Seven Years, A Secret Family

I took a bullet for my husband, Colt, a decorated Delta Force operator. The injury left me barren, but he swore I was all he ever needed.

Seven years later, I found him in a restaurant with another woman and a six-year-old boy who looked just like him. The boy called him "Dada."

My world shattered when I learned his family, his friends, and even my own father knew about his secret life. They all watched as he paraded his mistress, Chelsey, and their son, Jemal, in front of me. He even admitted I was just a "means to an end" for his family's legacy.

When Jemal went missing, Chelsey accused me of kidnapping him. Colt believed her. He locked me in our cellar for three days, a punishment for a crime I didn't commit. "He's not a bastard!" Colt roared when I questioned if the boy was even his. "He's my son! My blood!"

But his eyes darted away, filled with uncertainty.

As I stumbled out of the cellar, bruised and broken, my best friend arrived. "The divorce papers are filed, Em," she whispered fiercely. "It's done." I looked back at Colt, standing stunned on the porch. His empire of lies was crumbling, and I was finally free.

Chapter 1

Emerson POV:

The world went silent around me the moment I saw him. Not the Colt I knew, the one who kissed me goodbye just a few days ago, his uniform sharp, his eyes full of promises. This Colt was different. He was laughing, a deep, easy laugh I hadn't heard in years, as he hoisted a small boy onto his shoulders.

The boy, no older than six, giggled, his hands tangled in Colt's perfectly styled hair. He looked just like Colt. Same unruly dark hair, same mischievous sparkle in his eyes. My stomach churned.

"Dada, faster!" the boy squealed, bouncing on Colt's shoulders.

Dada.

The word ripped through me, a dull, heavy blow to the chest. It echoed in the elegant restaurant, though I knew no one else heard it but me. My husband, Captain Colt Patrick, decorated Delta Force operator, holding another woman's child, a child who called him "Dada."

My vision blurred. I watched them, a perfect, cozy tableau. Colt, effortlessly charming, leaned down to kiss the boy's forehead. A woman, slender and pretty, sat across from them, her hand resting casually on Colt's arm. It was a familiar gesture, one I used to make.

She smiled at him, a possessive, intimate smile. His eyes met hers, and in that fleeting glance, I saw a tenderness that had slowly faded from our own interactions. My breath caught in my throat.

The boy shifted, looking right at me. His eyes, Colt's eyes, were wide and curious. He tilted his head, a mirror image of the man who was supposed to be my husband, my life.

For six years. He' d kept this secret for six years. Each annual "training exercise" was a lie. Each heartfelt call, each declaration of love, a performance. I felt a cold wave of nausea wash over me.

Six years ago, I lay in a hospital bed, the sterile white sheets a stark contrast to the dust and blood of Afghanistan. I' d taken a bullet for Colt, shielded him with my own body during a botched extraction. The doctors saved me, but they couldn't save my ability to carry a child. My womb, once a symbol of future hope, was a barren wasteland.

"My Emerson," he' d whispered, his voice thick with tears, kneeling by my bedside. "My brave, beautiful Emerson. You are all I need. Always." He swore he didn' t care about heirs, about legacy. He only cared about me.

Those words, so sweet then, now tasted like ash. They were a bitter, cruel joke.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. My head throbbed. I felt dizzy, the fancy restaurant spinning around me. I needed air. I needed to escape.

I stumbled out of the restaurant, the cold night air doing little to clear my head. My legs felt like jelly, each step a monumental effort. I just needed to get away, anywhere.

Then I crashed right into her.

"Emerson! Goodness, watch where you' re going!" Bernice' s voice, sharp and familiar, cut through the fog.

My best friend since childhood, Bernice Holloway, stood before me, her fiery red hair a beacon in the dim streetlights. Her eyes, usually full of warmth, narrowed with concern as she took in my appearance.

"Em, what' s wrong? You look like you' ve seen a ghost." She reached out, her hand gently touching my arm. Her touch was a lifeline.

My throat was too tight to speak. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down my face. I shook my head, unable to form words.

"Talk to me, Em. What happened?" Her voice was softer now, laced with genuine worry.

I choked back a sob. "Colt… he has a son, Bernice. A little boy. He' s six." The words tore through me, ragged and raw.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Colt. A picture of him, smiling, against a generic military backdrop, with a text: "Thinking of my beautiful wife. Miss you, love. Almost done here. Be home soon."

I stared at the screen, the image mocking me. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the pavement. A fresh wave of tears, fueled by a searing rage, washed over me.

"He's been lying to me, Bernice. All this time. Every 'training exercise.' Every 'miss you' message." The words were a whisper, laced with venom.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall, slow and heavy, just like the tears blurring my vision. The sky cracked open, unleashing a torrential downpour, mirroring the storm raging inside me. The world was crying with me.

The Patricks. Colt' s old-money family. They always wanted an heir, a continuation of their prestigious name. I had heard the whispers, the veiled questions about children. But Colt always dismissed them, shielded me from their expectations. Or so I thought. Was this his way of appeasing them?

I remembered our childhood, running through the fields behind his family estate, his hand always finding mine. He was my protector, my confidant. He swore he' d never let anyone hurt me.

When his family all but disowned him for choosing me, a general' s daughter but not old money, he fought for us. He stood up to his formidable mother, threatened to resign his commission, to cut ties completely. He chose me. Everyone saw it. Our wedding was a testament to his fierce love, a victory against all odds.

All of it a lie. A cruel, elaborate lie. My heart was not just broken; it was annihilated.

My phone rang again. Colt' s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it, a mixture of dread and cold fury swirling inside me.

I picked it up, forcing my voice to be steady. "Hello?"

"Emerson? Baby, what' s wrong? You sound… distant. Is everything okay?" His voice, usually so comforting, now grated on my nerves. It was laced with feigned concern.

"Just… a bit under the weather," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "Caught a chill, maybe."

"A chill? Damn it, I told you to stay warm. Are you alone? I can be there in a few hours, just need to wrap things up here." The concern in his voice was so convincing, so practiced. It made my stomach clench.

"No, no, don' t bother," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Bernice is here. She' s taking care of me."

There was a moment of silence on his end. Then, a soft chuckle. "Good. Tell Bernice I said thanks. I' ll call you later, love. Get some rest."

"You too," I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

Just as I was about to hang up, I heard a faint, high-pitched voice in the background. "Who was that, Daddy?"

And then, Colt' s hushed reply, so tender it punched the air out of my lungs: "Just… a colleague, sweet pea. Go back to sleep."

The line went dead.

My hand started trembling uncontrollably, the phone suddenly too heavy to hold. I felt a cold dread seep into my bones, colder than the rain. Colleagues? Sweet pea? The words replayed in my mind, each one a hammer blow. My colleague? My sweet pea?

I refused to think about it. I couldn't. I smashed the phone against the wall, the plastic casing shattering into pieces.

Then I screamed, a raw, primal sound ripped from the deepest part of my soul. I crumpled to the wet pavement, my body racked with sobs. It wasn' t just a secret; it was a chosen life. He hadn't been forced; he' d compartmentalized, enjoyed both.

Bernice was by my side in an instant, pulling me into a fierce hug. "Oh, Em. My poor, poor Em." Her voice was laced with an anger that mirrored my own. "He' s a monster. You deserve so much more."

Through my tears, a single thought solidified in my mind. This wasn't just heartbreak. This was war. And I was going to win.