Six Years of Sexless Marriage, My Devout Husband's Hidden Family

Kierra's POV

But then, out of nowhere, Francis came downstairs into my home and found me.

He just walked straight up, his eyes unreadable, closing the distance like he’d already made up his mind.

Then he backed me up against the wall, leaned in close, and said, “Will you marry me?”

It was the heaviest snowfall Brookfield City had seen in years. I’d always hated winter—hated the biting cold, the way snow muffled everything like a silencer over grief.

But in the six years that followed, I found myself longing for that night.

Not because it was beautiful. Not because it was still.

But it was the last time I let myself believe in something impossible.

That maybe Francis Weston had truly seen me, or that the man I had loved in silence for a decade had finally looked back.

And for a breath and a second, maybe he would feel something too.

But dreams are delicate things. And fantasies? They don’t survive the freeze.

Mine didn’t.

They cracked beneath the weight of reality.

And when they shattered, all that remained was the truth. Stripped of all illusions, the world revealed itself for what it really was.

Cold. Blunt. Unforgiving.

...

The private detective slid the surveillance footage and evidence across my desk.

“Miss Kierra, you were right. Based on everything we gathered from Silverstone City, it was indeed Francis’s doing. Would you like to call the police?”

I gripped the photo tightly.

Percy had not suddenly disappeared.

It wasn’t an accident.

Francis orchestrated everything. He had gone to Silverstone City to watch a magic show because Francis had instructed him to go with the driver.

And my sweet, innocent boy obeyed. He believed in his father and didn’t know he was being led to his death. Until Percy was thrown into the desert of Silverstone, starved to death, and then pecked by vultures.

My poor baby, Percy, who never doubted his father, whom he revered, and didn’t realize that his father only wanted to kill him.

“Call the police. I want to report this," I said through my clenched teeth.

I had all the evidence. I was going to hand it over myself. But before I could even move, Francis came back with two kids in tow.

Ella, the five-year-old girl, and Noah, the three-year-old boy.

“Kierra,” Francis began, his tone almost too rehearsed, “I know you’ve been through the pain of losing a child. I couldn’t handle it either, so I took the liberty of adopting two children. They have no parents. They’re very well-behaved and... look a lot like Percy.”

Before I could respond, Francis crouched down, guiding the children.

“Ella, Noah,” he said gently, “call her ‘Mommy.’”

I froze, staring at them. My eyes scanned their faces with forced calm.

Their features were so similar to Francis’s that it was like they were cut from the same mold. Anyone who saw them would immediately know who their father was.

And yet, Francis still treated me like I was blind.

“Why adopt children now?” I asked, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “Percy just passed, and I don’t have the energy to take care of them.”

Francis blinked, taken aback for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve hired nannies and tutors for them.”

He tried again, this time coaxing them to call me 'Mommy.'

Ella, the older girl, hesitated, then reluctantly mumbled, “Mommy.”

But Noah, the younger one, crossed his arms and scowled.

“I don’t want to,” he said stubbornly. “She’s not my mommy.”

Ella, in a moment of childhood sweetness, hugged Francis’s leg. “Daddy, I miss Mommy. Can you take Noah and me to find her? Please?”

A flicker of panic flashed in Francis’s eyes, but he quickly masked it, his voice shaky as he tried to explain.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he said, his tone too casual. “I often visit the orphanage with the temple, give them snacks, and pray for them. The children call me ‘Dad’ sometimes.”

He was trying so hard to make me think it was normal, but his actions and words told a different story.

I looked at Ella’s face—the one that looked so much like Natasha’s—and my heart broke. If I were to be honest with myself, I’d already started connecting the dots.

If I went by the timeline, Ella would’ve been born the same year Francis and I got married. No wonder he had always found excuses to leave, to travel far away, to pray in distant places.

The truth was simple.

Francis loved Natasha.

He had always loved her. He longed to be with her and their children.

I should just let them be together.

I nodded slowly, as calm as I could muster. “I won’t overthink it. You’ve always been clear about wanting a sexless marriage, haven’t you? As for these two kids... do as you see fit.”

I turned and walked away, back to my room, my feet heavy as I moved. The door shut quietly behind me, but I still heard the sigh of relief escape Francis’s lips.

And just like that, he started openly playing with the two children in front of me.