All Chapters of Mrs. Hunt for 30 days: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

ChloeI woke up to sunlight streaming through the bedroom curtains and the satisfying knowledge that everything was finally falling into place. I made my way downstairs to the dining room where breakfast was already laid out on the table.“You are dressed so nicely today, unlike yourself last month,” I told Jason.“Oh please, Chloe, you suck at compliments. All you could say is, ‘You look good, love. You look good, husband.’ Gosh,” he replied.“Compliments? Who’s complimenting you? Last I checked, we were in a loveless marriage, Jason. We…”I was reaching for the coffee pot when my phone rang."Who could be bothering me this early?" I muttered, glancing at the screen.Diana's name flashed across it and I smiled immediately. I answered the call."Good morning," I greeted."Chloe," Diana stated without preamble. "Dorian is dead."My hand froze halfway to my cup."Dorian is dead?" I repeated slowly.Jason looked up sharply from where he had been scrolling through his phone at the other e

MitchelleThe obstetrics clinic attached to the private hospital was warm and quietly busy, a stark contrast to the cold empty house I had been sleeping in for weeks. I checked in at the front desk and took a seat among other women at various stages of pregnancy, some alone like me, some with partners beside them.I filled out the registration forms carefully, using my real name but the Geneva address Danika had arranged. When the nurse finally called me back, I followed her into a bright examination room that smelled of antiseptic and something faintly floral.Dr. Beaumont was a gentle woman in her early fifties with kind eyes and a soft manner that immediately put me at ease."First prenatal visit?" she asked, reviewing my forms."Yes," I confirmed."And how far along do you believe you are?""About three months," I replied.She nodded and began the examination, checking my blood pressure, my weight, asking careful questions about my medical history. When she moved to the ultrasound

MitchelleThe documents Elena had sent over were spread across my laptop screen in seventeen separate tabs, contracts, quarterly projections, client proposals, partnership agreements that needed my signature and review before end of business.I had been at it since returning from the hospital with nothing but a cold smoothie and determination keeping me functional.I was halfway through a particularly dense partnership agreement when my phone rang.Danika.I almost let it ring… Almost."Danika, I can't talk right now," I answered immediately. "Elena sent me a mountain of paperwork and I'm completely drowning in it.""This is important," Danika replied, as her voice vibrated with barely contained excitement.Something in her tone made me pause."What is it?" I asked carefully."Close your laptop," Danika instructed.I hesitated, staring at the open tabs, then shut it slowly."Chelley," Danika began, I could hear the smile breaking through every word. "Dariel, or whatever his name actua

MitchelleRosa set her fork down slowly, studying my face with concern."Is there a problem, dear?" she asked carefully.My throat had closed completely. I stared at the table, unable to form a single coherent word for several seconds."That's my mother's name," I finally whispered.Rosa went very still across the table."I beg your pardon?" she breathed."Louisa Martin," I repeated, with my voice barely audible even to myself. "That was my mother's name. She passed away many years ago."Rosa's hand moved slowly to her mouth."Do you have an image?" I asked, looking up at her directly. "Of the person Melyn was looking for. Do you have a photograph?"Rosa didn't speak immediately. She simply pushed back her chair and stood, gesturing for me to follow her.I followed her down a narrow corridor lined with more family photographs until she stopped at a closed door and pushed it open gently. Melyn's room was simple and neat, a small bed with a pale blue cover, a desk by the window, shelves

ChloeIt was finally the day of the funeral. The cemetery was cold and grey and perfectly suited to the occasion, which was the only thing about this entire day that felt honest.I stood in the front row beside Jason in my black dress and matching veil, my expression arranged carefully into the particular blend of sorrow and dignified composure that the occasion demanded. Around us the gathered mourners, business associates, distant family members, social acquaintances who had read about Dorian's death in the papers, all wore variations of the same expression. Grief as performance. The city's elite were exceptionally good at it.Jason stood to my left with his hands clasped in front of him and his jaw set. Whatever he was feeling about Dorian's death appeared to be genuine, which was inconvenient and faintly irritating. His eyes had been red since morning and he had been quiet in the car in a way that was different from his usual sullen silence. This was actual grief and it sat on hi