All Chapters of Love, Lies, and I Do: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

India leaned back in her office chair, the blue light from her laptop screen reflecting off the framed picture on her desk—Sharon, tiny Nelly nestled in her arms, both of them beaming at the camera. The photo had been taken just a few weeks ago, when India was still on maternity leave, and everything felt like it was moving in slow, syrupy time. Now, days rushed by in a blur of emails, video calls, and the persistent ping of her work phone, Nelly’s soft coos replaced by the hum of the office AC.Her phone buzzed, and India snatched it up eagerly. Sharon’s name lit up the screen, and for a moment, India’s heart lifted. But as she opened the message and saw the string of updates—“Nelly rolled over by herself today! And she giggled when I made the monkey face.”—the familiar ache returned. She scrolled down, hoping for a video or at least a photo, but there was nothing.India tapped out a reply: “That’s amazing! I wish I could have seen it. Did you get a video?” The three dots appeared,

Pacing the floor, India finally took a seat before she wore the carpet out under her feet. The city was silent at three in the morning, the world muted and washed out under the pale glow of streetlights. Denver’s cab rolled to a stop outside his house, the tires crunching softly on the driveway gravel. His heart thudded as he stepped out, the night air cool on his skin, mixing with the sticky scent of cologne, spilled whiskey, and a haze of nightclub perfume that still clung to him. The house, usually welcoming, looked shadowed and expectant, the porch light burning steady above the door—a lighthouse guiding him home, or perhaps a spotlight exposing his lateness.He took a breath and opened the door quietly, but the soft creak still echoed in the stillness. The living room was lit by a single lamp in the corner, casting a gentle halo over the couch where India sat, knees hugged to her chest, wrapped in one of Denver’s old college t-shirts. Her hair was messy, her eyes wide and shinin

Denver poked at the grilled salmon on his plate, the low light of the dining room warm on his face. India, across the table, was swirling her wine and watching him with that patient, knowing look she’d perfected over years of marriage. There was a gentle clatter of cutlery in the background and the faint sound of the radio playing a jazz standard. The atmosphere should have been relaxing, but Denver was fidgety, restless. He knew tonight’s conversation was important.“So?” India asked, her lips curling into a half-smile. “You’ve been quiet all evening. What’s on your mind?”He set his fork down and leaned back with a sigh. “It’s the company. Marcus and I… we want to expand, but it’s not as simple as it sounds. I’ve been interviewing potential partners, but no one feels right. Either they’re too flashy, or they don’t have the experience, or the chemistry is off.”India considered this, folding her hands on the table. “What exactly are you looking for in a partner? Like, what skills or

Beth had always believed in the language of flowers. Growing up, her mother would tuck a daisy behind her ear on bright spring mornings or leave a sprig of lavender on her pillow after a hard day. Flowers, to Beth, meant comfort, thoughtfulness—love in full bloom. But when the flowers began arriving at the hospital, she felt none of those things. Instead, she felt the uncomfortable weight of being watched. The first bouquet came on Monday: a dozen deep red roses, so flawless they looked almost artificial, in a glass vase that sparkled beneath the nurses’ station lights. The card bore no message, only her name written in bold, elegant script:“Beth Carter.” By Tuesday, it was white lilies and blue hydrangeas at her apartment door, the arrangement so grand she could barely carry it inside. On Wednesday, a delivery of peonies—her favorite, she realized uneasily—waited in the break room, paired with a box of imported chocolates and a note: “Forgiveness is sweeter than pride. — D.” The

Beth had never understood how people described falling in love as being set on fire until she met Dr. Melvin Carter. With him, it was as if her very soul had been doused in gasoline and lit with a match—every glance, every touch, every word between them sparked something electric. Their romance had unfolded in a whirlwind: late-night conversations that bled into early sunrises, laughter echoing through her tiny apartment, the pure joy of finding someone who seemed to see her, truly see her, and want her all the same. It was so different from being with Dominique, who was always trying to change who she was on the inside and especially on the outside.It was intoxicating, this heat between her and Mel. She’d never felt so alive, so wanted. Mel was brilliant, a little bit eccentric, and wore his heart on his sleeve in the most unexpected moments. He’d show up at her office with a coffee and a shy smile, or leave her notes tucked into her books, the kind that made her blush long after sh