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Chapter 3

Author: WeeWoo
When I opened the door to our Manhattan home, I stopped cold.

Celeste was sitting on Alexander’s lap.

She was wearing my silk nightgown, the neckline hanging open.

He didn’t push her away.

He kissed her.

Then he looked at me as if I were the one who owed him an explanation.

“You scared her, Claire. The baby’s been kicking nonstop, and she can’t sleep. I brought her here to calm her down.”

I said nothing.

“Her therapist says physical affection between the parents helps settle the baby. I’m doing this to make up for what you did.”

I studied the face I’d loved for years.

For the first time, I could hardly recognize him.

My nails dug into my palms.

“Okay,” I managed.

Then I went upstairs.

The bedroom door was open.

All my La Mer products were gone from the vanity, replaced by cheap maternity skincare. The sheets and curtains were pink, a color I hated.

Our mating portrait was gone, too.

In its place hung a family photograph.

Alexander held a little boy who looked exactly like him. Celeste leaned against his shoulder, one hand on her stomach.

He wasn’t looking at the camera.

He was looking at her.

I stood there, struggling to breathe.

Familiar arms wrapped around me from behind.

Alexander buried his face against my neck.

“Claire, you’ve always been so kind. So understanding. This room gets the best light, and that’s better for Celeste and the baby. You’ll need to use the guest room for now.”

His breath warmed my skin.

“I swear there’s nothing between us. I’m only taking care of her because she’s carrying our child. You’re the one I love.”

He tightened his arms.

“Don’t be jealous, okay?”

Two pregnancies, and he could still say there was nothing between them.

I lowered my eyes.

He sighed.

“If I didn’t have cancer, none of this would be happening. I wouldn’t have to force myself to be with another woman. My baby wouldn’t have to suffer.”

He brushed his lips against my neck.

“You’re the only woman I want to touch.”

A startled cry came from downstairs.

Celeste.

Alexander let go of me and rushed out.

He moved so abruptly that he knocked me into the pointed edge of the door handle.

Pain burst across my forehead.

Blood ran into my eyes.

By the time the bleeding finally slowed, I was dizzy and shaking.

I pushed myself upright.

Through the upstairs window, I saw Alexander standing outside with Celeste tucked against him.

Her eyes were red.

He was ordering the gardener to dig up every rose in the garden.

My Double Delights.

He’d planted them the year I accepted his proposal.

He’d told me they stood for a love that would burn forever.

Like his love for me.

I stumbled downstairs.

Alexander caught my arm before I could reach the garden.

For a second, something like regret crossed his face.

Then Celeste whimpered, and it vanished.

“These useless weeds scratched her finger. They’re coming out.”

I watched the gardener pull up the roses I’d tended for twelve years.

Roots tore free of the soil.

Flowers landed in the mud, crushed beneath boots.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Please, stop!”

I lunged toward them.

Alexander yanked me back.

“That’s enough! She’s pregnant. Do you want her hurt? Do you want something to happen to the baby?”

Tears blurred my vision.

“When did you become so selfish? So vicious?”

He stepped forward and ground one of the uprooted roses beneath his expensive shoe.

“Consider this a warning. Hurt Celeste again, and I won’t go easy on you.”

I stared at him.

He had no idea what he was crushing.

Not flowers.

Twelve years of us.

A sob broke out of me before I could stop it.

His expression softened.

“Claire…”

Before he could reach for me, Celeste lifted her bandaged finger and pressed her other hand to her chest.

Then she sagged into his arms.

“Alex, I can’t breathe. The thorn must have done something. There was so much blood.”

Her voice trembled.

“If Claire wants the roses, put them back. I don’t mind a little pain. She’s your wife.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the mother of my children. No one gets to make you suffer.”

He shouted for someone to call the family doctor.

Celeste shook her head weakly.

“It won’t help. I’ve always been delicate.”

Her eyes shifted toward my throat.

“A spiritual adviser told me there’s only one thing that might help. A blessed cross.”

My hand closed around the pendant at my neck.
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