002 | Tired Of Pretending

“Mummy, does Daddy hate us?" Malakai was just stepping out of his room when those words stopped him cold. A hollow pit gnawed through his stomach. He'd never wanted to be such a terrible father.

"No, honey. Don't say that," Harper said, stroking Summer's hair.

"Then why didn't Daddy come home last night? I even made him presents," Summer asked, her voice laced with both curiosity and a deep sadness. It made Harper's heart ache.

"You can still give it to him today when we get back, baby," she said, pulling in her five-year-old for a hug.

"Summer." They both looked up at the sound of the deep, authoritative voice that had just spoken. Malakai stood by the doorway of their daughter's room, dressed in a crisp black suit. Summer shrank closer to her mother, and he balled his hands into fists, his chest tightening.

What have I done? He thought, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Can you come over here for a second, sweetheart?" he said, and Summer exchanged bewildered glances with her mother before inching towards her father, clutching her pink stuffed dragon to her chest.

Summer was a striking mini version of Malachi, the only difference being that she had inherited her mother's soft grey eyes. Her round eyes held traces of fear and unease, which didn't go unnoticed by her father.

"Are you mad at me?" Malakai asked softly, lowering himself to one knee. She lowered her head, clutching her stuffed toy tighter.

"I'm so sorry, pumpkin. I was so busy, and I had a lot to deal with. Will you forgive me?" He went on to say, and Summer glanced at her mum.

Harper turned towards the window, a tear trailing down her cheek. The scene before her could have been heartwarming if she hadn't seen the text last night.

"Only if you promise to go out with me and Mummy on my birthday," she heard her daughter say, and she squeezed her eyes shut, her hands trembling on her lap.

How could she tell her daughter that their home was on the verge of falling apart?

"I promise. Anywhere you want to go."

Summer's eyes lit up, a big grin on her face. "Really?! Anywhere?!"

Malakai took her hand, smiling at her. His dimples popped out, his eyes shimmering.

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Yay!" Summer piped, hugging him. His heart pounded faster, emotions clogging his throat as he held her tight. He couldn't remember the last time she had hugged him.

She leaned in to whisper in his ear, cupping her hand around her mouth.

"Mummy’s sad. Her eyes are red. Daddy, make her happy," she said and hurried out of the room, smiling widely.

Malakai straightened slowly, staring at the woman before him. His wife. The mere sight of her made his chest burn with frustration and anger. He'd been willing to give her a chance. But all she had done was make his fears come true. How could she so brazenly act like he'd hurt her while she was actively meeting up with other men?

When she turned to look at him, her tired eyes meeting his, he suddenly couldn't get enough air in. Harper was a beautiful woman. In fact, he'd been struck by her overwhelming beauty the first time they'd met in the cathedral. The Reverend Sister, who had taken care of Harper since her adopted parents' death, had been the one to introduce them.

"It's fine. You don't have to apologize for coming late. I'm sure you had more important things to handle," Harper said to her husband, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

She was being different today. Usually, she would have asked for explanations or an apology. But, today, she was just...oddly calm. Had she grown tired of pretending already? He wondered.

She lowered her head, her shoulders slumped. In her formal black dress, she suddenly looked so small. A dash of guilt flooded his heart despite himself. But before he could say anything, a loud voice penetrated the air.

"Malakai!"

It was his mother. Today was the memorial ceremony of Anthony Blackwell, Malakai’s father.

He walked out without a word, meeting his mother along the hallway. Anita Blackwell moved over to hug her son, smiling at him.

She reached out, smoothing a crease in his suit jacket.

"You look tired," Anita said, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "You lost weight too. Are you eating properly?"

Malakai sighed. "Work's been hectic. I skipped a few meals, that's all."

"Hm." Her lips pursed. "You never used to neglect yourself like this."

He didn't respond. He knew better than to argue when his mother slipped into inspection mode.

Footsteps sounded behind them.

Harper emerged from the bedroom, cradling Theo carefully against her shoulder. She paused when she saw Anita, then she inclined her head politely.

"Good morning, Mother," Harper said.

Anita's gaze darted to her in a condescending manner.

"Harper," she replied, her voice lacking warmth. "I trust you're ready. We're already behind schedule."

"Yes," Harper said. "Everything is prepared."

Anita nodded faintly, as though she was acknowledging a servant rather than her daughter-in-law. Her attention immediately returned to Malakai.

"You should ride with me," she said. "We'll go over a few things before the service."

Harper stepped back instinctively. "I'll take the children in the other car," she added, already turning away.

"See that you do," Anita said, her eyes never leaving her son.

Harper had barely turned down the corridor when her mother-in-law spoke again.

"She's not taking care of you."

Malakai stiffened. "Mother—"

"Look at you," Anita continued. "You look run down. A wife's first duty is to ensure that her husband thrives."

Harper pressed herself closer to the wall, her heart hammering.

"I've noticed for a while now," Anita went on. "She doesn't fit into our world. She never has. She has no ambition or connections. And now that you've secured an heir, there's no reason to keep pretending."

Malakai clenched his jaw, uneasy. He desperately wanted to correct her and defend his wife. But with the evidence he’d seen, how could he?

"That woman married above her station," Anita added. "Gold diggers always do. They take what they can and drain the rest. She's already dragging you down socially."

Harper's breath caught in her throat.

"You have a son now," Anita said, her voice firm. "Your legacy is safe. Divorce her before she does more damage."

Malakai ran a hand over his face. “You can’t bring this up around her. I will handle it.”

Fresh tears welled up in Harper's eyes. Now she was convinced that she was truly not needed in her own home.

"She's not good for your future, Malakai."

Harper's fingers trembled around Theo's blanket.

She waited until their footsteps faded before moving again. They were already planning her erasure, unaware that she had never been as disposable as they believed.

When she finally stepped away from the wall, her face was calm.

“Ma’am?”

She lifted her head to find Sierra standing there. Her posture was tense, her hands folded in front of her with her head slightly bent.

“Yes?”

Sierra swallowed hard, hesitant.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

Harper straightened, handing Theo over to the nanny.

“I’ll be back,” she said and started to head for the front door.

Sierra sighed, stroking Theo’s hair. She had a feeling that a storm was approaching. The lady of the house was a very kind woman. She really wanted her to be happy.

Harper opened the front door, and there stood a familiar face. It was the woman from the supermarket!

This time she was wearing an elegant black dress and a matching fascinator, her red lips stretched into a smile.

“Will you please tell Malakai that I’d like to see him?” She said, and Harper blinked at her, expressionless. Deep down, her heart was breaking all over again. Was this the woman her husband would be leaving her for?

“Why are you here?” Harper droned, and the woman handed her a photo, her smile widening.

“I just thought you should know,” she said. “I’m expecting a baby.”

Harper stared at the sonogram photo in her hand, her eyes empty.

“Malakai is the father.” The woman’s voice barely registered in her mind.

All she could think of was how pathetic and foolish she’d been.

“Maddie?” Both women turned at the sound of Malakai’s voice. His gaze snapped to the photo in his wife’s hand, and blood slowly drained from his face.