Chapter 3

Nine years ago, Diana had finally found the courage to say what she had been carrying in her chest for years.

She stood alone in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her palms were damp. Her heart beat fast, not from fear, but from excitement.

She smiled, then laughed quietly at herself, pressing her fingers to her lips to calm down.

“Henry,” she whispered, testing the sound of his name the way one tested a fragile thing. “I’ve had feelings for you for so long.”

She paused, blushing at her own boldness.

“I—”

Before she could finish rehearsing, the door flew open.

Henry stumbled in.

His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes unfocused. He looked disheveled, like someone who had lost control of the evening. The strong smell of alcohol filled the space almost immediately.

“Then help me,” he muttered weakly.

Diana barely had time to react before he reached for her. His hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her towards him. Their bodies collided, close and sudden. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Henry—” she started.

He didn’t let her finish.

His lips found her neck, hot and urgent, kissing and pressing as though he had been starved. Her back hit the wall lightly. Her thoughts scattered. She could feel the alcohol on him, sharp and unmistakable, but it didn’t matter. Not then.

Not with the way her heart was racing, not with the years of quiet longing finally exploding in that moment.

She hesitated. Just for a second.

This was not how she had planned it. She had imagined a calm confession, a gentle conversation, maybe even rejection. Not this. Not his hands moving with need, not his mouth finding hers, not her body responding before her mind could catch up.

His kisses moved from her neck to her lips. His hand slid lower, pulling her closer, leaving no space between them. Her resistance weakened. Her thoughts blurred.

She surrendered.

That night changed everything.

After that night, months later when they found out she was pregnant for him, they got married. She married the love of her life.

The memory of her wedding day still lived vividly in her mind, bright and painful all at once. Diana had stood at the altar, her heart swelling, and her hands trembling with happiness.

She held her bouquet tightly, afraid that if she let go of anything, the moment might disappear.

Her other hand rested around Henry’s shoulder. She leaned into him, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. She felt chosen. She felt lucky. She felt certain that life had finally rewarded her patience.

They were pronounced husband and wife before family, friends, and strangers who smiled and clapped for them.

Then Henry bent close to her ear.

“Don’t think drugging me and trapping me with a baby makes you my wife,” he’d said quietly.

The world tilted.

The smile on her face faded slowly, like light being drained from a room. Her body stiffened. She searched his face, hoping it was a cruel joke, a misunderstanding she could laugh off later.

“You’re just another gold digger,” he added.

Before she could speak, before she could even breathe properly, he shoved her hand off his shoulder and walked away from her. He didn’t look back. He didn’t care about the shocked gasps from the guests, or the way the atmosphere shifted uncomfortably.

Diana stood there, frozen.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t cry.

She hadn’t drugged him. She had never planned to trap him. But the truth no longer mattered. The man she loved had already decided who she was.

The bouquet slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. She didn’t notice.

Barely nine months later, Diana lay on a hospital bed, her body wracked with pain. Sweat covered her forehead. Her hands clenched the sheets as waves of agony tore through her.

A short distance away, the doctor stood with Henry.

“Mr. Golding,” the doctor said carefully, “your wife and baby are in critical condition.”

Diana heard everything. Every word. Even through the pain, she heard.

“We need you to decide,” the doctor continued. “Save the mother or the—”

“The baby,” Henry said flatly.

The words came without hesitation.

“That’s all I care about. Save the baby.”

The doctor flinched, his body shifting slightly in shock. He glanced from Henry to Diana, who lay there crying, her face twisted in pain and fear.

After the operation, Diana survived.

But survival came with its own punishment.

“Your daughter is premature and very fragile,” the doctor explained later.

Diana lay weak on the bed, holding her baby carefully in one arm. She looked down at the tiny face, love flooding her chest despite everything.

Henry stood beside the bed, his eyes hard.

“Look how weak she is,” he said with disgust.

The doctor ignored him. “She will always need to be on a strict diet for her health.”

Henry’s eyes snapped back to Diana. “This is all your fault!” he yelled.

Every word cut deeply.

From that day, Diana buried herself in duty.

She put her promising career as a senior researcher on hold and focused on becoming the perfect Mrs. Golding. She learned. She adjusted. She sacrificed. She became everything the house needed.

She cooked carefully. She studied nutrition. She monitored meals. She paid attention to every detail of Selena’s health.

One morning, when Selena was four, Diana prepared oatmeal, carefully measured and warm. She placed it on the table with a gentle smile.

Selena frowned immediately.

“Oatmeal?” she shouted angrily. “I want French fries!”

Before Diana could respond, Selena grabbed the bowl and flung it across the room. It shattered loudly. Oatmeal splattered across the floor.

Henry stood nearby.

He said nothing.

He picked up his jacket and walked away.

Diana cleaned the mess quietly.

She gave it her all. Everything she had. Her time. Her energy. Her dreams. Her silence.

But where was hers?

Her own happiness?

Didn’t she matter too?

Didn’t she deserve to be loved without begging for it?

Today, many years later, nothing had changed.

The same coldness. The same dismissal.

Earlier, while the three were still upstairs, Diana had made a call to her lawyer. He had come quietly, handed her a file, and left without drawing attention. Henry, Lauren, and Selena were upstairs then, laughing.

Now they were back in the living room.

Diana still stood there, one hand covering the other to stop the bleeding.

“Lena,” Lauren said cheerfully while helping Selena into her coat, “that restaurant we’re going to has those French fries you love.”

“Yes!” Selena replied excitedly. She looked up at Lauren with shining eyes. “Miss Lauren, I want you to be my Mommy.”

That was it.

The final blow.

“My husband doesn’t love me,” Diana whispered inside herself as tears filled her eyes. “My child doesn’t want me.”

Henry helped Lauren adjust her coat. They smiled at each other.

Diana wiped her tears slowly. She took a deep breath.

“I have no reason to stay home anymore,” she whispered.

As they moved towards the door, Diana picked up the file from the table and walked towards Henry.

“Henry.”

He stopped and turned.

“Sign this.” She stretched the file to him.