Our Child Died for Her Lover’s Son

It wasn’t that I never questioned her—I did. But every time, Rachel met my words with that same cold, scornful expression, a faint smirk curling her lips.

“I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I? The title of the Sinclair family’s son-in-law… even a child. What more is there to fuss about?”

“Ethan, do you know something? The more you demand answers, the more disgusted I feel.”

That was the last time I asked anything of her. After that, I stopped chasing explanations. I stopped asking where she went at night, or who she was with. I turned all my focus to our daughter. I thought if I could just live quietly, peacefully, with her, that would be enough.

Five years of marriage, and Rachel never loved me—nor did she love our child.

Still, I clung to hope. As long as my daughter was with me, life had meaning. It was enough.

But now, even she was gone.

---

The next morning, my in-laws accompanied me to the funeral home. When the time came to push her tiny body into the cremation chamber, my tears fell without restraint. But I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to make a sound.

Beside me, my mother-in-law’s eyes were red, her voice soft with concern.

“Ethan… it’s okay to cry. Let it out.”

I shook my head. My throat was too tight to speak.

My father-in-law stood tall, his face dark with grief and fury. His voice, even when low, carried weight.

“Where is that unfilial girl? On a day like this, how can a mother be missing?”

A flicker of shame crossed my mother-in-law’s face.

“I tried calling Rachel,” she said quietly. “Her phone is off.”

When the staff returned with the urn, my mother-in-law reached for it, her hands trembling. I stepped forward and gently took it from her, clutching it tightly to my chest.

“She’s my daughter,” I said hollowly. “Let me carry her.”

My father-in-law looked like he wanted to protest, but I knelt down before him, holding the urn with both hands.

“Dad… you raised me. Your kindness is greater than a mountain. But this child… she was mine. She’s gone now. Please… let me take her home.”

My voice cracked, but I held back the sobs. My heart had already shattered into too many pieces.

My father-in-law furrowed his brows, clearly torn, but my mother-in-law stepped beside him, resting a hand on his arm.

“Let him, dear,” she said gently. “Ethan is her father. We should respect that.”

I looked up at her with gratitude and stood, walking out of the funeral home with the urn held close to my chest.

I headed back to the house. I wanted to gather my daughter’s things, take all her traces away from that cold place that never truly felt like home.

But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

A man's voice drifted from inside, sickeningly familiar and full of affection:

“Rachel… you’re my lucky star. If it weren’t for you finding that kidney match and staying by my side, I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“I’ll give you everything you want. Everything, Rachel…”

Then came her voice—low, sultry, shameless.

“Your child is my child, too. I would never let Jamie suffer… Luke… my darling Luke…”

A few seconds later, the sounds of their bodies entangled echoed through the walls. It was coming from the master bedroom—our bedroom.

I stood frozen in the hallway, clutching my daughter’s urn, unable to move, my mind reeling. The sounds of their pleasure, their betrayal, filled the space like poison.

I don’t know how long I stood there.

Eventually, the door opened.

Luke walked out first, his shirt half-buttoned, hair disheveled, a smug glint in his eye. He offered a hypocritical smile, trying to feign courtesy.

“Oh… Brother Ethan, when did you get back? Rachel told me you were still at the hospital with your daughter, so she brought me over. Sorry, man… it’s her fault.”

Behind him, Rachel emerged, fully dressed again, slipping her arm around his.

She glanced at me with barely masked contempt.

“Why are you explaining anything to him?” she said coldly. “What right does he have to question what I do?”