ข้าเป็นใคร?...อย่ารู้เลยจะดีกว่า

Holding her swaddled daughter, Lucille Sandwell kept her voice steady, though a hint of hope slipped through. "Gideon, today is our daughter's one-month milestone. Can you come pick us up?"

On the other end, Gideon Prescott's voice remained even and unreadable. "Something came up. I'll have the driver bring you and the baby home."

He was always busy with work. He had missed the birth and her entire first month postpartum. Now the baby was finally a month old, and he still could not make it.

A dull ache spread through Lucille's chest, but she fought back her tears. "All right. I understand."

"Lucy, you've always been independent. I'm sure you can handle something as small as giving birth on your own. Keep it up. You're the best mom." Then Gideon hung up.

His encouraging, managerial tone stung like a needle.

Just then, Howard Quinn, one of Gideon's close friends, called. "Lucy, something came up tonight, so I can't make it to the baby's one-month party at Starcrest Hotel. Sorry about that. Congratulations on your baby boy!"

Lucille froze in confusion. 'The baby's one-month party? Baby boy?'

She was about to ask more, but Howard had already hung up.

A second later, her phone chimed.

Howard sent a photo of a luxury baby gift set with a quick text: "Can't make it to the party tonight. But sent this over for the little guy. Congrats again!"

Less than a minute later, the message and the photo were unsent.

He quickly followed with a voice message apologizing, then flooded her with more than a dozen apologetic stickers. "Sorry, Lucy. I got it wrong. You're not the one who had the baby."

Lucille stared at the string of ingratiating emojis and sensed something beneath them.

A terrible suspicion took shape in her mind.

…

At 11:00 a.m., Lucille arrived on time outside the top banquet hall at Starcrest Hotel in Coasthaven City. She wore a black down coat, with a hat and mask hiding most of her face.

The entrance buzzed with noise and foot traffic. A large baby poster stood by the door. It read: Baby Connor Westbrook's One-month Party.

None of the arriving guests looked familiar.

Lucille let out a breath. Maybe she had frightened herself for nothing.

She turned to leave.

Then a familiar voice sounded behind her. "You're still recovering. Be careful. Let me carry him. I've got a big gift ready for him later."

Lucille stopped cold. She spun around and saw a man a short distance away taking a chubby, fair-skinned baby from a woman's arms.

That man was Gideon, the husband who had all but disappeared for an entire month.

The blood in Lucille's body seemed to freeze. She stared, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Then the woman spoke in a soft, girlish voice. "Giddy, you've been so good to me and baby Connor. You stayed with me through the whole pregnancy, cooked for me, waited outside the delivery room the entire time, and even looked after me every single day while I was recovering. When Otto gets back, he'll be so grateful for everything you've done for us."

"You're my cousin. Otto is my best friend. He's not here, so taking care of you is the least I can do," Gideon claimed.

It felt as if a bullet had torn straight through Lucille's heart.

Lucille stood frozen. Her chest ached so intensely it felt torn open. Cold spread through her from head to toe.

'So for nearly a year, Gideon hadn't been busy with work at all,' Lucille thought bitterly. He had been taking care of his best friend's wife, his own cousin, Rayne Sullivan.

Laughing and chatting, the two of them carried the baby into the banquet hall.

A text came through. Lucille looked down numbly. It was from Gideon.

Gideon: [Keep it up. Be a strong mother. Once I finish my work tonight, I promise I'll be home tomorrow.]

Lucille stared at the message, then thought of how he had warmly and attentively hovered over his cousin moments earlier. The irony struck hard.

Her finger brushed the screen, and older messages scrolled up one after another.

Gideon: [You're already eight months pregnant and still finished the Sage Tower design for Coasthaven on schedule. You really are amazing. You deserve praise.]

Gideon: [Five months already? Pregnancy really seems easy for you. You're nothing like those other women who act delicate. I'm proud of you.]

Gideon: [You move around just fine every day, and you don't even have morning sickness. A heavier workload shouldn't be a problem. Keep it up. I trust your judgment most on the design draft.]

The truth was that Lucille had gone through everything other pregnant women experienced: morning sickness, swollen feet, spikes in blood pressure and blood sugar, and even occasional fainting spells. She had endured it all.

However, Gideon's steady stream of praise and encouragement had kept her going. She had gritted her teeth and pushed through pregnancy and labor, never taking more than two days off at a time.

Deep down, she had questioned it before. He treated her like a subordinate, not a wife. There was none of the tenderness or care a husband should show.

But that had always been their dynamic, and she had grown used to it. He treated everyone that way. At least, that was what she had believed.

That was until now.

She had just watched him carefully take a baby from another woman's arms. She had just heard that low, gentle voice. She had just seen him hold that woman by the waist, steady and attentive, as if afraid she might stumble.

Only then did Lucille finally understand. He did know how to care for someone. The person he cared for simply was not her.

The moment the truth settled in, it felt as if her heart had been torn open. The pain was blinding.

Without realizing it, Lucille began to walk.

She followed the flow of guests into the banquet hall. She needed to see for herself what kind of surprise her husband had prepared for another woman and her child.