My Husband Killied Five Children to Save His Mistress, He Regretted it.

Over the next few days I split my time between preparing to leave and going through the paperwork my family had sent.

I should have left immediately, but I wanted to bring my five lost children home with me.

Because they were late-term losses, each child had been cremated; the tiny urns were at the cemetery and — according to procedure — wouldn’t be released until six days later. I didn’t want to risk doing anything that might draw Liam’s attention. My trial period would end in a few days; nothing could go wrong in that time.

I put the signed revocation agreement into the safe.

Then I took out a glass jar filled with ashes. When Liam courted me he once wrote me ninety-nine love letters — I burned them all, and the ashes just filled that jar.

I pulled our photos from the treasured album and set them on fire too.

I would erase every trace of myself from this house.

The flames roared, then slowly died down, just like our love. With every handful of ash I added, my disappointment grew heavier. When the jar was full, it meant my disappointment was full too.

When Liam came home he walked into the study and caught sight of the smoke. The smell of burning filled the house; it was impossible not to notice. He frowned. “What are you burning?” he asked.

I turned to block his view and said lightly, “Just some waste paper.”

His frown deepened. He glimpsed small fragments — they looked like photos — and took a step forward to see.

Panic flared inside me; I was about to invent a story to avoid explanations when a woman’s weak sobbing came from outside the door.

Liam bolted from the room.

Before I could gather myself, he rushed back in, grabbed my hand and shoved me against the table. His palm pushed into the still-warm ash pile; the heat made me flinch. My hip struck the corner of the table — a sharp, spreading pain bloomed across my lower back.

I tried to lift my head. Liam’s eyes were bloodshot, hungrily furious. He squeezed my wrist until my knuckles went white. “Tell me! Did you drug Vanessa?!” he demanded.

Pain stole my breath; my wrist felt like it would snap. “What are you talking about? I’ve never even met her!” I gasped.

“Never met her?” He shoved me to the floor. I hit the cold tile hard; the table leg knocked into my lower back and the world swam black at the edges. He glared down at me, disgust in every syllable. “She started bleeding this morning — almost had a miscarriage. Someone gave her an abortifacient. Who else could it be besides you? You’re jealous that she’s pregnant and you want to ruin her!”

“Jealous?” I pushed myself up on my elbows; hot tears slid down my face, not from the pain but because his words were knives. “Liam, do you forget our five children? You know what it’s like to lose a child. How could I ever hurt a pregnant woman?”

“Don’t you dare bring up those children!” he snapped, kicking a chair so it clattered over. “If you hadn’t been sick, those kids wouldn’t have died! Now you see Vanessa might be carrying my child and you’re jealous — you want to destroy her, right?”

“I didn’t!” I shouted, chest heaving. “Have you even seen her prenatal record? Are you sure she’s pregnant? She hasn’t had one proper check-up. What proof do you have that this is your child?”

At that moment, footsteps came to the doorway. Vanessa stood there, clutching her belly, pale, red-rimmed eyes pleading. She rushed to Liam, grabbing his arm. “Liam, don’t be angry. Maybe it was my fault — I must have been careless. It’s not my sister’s doing…”

“Not her doing?” Liam immediately softened and shielded Vanessa with his body, holding her waist like a sacred thing, but his glare cut back to me like a blade. “Look how kind Vanessa is — she still speaks up for you! And you? All you do is spread jealousy and sabotage. What else are you good for?”

I watched Vanessa’s eyes peeking from behind Liam. There was no panic there — only a faint, almost imperceptible triumph. Suddenly the pieces clicked: she wasn’t pregnant at all. This whole thing was her trap.

“Vanessa,” I said, stepping forward and pinning her with my gaze, each word deliberate, “are you willing to go to the hospital with me right now for a check? Let’s see if you’re actually pregnant.”

Vanessa’s face changed in an instant. She clutched Liam’s shirt and sobbed, voice breaking, “Sister, how can you force me? I just had a miscarriage; I’m still weak…”

“Weak?” I let out a cold laugh and pushed myself to stand, the back of my hand pressed to my bruising hip. Pain made me wince. “If you were truly pregnant and had just miscarried, why won’t you go to the hospital? Liam, wake up. She’s lying to you.”

But Liam believed I was trying to corner Vanessa. He scooped her up into his arms and turned toward the door. At the threshold he paused and, with his back to me, said, “Consider this a warning: from now on you are not to come within a foot of Vanessa. If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you.”

I watched their retreating figures and felt a bitter, absurd amusement. Five years of my love, given away to the dog.