My Husband Proposed to His Mistress Using My Stolen Son

Chris’s mother tried to smooth things over as well, guilt written all over her face.

“Yes, yes… Tucker never had a father growing up. Maybe he is just exhausted from the trip and talking nonsense in his sleep.”

Melissa’s eyes, however, flashed with open pride and provocation, even though she kept her voice soft and agreeable.

“That is right, Nadine. Tucker only acts this way because he likes Chris so much. He even asked me once if he could make him his godfather.”

“Recognizing a relative is fine,” I said with a smile. “Since that’s the case, why don’t you all head back first? Matty has a neurology appointment tomorrow, and Mom needs to pick up more medication for her leg. You can use the time to get the new place ready.”

At that, some of the tension eased from Chris’s expression.

I, however, found the situation almost ridiculous. He knew exactly what mattered most to me: Matty’s condition and Gemma’s mobility problems.

When Matty was born, the doctors said specialized therapy offered only a one percent chance of recovery. So, for ten years, rain or shine, I carried Matty on my back for miles to the town clinic each week.

Regarding Gemma’s bad leg, I also consulted a doctor. With regular massages and medication, there’s hope for improvement.

So for ten years, without fail, morning and night, I massaged her bad leg for an hour each time. I even learned proper techniques from the doctor.

Carefully, I helped her leg recover from being unable to touch the ground to walking again, and to give Chris enough money to start his business, I sold everything my parents had left me.

Even while keeping our household afloat, I set aside the money from grain sales each month to support him.

When Chris finally returned to the present moment, guilt and a hint of heartache surfaced in his eyes.

“Nadine, the medical facilities in the city are better than the town’s. Let us take Matty there for treatment.”

Before he could finish, Melissa jabbed an elbow sharply into his side.

The rest of his words faded into the sound of insects chirping outside, and he did not attempt to bring the subject up again.

A silent, bitter laugh rose inside me.

“No need,” I said quietly. “Matty and Mom’s conditions are important. I do not feel safe leaving them to anyone else. You all settle into the new home. Once I am done here, I will come find you.”

Chris’s face tightened, as if he still wanted to say something.

But before he could speak, Tucker poked his head out from behind him and shot me a disgusted look.

“There are only three bedrooms,” he complained. “I do not want Dad getting talked about because of someone.”

For this child, who was not mine and hadn't grown up with me, I felt no affection at all, and I knew precisely where his snide comments came from: Melissa had taught him.

If I moved into the new house as Chris’s wife, rumors in the city would explode instantly.

The carefully crafted, devoted-lover image Chris had displayed at his grand wedding would crumble on the spot.

Online harassment would be nothing compared to the fallout he truly feared:

Eldridge Tech Corporation’s stock price is plummeting.

He had clawed his way out of poverty with enormous difficulty. Of course, he did not want to fall back down and never climb out again.

But knowing all of this did not make the sting any less sharp.

My heart felt as if it were being sliced open, layer by layer, with a kitchen knife dipped in lemon juice.

For ten years, I had given Chris everything, heart, soul, and body.

To save more money for him, I wore the same clothes for a decade.

I woke before dawn and slept past midnight, surviving on five hours of rest a day.

At my lowest, I collapsed in the rice fields and vomited blood.

Even when the doctor warned I would die if I kept pushing myself, I never once told Chris I was tired.

I sincerely believed that eventually, all my sacrifices would be rewarded. I imagined him standing before me at a special ceremony, placing a wedding ring on my finger, and gazing at me with steadfast devotion.

But I had forgotten something essential:

Love’s ending is often simply that. An ending.

My throat burned as if it had been soaked in acid, and even breathing hurt.