His Secret Son, My Broken Heart

The lie was a physical weight, pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe. I walked into the house, my eyes fixed on the spot where I' d found Alfie' s photo. My mind raced, trying to find some tangible proof, something more.

I walked into Ashton' s study, a room he rarely used, preferring to "work" from the couch. His desk was usually pristine, but today, a small, dusty box sat tucked away in a corner. It looked like a memory box. My heart hammered.

I opened it, my fingers trembling. Inside, old letters, concert tickets, and at the very bottom, a stack of photos. Polaroid shots from years ago. Ashton, younger, carefree. And there she was again. Angela. In almost every single one. Laughing with him on a beach, her head nestled on his shoulder. Kissing him passionately under a waterfall. One photo, in particular, made my stomach clench: Ashton on one knee, holding a simple daisy ring, a look of pure adoration on his face as he gazed up at a beaming Angela.

This wasn't just an ex-girlfriend. This was the ex. The one he loved. The one he never forgot. The one he kept hidden.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my hand. Ashton. A text message. "Missing you, baby. Counting down the hours till I' m home. Can' t wait for our surprise. You'll love it."

The words, once a comfort, now felt like a poisoned dart. He was missing me? He was counting down the hours? While planning a life with another woman, using my money to buy her a ring, and making me raise their son? The hypocrisy was a bitter taste in my mouth.

I took a shaky breath and called Brea. My voice was surprisingly steady as I relayed the new information-the photos, the explicit texts, the jewelry store deposit.

"He's at the Grand Hyatt downtown," Brea said, her voice calm and efficient. "Room 1403. Our network just confirmed it. And guess what? Angela Mcfarland checked in yesterday. Same room."

The last flicker of hope, of denial, extinguished itself. It wasn't a misunderstanding. It wasn't a mistake. It was real.

"I'm going there," I stated, my voice flat.

"Kaylynn, don't," Brea warned. "You need to be smart. Don't let them gaslight you again."

"I need to see it," I said, disconnecting the call before she could argue further.

The drive was a blur. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. The Grand Hyatt, a symbol of luxury and clandestine affairs. My destination.

I walked into the lobby, a ghost among the well-dressed patrons. My eyes scanned the area. Near the large, ornate fountain, under a canopy of fairy lights, stood Ashton. And Angela.

He was on one knee. Not with a simple daisy, but with a glittering diamond ring. The one from the $8,000 deposit. He placed it on Angela's finger. She shrieked with delight, then threw her arms around him, kissing him deeply. A small group of people, Ashton's friends, cheered and applauded. A photographer snapped pictures. It was a perfect, romantic scene. A proposal. For her.

A guttural cry escaped my throat. All the pain, all the betrayal, all the years of blind trust-it ripped through me. I didn't care about being smart. I didn't care about gathering more evidence. I cared about the searing agony in my chest.

I burst forward, my legs moving on their own. "ASHTON!"

His head snapped up. His eyes, usually so composed, widened in pure terror. Angela pulled away, her smile freezing on her face.

"Kaylynn!" Ashton stammered, scrambling to his feet. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, the ring box still in his hand.

"What is this?" my voice shook, barely a whisper. "What are you doing?"

Angela, quick as a viper, stepped forward. "Kaylynn! Oh my god, you're here! This is incredible timing!" Her voice was bubbly, falsely cheerful. "It's all a surprise for your birthday! Ashton was just... rehearsing!"

Rehearsing. The word slapped me. Brea's warning. Angela's words from the mall.

"He was just making sure the ring fit," Angela continued, pulling her hand away from Ashton's. "See? It's too big for me. He wanted to make sure it was perfect for you, Kaylynn. You're so lucky!" She held up her hand, and sure enough, the ring was loose, sliding easily on her slender finger. She smiled, a triumphant, sickening smile.

Ashton, regaining his composure, rushed to my side. "Baby, I told you I had a surprise! This was it! I wanted everything to be perfect for your birthday. Angela was just helping me out, modeling the ring since she has such delicate hands. I was just making sure it would look good on you, my love." He took my hand, sliding the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. "It's for you, Kaylynn. Because I love you. Will you marry me?"

My mind reeled. The ring, the fit, Angela's innocent act, Ashton's earnest eyes. Was it true? Had I misunderstood everything again? Had my paranoia gotten the better of me? The shame washed over me, hot and stinging. I had publicly accused him, created a scene.

"Oh, Ashton," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "I'm so sorry. I... I thought..."

"Shh," he stroked my hair. "It's okay, my love. I know you've been under a lot of stress. But it's all for you. This is just a sneak peek. The real proposal, the big one, will be on your birthday. The reception will be at the house. Just wait."

I looked at him, then at Angela, who was now smiling sweetly at me. My suspicion warred with my desperate need to believe him. He was asking me to marry him. With my money, I thought bitterly. But still, he was asking.

"Yes," I choked out, a sob escaping my lips. "Yes, Ashton, I'll marry you."

He pulled me into a tight embrace, kissing my hair. Over his shoulder, I saw Angela give me a pitying look, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. But I dismissed it. It was too much. I had to believe him. I wanted to believe him. He was going to propose. For real. My birthday. Our future. Everything would be okay. It had to be.