My Husband Let His Mistress Kill Our Baby

The candles had burned down to stubs by the time I checked my phone again. 10:47 PM. Still nothing.

I stared at the dining table I'd spent three hours preparing—the roasted duck glazed to perfection, the wine breathing in its decanter, the roses arranged just so. Our three-month anniversary. Not a real milestone, I knew that. But I'd wanted to celebrate anyway, wanted to prove to myself that marrying Caden Brooks hadn't been the impulsive mistake my brother Kendrick had warned me about.

My thumb hovered over Caden's contact. I'd already called twice. Pride told me to stop. Desperation won.

"What?" His voice cut through the line, sharp and distracted.

"I made dinner. You said you'd be home by eight."

A pause. Background noise—was that music? Laughter?

"I'm handling family business with Amber. She needed support tonight."

Amber. Always Amber. Caden's sister-in-law, his dead brother Jude's widow. The woman his mother insisted he "look after" because family duty demanded it.

"Caden, it's our—"

"I'll be home when I'm home, Everly."

The line went dead.

I sat there for a long moment, the silence of our penthouse pressing against my eardrums. Then I grabbed my coat and the gift I'd wrapped—a vintage watch I'd hunted down at three different estate sales—and headed for the door. If he wouldn't come home, I'd bring the celebration to him.

The Brooks family estate loomed against the night sky, all Gothic stone and old money. I'd never felt comfortable here, not even during our wedding reception. The place had too many shadows, too many rooms where whispers echoed.

The staff barely met my eyes as I walked through the marble foyer. The housekeeper, Mrs. Chen, actually flinched when she saw me.

"Mrs. Brooks," she said, her voice strained. "Perhaps you should—"

But I was already moving toward the drawing room, following the sound of that laughter I'd heard through the phone. Crystal laughter. Feminine and light.

The door stood slightly ajar. Warm light spilled through the crack.

I pushed it open.

They were on the Persian rug in front of the fireplace. Caden's jacket discarded on a chair. Amber in a silk robe that had slipped off one shoulder. An empty champagne bottle on its side. His hand on her waist. Her fingers in his hair. Their faces so close their breath must have mingled.

The gift box slipped from my hands and hit the floor.

They sprang apart, but not quickly enough. Not nearly quickly enough to unsee what I'd seen.

"Everly—" Caden started.

I grabbed the nearest object—a crystal vase—and hurled it at the wall. It exploded in a shower of glass and water, roses scattering across the hardwood.

"Explain." My voice didn't sound like mine. Too calm. Too cold. "Explain what family business requires you to have your tongue down her throat."

Amber's face crumpled. Actual tears spilled down her cheeks, and I marveled at how quickly she could summon them. "I'm so sorry, Everly. I was just so lonely, and Caden was being kind, and I misread—"

"Shut up." I kept my eyes on my husband. "You. Talk."

Caden's jaw tightened. He stood, adjusting his shirt with sharp, angry movements. "You're being hysterical. Amber is grieving. She needed comfort."

"Comfort." I laughed, and it scraped my throat raw. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"You have no idea what it's like for her," Caden said, his voice rising. "Losing Jude, being alone in this family. You've always been cold to her, Everly. Heartless."

"I'm heartless?" The words came out as a whisper. "I'm heartless because I won't watch my husband play grief counselor with his hands all over another woman?"

Amber sobbed louder. "I never meant—"

"You manipulative snake."

Caden moved so fast I didn't see it coming. His palm connected with my cheek, the crack echoing through the room like a gunshot. My head snapped to the side. Heat bloomed across my face, followed by a sharp, metallic taste.

Blood. I'd bitten my tongue.

The room went silent except for the crackling fire.

"You need to learn some respect," Caden said quietly. His eyes were dark, unfamiliar. This wasn't the man I'd married. Or maybe it was, and I'd just been too blind to see. "Come with me."

His fingers closed around my upper arm, bruising-tight. He dragged me through the hallway, my heels skidding on marble. I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron.

"Caden, stop—"

He shoved open the terrace doors. Winter air slammed into me, stealing my breath. I was wearing a thin cocktail dress, bare arms, no coat.

"You want to throw tantrums?" He pushed me outside. "Cool off."

"Caden, please—"

The glass doors slammed shut. The lock clicked.

I lunged forward, pounding on the glass. "Let me in! Caden!"

He stood there for a moment, his face unreadable in the dim light. Then he reached up and pulled the heavy curtains closed.

The cold bit into my skin immediately. I hammered on the door until my fists ached, screaming until my voice gave out. But the curtains didn't move. No one came.

The temperature dropped. My breath turned to fog. My fingers went numb first, then my toes. I huddled against the door, trying to preserve what little warmth remained in my body.

The night stretched on forever.

Somewhere around dawn, I stopped shivering. That should have scared me, but I was too tired to care. My joints had started to ache, a deep, grinding pain that felt like my bones were freezing from the inside out.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, a maid was screaming. Hands pulled at me. Voices shouted. Someone wrapped me in blankets, but I couldn't feel them.

I couldn't feel anything at all.