On the Day Our Daughter Died, My Wife Went to See Her Lover

I sat by Emma's bedside all night while Sophie slept on a chair outside.

When Emma woke up, she immediately asked for soup dumplings from the west side of the city and insisted that I go buy them.

I didn't want to leave her side for even a moment and suggested gently, "Why don't you let your mom go? Daddy is worried about you."

The hospital was an hour and a half round trip from the west side; I didn't trust Sophie to take care of Emma alone.

But Emma stubbornly shook her head. "No! I want you to buy them!"

With no other choice, I called Sophie into the room and instructed her to watch over Emma carefully and not leave her side for any reason.

After being beaten by me last night, Sophie seemed more compliant than usual and promised sweetly, "I won't leave her side for a second; just hurry back."

Before leaving, I placed my spare phone in the cabinet. "If anything happens, use this phone to call Daddy."

Emma nodded with wide eyes. "Daddy, hurry! I'm starving!"

I rushed to the parking lot and texted Sophie: [Emma's mood seems off; pay extra attention to her. Don't provoke her—stay close!]

Sophie assured me confidently: [Don't worry; Emma is my daughter too. I care about her.]

But when I returned with the soup dumplings, Emma was missing.

Sophie clutched her left cheek and glared at me angrily. "Kyle, it's not my fault she's missing! What good does hitting me do?"

I kicked toward her stomach in frustration. "I told you not to leave her side! What were you doing when she left the room?"

Sophie glanced nervously at her phone. I opened her call log—she had been on a thirty-minute call with Ethan.

I threw the phone at her face in rage. "If anything happens to Emma, you and Ethan will regret it for the rest of your lives!"

The phone hit Sophie's forehead hard enough to draw blood as I stormed out of the room without looking back.