David Miller looked flustered, too panicked to even answer my question.
Wearing only slippers, he rushed out the door.
Margaret Miller muttered under her breath, “Could Ethan be sick again? I’d better go check.”
Robert Miller, looking uneasy, glanced at me and then followed them out.
Within seconds, the house was empty except for me and my baby.
Ha. Did they really think I was stupid?
Couldn’t I see that the baby next door was David’s child too? Their precious grandson.
I walked back to my room and looked at little Sophie Miller lying on the bed.
My determination to divorce only grew stronger—and I began planning how to make sure he left with nothing.
“Oh, oh, oh, don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
David had never once cared for Sophie at home, yet the way he held and soothed the neighbor’s baby was practiced and tender.
My in-laws hovered nearby, afraid he might drop the child.
But Sophie? Since the day she was born, they had never once held her willingly.
The only time they did was when they wanted to sit on the sofa with Ethan in their arms—so they tossed Sophie aside, nearly dropping her.
That day, I swore I would never let them touch her again.
Then Emily Brooks walked in wearing her pajamas, as casual as if she lived here herself.
She didn’t even bother pretending to be a guest.
She greeted me with a sarcastic little smile,
“Rachel, thank you so much for David’s help these past few days. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”
The way she dragged out the word help made it sound like an announcement.
I caught the meaning easily enough but ignored her.
Emily plopped down on the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and propped her feet up—completely disregarding me, the actual woman of this house.
I glanced at David, then at Robert and Margaret, only to see nothing unusual in their expressions.
Their calmness told me everything: their relationship with Emily had long since grown far too familiar.
And me? I was the fool left in the dark.
If they didn’t love me anymore, why keep me chained to this family?
Emily smirked. “Oh, and of course, thank goodness for your milk. Otherwise, Ethan might’ve been malnourished by now.”
I answered coldly, “It’s all yours.”
She laughed. “That won’t work—what about Sophie?”
Margaret suddenly chimed in, “There’s still plenty of formula in the house. Sophie likes it anyway.”
I almost cursed aloud. Why should my daughter be forced to drink formula while my breast milk was given away?
It was my body’s milk, yet I had no say over it.
Emily looked smug, clearly emboldened by having Margaret as her supporter.
I turned back to David, asking evenly, “Is this what you think too? That Sophie should drink formula?”
“Formula these days is just as good as breast milk,” he replied curtly, his tone leaving no doubt where he stood.
I nodded slowly. “Right. So, my daughter doesn’t deserve it.”
“That’s not what I meant. Ethan’s health is obviously weaker than Sophie’s, so—”
“So which child is really yours?” I cut him off, lowering my voice as I pressed the question.
“What the hell is going on with you today?”
David shoved the baby back into his mother’s arms and glared at me with anger and shame.
Emily quickly stepped in, pretending to soothe us.
“David, Rachel, this is all my fault. Please don’t fight. If it comes to it, Ethan can have formula too.”
“Don’t listen to her. I’m the one who makes the decisions in this family,” David declared.
How ironic.
On the day he proposed, kneeling on one knee, he swore that he would love only me for the rest of his life, never betray me.
He said all matters, big and small, would be mine to decide.
