In Bed With Another Woman After Our Daughter's Funeral

Even if I need sleeping pills just to fall asleep each night, I’ve held onto my resolve not to mention divorce again.

My child was the only reason I stayed in the Sinclair family.

But now, he has destroyed even that final thread of hope with his own hands.

After I calmed down, my mother-in-law took me home.

She gently urged me to wash up, rest, and try not to think about anything else.

So I did, as she said, she said—showered, changed, and prepared to sleep.

But when I stepped out of the bathroom, I froze.

Ethan was sitting on the edge of my bed, his face cold and filled with contempt.

“I didn’t expect you to go this far, Hannah,” he said, sneering. “Even using my mother to make me come back? I really underestimated you.”

I knew he was referring to what his mother had said to him.

In the past, I might’ve screamed, argued, or broken down like a madwoman.

Even though he always looked at me like I was mentally unstable, like I disgusted him.

But now, I no longer have the strength to care.

To him, Lily’s death wasn’t a tragedy—it was a relief.

He didn’t mourn her; he felt freed by her absence.

I ignored him completely and walked to the bed, pulling back the quilt.

I never expected that, the moment I touched it, he would suddenly press me down, grabbing my wrist with force.

My body stiffened, heart racing. I started to struggle. “Ethan, let me go!”

He chuckled coldly. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Why pretend now?”

His eyes were devoid of warmth—only cold ridicule lingered in them.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and bit my shoulder.

As he got closer, a faint scent of jasmine drifted toward me.

It wasn’t mine.

It was someone else’s perfume—another woman’s.

Pain seared my shoulder, but worse was the wave of nausea that rose from my chest.

The scent, the force, the humiliation—it was overwhelming.

“Ethan, stop! Let me go!” I cried, struggling harder, pushing him away.

But the more I resisted, the more excited he seemed.

When I felt him begin to tug at my nightgown, my whole body trembled.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted the alarm clock on the bedside table.

In that moment of desperation, I grabbed it, gritted my teeth, and hurled it at him.

It hit his forehead squarely.

He staggered back with a groan of pain.

Clutching the alarm clock in my hand like a weapon, I screamed, voice shaking with fear and fury, “Get out! Get out!”

In the dim light, his expression darkened even further.

His entire presence radiated hostility—something dangerous and suffocating.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “But remember—you’re the one who said this. Don’t come crying to my mom tomorrow saying I didn’t fulfill my ‘husbandly duties.’”

He dragged out the word “husband,” dripping with mockery, like a cruel reminder of how I ended up with him in the first place.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to speak.

He sneered again and finally left.

Only after he was gone did I begin to breathe normally again.

But the tears wouldn’t stop.

They slipped down silently, one after another.

Lily…

Mommy misses you so much.

I cried quietly, remembering her sweet smile, her laugh, her tiny hands wrapped around my fingers.

The next morning, I got up and began packing Lily’s things.

There were so many little dresses she never even got to wear.

Some still had the tags on.

Most were expensive, gifts from my mother-in-law.

It felt wrong to keep them.

So I decided to donate them to children in remote, underprivileged mountain areas—in Lily’s name.

Not long after, I received a message from Jessica—Ethan’s first love.

She sent a photo of a B-ultrasound and wrote:

“You couldn’t keep A Nian even with a child. Now I’m pregnant with his baby too. What do you think, Hannah? If I ask him to divorce you, will he say yes right away?”

I stared at the message for a long time.

My heart, surprisingly, felt nothing.