. What’s wrong with Belinda wanting to update it?”
He went on, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “She’s carrying our child. She has the right to contribute to our baby’s future.”
“I want you both to support each other. Wouldn’t it be great to raise a child together?”
I slapped him, unable to bear another word.
He froze in shock, but before he could react, Belinda slapped me back.
“Andre has done everything for you! How can you repay him like this, Selena?!”
I knew if Belinda pretended to be nice and defended Andreas. But he took it as something precious until he spat, “I’ve been patient for five years with your inability to give me children. From our first to our last, all of them were your fault!”
“You couldn’t even take care of your own body. So don’t be surprised if I entrust my child to another woman!”
Tears blurred my vision, since what he said was true.
My first miscarriage happened on set — the day I filmed my first role beside him. I slipped during a scene, and the baby was gone before I even realized it.
The second loss came while I was filming a short drama. The doctor said I was overworked, so I quit acting for a while to recover, determined to bring another life into the world.
And I did. For a moment, I believed it was a miracle. But that, too, was taken from me — after a minor car accident at an intersection.
I survived. The baby didn’t.
But every time it happened, Andreas always calmed me down, saying everything would be alright.
Until that day, finally I knew his tenderness had been fake. In the end, he still blamed me for losing our children.
The thought was sickening me, and I rushed to the bathroom. Nothing came out since I hadn’t eaten anything.
I reflexively held my stomach, not from pain, but from wondering what would happen next.
I was pregnant again—but not with the child Andreas had been waiting for. Now that Belinda carried his “future,” would this baby even have a place in his life?
I knew it would not.
So, I picked up my phone, called the hospital, not to confirm the pregnancy check-up—I called to end it.
I refused to bring a new life into a world ruled by a man who had already destroyed mine.
Right after the call, a message popped up. It was from Belinda. [You ruined your own marriage, bestie. Don’t blame me if he feels more comfortable with me.]
A second later, another message appeared, a photo.
Andreas was sleeping on her chest, her hand stroking his hair, a smug smile on her face.
My fingers moved on their own as I forwarded the photo, along with every piece of evidence I had collected to Neil.
[I think just leaving Andreas won’t satisfy me. Help me investigate their relationship and make sure it’s all included in the divorce papers.]
Neil replied almost instantly. [Wow! In just a day, you’ve turned into the best spy in the world. Don’t worry, anyone who messes with you is the same as messing with the Sullivans.]
Yes, Sullivans were my family. The most powerful in Europe.
And yet I had walked away from all of that just to chase a man who would one day betray me.
How naïve I've been all this time.
Exiting the restroom, the maid stepped in quietly.
“Ma’am,” she said softly, “Mr. McMillan asked if you could make the chicken soup you always cook for breakfast.”
I said flatly, “You know the recipe, just make it for him. I’m not in the mood to cook.”
She hesitated. “Mr. McMillan said it should be you, because…”
I turned to her, my voice low and sharp. “Because what?”
Her eyes flickered nervously. “Because Miss Logan is craving it right now.”
“You mean I should cook for that bitch? No way even in eternity!”
At that moment, my mother-in-law stormed in. “What? After failing to give me a grandchild, you won’t even obey your husband’s orders now? How long will you keep ignoring your duties, Selena?!”
I froze, staring at her — the woman I had always tried to please.
Seeing Andreas bring her here told me everything. He wanted to break me down completely, to make me surrender.
But it did not matter anymore, I already intended to leave this hell.
“Until Belinda aborts the baby in her belly?” I replied coldly.
A loud slap echoed through the room.
“Don’t you dare touch my grandchild! For someone who can’t conceive on your own, you are so shameless.”
“Now go cook the soup,” she ordered, grabbing my wrist and dragging me to the kitchen.
I stumbled and hit the edge of the table, clutching my stomach instinctively.
She noticed and sneered. “The one who’s pregnant is Belinda, not you. Stop touching that barren belly of yours like it’s worth something. Useless daughter-in-law.”
Then she turned away, returning to the living room — where she sat comfortably with Belinda, feeding her fruit as though she were the queen of the house.
I pressed my trembling hand against my belly. It seemed my intuition was right. Even if this baby survived, it would live in the shadow of Belinda’s.
I then took a deep breath and moved my hand, thinking that it was the last thing I would give them before destroying their lives.
But as I stirred the pot, Belinda waltzed into the kitchen.
