I came back to the home I'd lived in for three years. Every corner of it I had arranged with my own hands.
The nursery still held the tiny clothes and shoes I'd bought for our baby.
Once, Patrick had held me close, his forehead pressed to mine, his eyes impossibly tender. "Serena, let's have a baby. I want a daughter, as beautiful as you."
He used to rest his hand on my belly and read stories to the baby every single night without fail.
Worried I wouldn't like what the housekeeper cooked, he taught himself to make meals suited for a pregnant woman.
Back then, I believed we would be happy forever.
Now, all of it was ash.
I threw everything connected to Patrick into boxes. I was leaving, and nothing would stay behind.
With every item I cleared away, a memory surfaced. Every movie we watched together. Every trip we took.
But once it all went into the boxes, I could let go. And once I let go, it wouldn't hurt anymore.
Then I called the housekeeper and told her to take it all to the dump. Immediately.
I had just finished when the front door opened.
Patrick's brow creased as he scanned the half-empty rooms. "Why is so much stuff missing?"
I didn't spare him a glance. My voice came out flat and cold.
"It was old. Time to throw it out."
He took my indifference as anger over the incident with June and the sweet soup, nothing more.
He wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin in the curve of my neck.
"Come on, don't be mad. You know how June's been ever since she found out she isn't the Foxes' biological daughter. She's insecure. And you're the real daughter. She has nothing. That's why I..."
Before he could finish, a baby's cry pierced the air from behind him.
Patrick released me. I spun around.
June walked in carrying a child, maybe a year old. The baby's brow and eyes bore an unmistakable resemblance to Patrick.
My blood stopped moving. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.
Patrick's gaze flickered. He shifted June and the child behind him, cleared his throat, and spoke.
"June and I have a child."
Something detonated inside my skull. Cold flooded every inch of my body. My fingertips shook.
"What did you just say?"
Patrick exhaled heavily.
"You can't have children anymore. But the Harding family needs an heir. Besides, you love kids, don't you? From now on, this will be our child."
"He's still too young to be away from June. I brought them here to stay with us. It'll give you two a chance to bond."
The next second, June turned to me with reddened eyes, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm so sorry, Serena. Please don't blame Patrick. It was all my fault. A year ago, someone drugged me. Those men were going to assault me, and Patrick saved me. I never expected to get pregnant. The doctor said my uterine lining is too thin. If I'd terminated, I might never conceive again. I'm sorry..."
My breath locked in my chest. The cold cut straight to the bone.
A year and a half ago, Patrick and I were planning our future. He held me and said, "Just a little longer. Next year, we'll have our baby."
A year and a half ago, on my birthday, he threw a lavish party. He released sky lanterns and presented me with a one-of-a-kind opal diamond ring, swearing he would love only me for the rest of his life.
A year and a half ago, he coaxed me to sleep every night and made love to me.
And while he was doing all of that, he had already fathered a child with June.
Blood surged up my throat. I choked it back down.
"You're both disgusting."
There was a time when June stole from me, slandered me, and Patrick stood up for me every single time.
He even forced June to apologize to my face.
He pursued me for an entire year. Fresh flowers flown in daily. Breakfast made by his own hands. He memorized every little thing I loved and hated.
When he proposed, he knelt before me and cried like a child. He gave me the grandest wedding.
Eight years. From seventeen to twenty-five, I poured every ounce of love and trust I had into him.
And now, barely weeks after I lost our baby, he was moving June and their child into our home.
I laughed until my whole body trembled. Tears ran unchecked down my face.
"Patrick, can you look our child in the eye and say this is fair?"
His gaze darted away. Guilt swelled dark and heavy behind his eyes.
But June's sobbing pulled him back. He sighed.
"Serena, just be good about this."
I wiped my tears. My voice went quiet. Steady.
"Fine. They can stay."
He froze. He hadn't expected me to agree so quickly.
In his mind, I should have fallen apart. Screamed. Thrown things. Made a scene.
I turned and walked away. I had barely reached the foot of the stairs when Patrick's voice carried after me.
"Have the nursery cleared out. The baby will sleep there."
I whipped around, my voice rising before I could stop it.
"On what grounds?"
I had stayed up countless nights for that room. Visited store after store. Arranged every detail with my own hands. Every inch of it held the hope I'd carried for my child.
June immediately lowered her head.
"If Serena doesn't want to, it's fine. We can take the guest room."
Patrick's expression hardened. His voice turned to ice.
"No. Your health is fragile, and the baby is too young. The Harding heir is not sleeping in a guest room."
The housekeeper headed upstairs at once. I ran after her.
I stood there and watched as everything I had prepared for my baby was carried out, piece by piece.
The pain went so deep it turned numb.
