I couldn’t take it anymore.
I replied directly under my mother-in-law’s post.
[He’s not my son. His life or death has nothing to do with me.]
She fired back almost instantly.
[You’re heartless! What kind of father are you?]
Then, came the wave.
My inbox flooded with private messages. Hate. Insults. Death threats. Strangers tore into me, calling me a monster. They all told me that I needed to die.
I threw my phone across the room and slumped into the hospital bed, numb. I lit a cigarette with trembling fingers, trying to ground myself in the smoke. But she wouldn’t stop.
My mother-in-law sent a voice message, her voice shrill and accusing as she said, “How can you be so cruel? Did I say anything wrong? The whole company survives because of Eleanor!”
“That child is yours whether you like it or not. It’s only right that you save my grandson! And how dare you mock her?”
“If you hadn’t convinced her not to have kids with you, she wouldn’t have had to go elsewhere! My grandson wouldn’t be sick if not for you! My life is so tragic-”
I couldn’t listen anymore.
Everyone expected me to sacrifice myself for a child that wasn’t even mine. No one ever asked how I felt. Then, through the haze, I saw a hand reach out who offering a plate of full English breakfast.
It was Eleanor. She looked exhausted. She gently took the cigarette from my fingers and put it out. Her voice was soft but tired as she said, “You’re still the same. So stubborn.”
Something inside me cracked.
My mind wandered to the past.
Back when she was pregnant, Eleanor couldn’t eat anything. I had taught myself to make a full English breakfast, hoping to help her stay strong. But the more she ate, the weaker she became.
I remembered the last time she drank wine. It was right before the miscarriage. She hesitated that day. It was as if she wanted to say something. But instead, she hugged me tightly and cried.
“It’s my fault. I couldn’t protect our baby. Don’t blame me, James. There’s only you and me in this life.”
I thought it was just the hormones talking. I even laughed a little and called her foolish for loving me so much. But no. Instead, I was the fool.
Eleanor had no intention of giving birth to my child. She already knew she was going to carry someone else’s. That look in her eyes back then meant something else.
It wasn’t sadness. Rather, it was guilt. I had loved this woman for twenty years. And I never truly knew her.
I thought to myself, ‘Why, Eleanor? Why didn’t you talk to me?’
‘My parents just wanted a grandchild. In fact, they never doubted your abilities.’
Again and again, I told myself, ‘We could’ve had a second, even a third. Was I nothing more than a stepping stone for your family’s rise? Not even good enough to leave an heir behind?’
My hands shook. Rage bubbled up.
I knocked the plate of full English breakfast from her hands.
My voice was as cold as ice as I told her, “Eleanor, just wait. You’ll go mad in a week.”
She looked stunned, but she quickly followed up by asking, “James, what are you doing?”
And then, someone else walked in. It was a thin, well-dressed man who rushed over and started cleaning the mess.
“Don’t be angry, Eleanor. Maybe the soup I made didn’t suit James’ taste.”
I froze. The food wasn’t even for me. She hadn’t come to visit me. Actually, she brought her lover to show him off.
Thomas Evergreen.
He was handsome, even in his weariness. It seemed that he looked tired from taking care of their sick son. I looked at the reflection in the window.
I wasn’t young anymore. The man staring back at me looked tired, worn down by years of loyalty and betrayal. Eleanor didn’t even notice my silence.
Her whole focus was on Thomas.
When Eleanor saw that Thomas had burned his hand, she rushed to him, frantic with concern. She held his hand, checking it carefully like it was the most important thing in the world. Thomas pulled away, clearly embarrassed. He looked over at me, then back at Eleanor.
His voice was gentle as he said, “Eleanor, I’m fine. James has been through a lot. His health should come first.”
