He glanced at it.
I caught the contact name before the screen dimmed, “My Darling.”
A sharp silence fell between us.
Sheldon stood at once, smoothing his face into practiced calm.
“Urgent meeting,” he said evenly. “I’ll bring back your favorite pastries.”
He ruffled Lizzie’s hair. “Be a strong girl. Protect Mommy.”
“I want to go with Daddy!” Lizzie whined, reaching for him.
Sheldon hesitated, torn for a brief second. “Maybe I should bring her…”
“Go,” I cut in, my voice calm, almost gentle. “Take her. It’ll be easier for me.”
He blinked, surprised, but didn’t argue. He lifted Lizzie into his arms and left.
He didn’t return until nightfall. No pastries. No gifts.
Only voice call—from Stacey. [I’ve submitted everything to the court and will ask them out tomorrow night. You’ll do as promised, right?]
A photo followed, the four of them at dinner, smiling beside a pregnancy test.
Then a video. Lizzie laughed brightly at the camera. “Diego and I will have other siblings, I love my second mommy the most!”
The clip ended.
My hands didn’t shake.
I felt nothing.
The next day, I packed my things and took a taxi to Sheldon’s parents’ home.
I remembered the first time I met them—how anxious they were, how tightly Sheldon’s mother clutched her husband’s hand.
Sheldon’s condition had terrified them. His depression, his fear of people, and his trembling before every meeting.
Back then, his father had sighed heavily.
“If this continues,” he said bitterly, “I’ll have no choice but to hand the company to my nephew.”
He was helpless.
But under my treatment, Sheldon slowly recovered. His parents looked at me as if I were a miracle.
His mother had gripped my hands, eyes reddened. “Thank you.”
His father said hoarsely. “You didn’t just heal my son. You saved my family.”
From then on, they treated me like their own daughter.
They often joked about Sheldon and me.
“She listens, he calms down,” his father laughed once. “Perfect compatibility.”
His mother nodded eagerly. “If you don’t marry her, you’ll never find anyone better.”
When they found out Sheldon proposed to me, they were overjoyed.
His father even drank more than he should have at the celebration, smiling like a relieved man who had finally escaped his worst fear.
Sadly, he died two years ago in a plane crash while on a business trip.
But at least I owe her mother a farewell.
However, when I arrived, my steps faltered. Sheldon’s car was parked outside.
Through the window, I saw Stacey in the living room.
Laughter spilled out—excited, intimate, unmistakably warm.
I stood there, listening.
And understood, I was already the only one missing from their family.
“Mommy, relax,” a woman’s voice chimed brightly. “I’ll give the Carter bloodline many kids within three years. I won’t let this lineage end with me.”
His mother laughed, delighted. “Good girl. That’s all these old people will for. I long to see this house lively again.”
Then her tone softened with pity.
“As for Reba, she’s kind-hearted, but damaging her core while birthing Lizzie was such a tragedy. Thankfully, we still have you. If you carry this child to term, you’ll be the Carter family’s savior.”
The gift bag in my hands suddenly burned.
Inside were the farewell presents I had chosen with care.
Now, all of it felt pointless.
Quietly, I handed the gifts to the housekeeper nearby, swallowing the ache rising in my throat.
I still remembered the night after my wedding ceremony, Sheldon’s mother had clasped my hands tightly. “If Sheldon ever strays, come to me. I’ll tear his ears off myself.”
“No matter what happens, you’ll always be the daughter in law I acknowledge.”
Yet today, I heard her welcoming another woman with genuine warmth.
Sheldon was their blood. I was, at best, a girl who came into their family, an outsider.
I left, took a taxi, and headed straight for the airport.
As the plane prepared for take-off, my phone chimed.
A message from Sheldon. [Don’t forget tonight’s agenda. We’ll celebrate your birthday and our anniversary.]
A link followed. The venue and the time.
Sheldon’s secretary once told me the product would be launched tonight and the brand ambassador was Stacey.
I remembered the first time I saw something strange with Sheldon on our fourth anniversary.
“What happened to your neck?” I asked casually, pointing at the crimson marks along his skin. “Looks like something bit you.”
He stiffened.
The marks still carried the red of a recent heat—clearly left by another woman’s lips.
Sheldon cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Probably night-sting insects,” he said weakly. “You don’t think I’d stray, do you? You know you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
“Is that so?” I replied.
It was a deep winter. Even insects were buried beneath frozen snow.
I didn’t wait for his excuses. I brushed past him and entered the washroom.
He stood there, frozen, his face drained of color.
Moments later, perhaps driven by guilt, he followed me and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.
The mirror reflected us clearly—my distance, his conflict.
He sighed softly. “Can you believe it? Four years of marriage. It feels like a blink. And there are so many seasons ahead of us.”
In my mind, a quiet answer surfaced. ‘Too bad there won’t be another year for us.’
Almost at once, Stacey’s phone call came through. “Hello, Reba. Are you leaving already?”
I steadied my breathing before answering, “Don’t worry, you will get what you want.”
She smiled. “Good, since tonight will be remarkable for us.”
After hanging up the call, I called the organization handling my staged death.
“Sheldon will go to the event tonight with Stacey,” I said calmly. “Prepare the stage near her apartment.”
I paused, voice steady as ice. “Make it convincing.”
The call ended.
I removed the SIM card, snapped it in half, and discarded it.
As airplane mode on, I whispered to myself, “From today on, there will be no Reba Barrett anymore.”
