"Ella, I’m a father. You don’t have children, so you can’t possibly understand what that means. I can’t just turn my back on them; it’s my responsibility."
After saying that, he rose to his feet, casting me a silent glance before adding, "Ella, I know this is hard for you to accept right now, and that’s okay. Just take your time. I still hope you can come to terms with it. After all, they carry my blood. I can’t abandon them."
With that, he called the relatives and friends outside, leaving me alone on the sofa, slumped in quiet defeat.
I reached for a bottle of liquor, leaned back, and drank in silence.
Moments later, my phone lit up, a message from the private investigator. Photos and videos loaded onto my screen.
A cold chuckle slipped from my lips as I clicked on them.
Ever since the truth surfaced, my mother-in-law and the others had stopped pretending. They openly walked in and out of hotels and amusement parks, no longer caring who saw them. The investigator had caught it all.
There were photos of the five of them dining at a restaurant, of Hayden and Eulalie, playing games with the children, of them escorting the kids to extracurricular classes together, like a perfect little family.
They were just ordinary family photos, yet my eyes burned as if seared by invisible flames.
If my father’s spirit could see this from the afterlife, he would have slapped me across the face and called me a fool.
But he was gone. He had passed away a year ago from late-stage liver cancer.
Before he died, he held my hand tightly, his voice weak yet firm. He told me to live well, not to burden myself with pressure, and that if life became too hard, I could always adopt a child.
I thought I had already cried every tear I had to shed. But, staring at that picture-perfect reunion, my vision blurred once more.
How could he do this to me after everything I had sacrificed for him?
And his mother, how could she?
Even when the furniture factory struggled, I never once cut off her monthly allowance of twenty thousand dollars. She had claimed she needed it for therapy and health supplements, citing anemia and heart problems.
At dawn, I called the relocation team.
“I agree to invest the compensation funds into the financial management fund. I’ll come by later to sign the papers."
By the time Hayden returned, I was already drunk, my face streaked with tears.
He helped me lie down, his touch laced with guilt, wiping my face gently with a warm towel.
The scent of “Mysterious Royal Jelly” cologne clung to him, turning my stomach.
So, he had spent the night with them, and under the roof, I had paid for his mother.
Hayden fed me warm water, cradling my head as he whispered, “I’m sorry” over and over, his breath brushing against my hair.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like I had gone back ten years, back to when my father had stood firmly against us, and we were struggling to survive in a damp basement apartment.
Life had been cruel back then. My father had severed all financial support, vowing that I would never marry a pretty-faced man with no future.
We had survived on cold steamed buns and instant noodles, but back then, Hayden had truly loved me.
He never once complained, never wavered, always by my side as we chased down orders, doing whatever it took to get by.
And whenever we had something decent to eat, he would always save it for me.
I remember a night after one of his performances, someone gave him a chicken drumstick.
He had tucked it into his coat pocket, keeping it hidden for an entire day. Then, when night fell, he pulled it out with a grin, holding it up to me.
"Eat quickly," he had said, his eyes full of warmth.
That night, after I had eaten my fill, he had held me close and wept, blaming himself for dragging me down. His voice trembled as he begged me to leave him behind, to go home and never look back.
Now, I clung to Hayden, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Hayden, let them go, okay? We can still support them financially, but please… don’t see them anymore. Please?"
His entire body tensed. He froze.
Reality struck me like a slap. The haze of alcohol lifted.
I pushed myself up, stepping away from the bed, my lips curling into a bitter smile as I stared at him.
"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why didn’t you come to me when you wanted children?"
I looked at him, my heart splintering under the weight of betrayal.
"Hayden, how could you be so cruel to me?"
The pain clawed at my chest, raw and unbearable. My fist slammed against the glass cabinet. The sound of shattering glass filled the room as shards scattered in every direction. A sharp sting shot through my hand, and crimson drops began trailing down my fingers.
For days, I buried myself in work, handling the relocation of the furniture factory.
That day, just as I concluded negotiations on a merger with Mr. Ashford, my phone rang.
It was Hayden.
