3: 3
"What successful man doesn't keep more than one woman?"
"You should have made your peace with that a long time ago."
"What's with the sour face? Who's it for?"
I stopped walking and said nothing for a few seconds.
Then I turned and nodded.
"You're right, Mom."
"A father who raised a son like Abner really is a success."
"So of course he's entitled to two dance-class partners on the side."
I pulled out my phone and sent her the photos of her husband and his partner checking into a motel.
"I was going to handle this kind of family shame quietly."
"But I didn't realize you were so open-minded about it."
"Tomorrow I'll bring both of those dancing ladies home. A full house makes for a livelier family."
With that, I went back to my room and locked the door.
A moment later, her shrill wailing came through the door.
Then the sounds of the two of them tearing into each other.
A knife only teaches you what pain is when it's buried in your own flesh.
If I couldn't have peace, then no one would.
I leaned back against the door, rested my hand on my belly, and spoke softly.
"Don't be afraid, baby."
"Just hold on one more day."
That night, I didn't go to bed early.
I knew Abner.
And I knew exactly how a mistress with no legal standing would go about protecting her interests.
Sure enough, by eleven he couldn't sit still.
He came into the room looking wrecked and lay down beside me out of habit.
I wasn't naive enough to think he still loved me.
He was just in a bad mood.
"Celine, you don't hate me?"
After ten minutes of lying there, Abner asked, testing the water.
I shook my head and offered him false comfort.
"You can't take all the blame for something like this."
"I have a forceful personality. Part of it's my fault too."
My fault for trusting my feelings too much.
My fault for being blind and misjudging a person.
And besides.
Hate is just an extension of love. Once the love is gone, there's nothing left to hate.
In a few hours, Abner would be a handful of ash.
To me, he had become a lottery ticket, half scratched.
All I had to do was wait for the time to come and claim the prize.
No one holds a grudge against money.
In the dark, Abner reached for my hand and held it.
"Celine, if only you'd seen it this way sooner."
"We never would have ended up like this."
"My mom was harsh earlier. Don't take it to heart. She's got a sharp tongue, but she doesn't mean any harm."
I said nothing.
He edged closer.
"Bianca says that since she doesn't have a title, she wants some security."
"She wants me to draw up a will now and leave everything to the child."
"Celine, you won't object, will you?"
"You're already the rightful Mrs. Gilbert. Bianca has nothing."
In the quiet dark, he couldn't see the contempt on my face.
Mrs. Gilbert. What was that title even worth.
"Draw it up if you want to."
"Whatever you do, I'll back you."
"A written record isn't a bad idea, actually. Otherwise your father could go father a few more sons out there and carve up your estate."
I pretended to go along with Abner, got straight out of bed, and drafted a will template for him.
His father's affair was supposed to be my leverage to talk Abner into making a will.
But someone else was even more impatient than I was.
When it came to naming the heir, I left myself a little something.
I wrote that only a direct child of Abner's, confirmed by paternity test, could inherit the entire estate.
Abner suspected nothing. After he signed, his eyes even went red with emotion.
He pulled me into his arms and said,
"Celine, with a wife like this, what more could a man want?"
I stared, numb, and found the whole thing absurd.
When I offered him my whole heart, Abner called me insane.
The moment I offered him a fake one, he decided I was the perfect wife.
That night was the first time in four years that Abner chose to spend the night beside me.
He didn't leave my room until dawn, and even then reluctantly.
On his way out, it was as though his conscience had suddenly stirred.
"Celine, I have a business trip today."
"When I get back, I'll move Bianca into a postpartum care center."
"Once she's had the baby, I'll bring the child here for you to raise."
"After that, I'll do my best to keep her out of your sight."
I played along on the surface, even squeezed out two tears.
A pity that there was no "after that" anymore.
The moment Abner was out the door, I sent the will to my lawyer to be notarized.
He fired back a string of one-minute voice messages.
"Normally you'd only be entitled to two-thirds of Mr. Gilbert's estate, with the remaining third going to his parents."
"But now, with this will that leaves the heir vaguely defined,"
"as long as the mistress can't prove the child is Mr. Gilbert's, you and your child will legally inherit everything."
"If that's what you want, his relatives won't see a single cent."
I pulled myself together, and the first thing I did was list the villa with an agent at well below market price.
By noon that same day, a buyer had put down the full amount and taken it.
I'd just settled on a time for the viewing when I got the call from the emergency center.
"Ms. Delgado, your husband was in a car accident on the highway. The vehicle caught fire, and the flames were too fierce. There's nothing left of him but a handful of ashes."
"Would it be convenient for you to come in and handle the paperwork to claim the body?"
