The Cat That Exposed His Affair

At the hotel entrance, Joshua leaned against the car door, waiting.

When he saw me, he pushed off and took the bag from my hands. His voice held a rare gentleness.

"Stop being angry. I'm taking you home. I thought about what you said yesterday—Brooklyn has grown up, and it isn't appropriate for her to be at the house all the time. I've already set her up in a rented apartment. She won't come to our home anymore."

While I stood there, stunned, Joshua wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me into the passenger seat.

Seven years of love, five years of marriage. This was the first time he had ever offered an explanation or apology on his own initiative.

My hand drifted to my stomach. I decided to give him one last chance.

"Joshua, I'm pregnant."

"What?" He frowned, distracted.

Before the words could sink in, his phone rang. That sharp, distinctive tone.

He answered immediately. Brooklyn's sobbing voice filled the car.

"Joshua... I was harassed by a man... Please, can you come save me? I'm so scared..."

The color drained from his face. Without a word to me, he wrenched the steering wheel into a sharp U-turn.

The moment we arrived, Brooklyn hurled herself into his arms, trembling violently.

"Joshua, I'm terrified! They bullied me!"

Behind her stood a group of street thugs, sneering and posturing.

Joshua pushed Brooklyn toward me, his voice low. "Watch her."

I grabbed his arm, panic rising. "Can't we just call the police?"

He shoved me away, rolling up his sleeves as he charged toward them.

A dignified CEO brawling with street trash over a young girl? This wasn't the Joshua I knew. Or rather, he had never been this man for me.

Three years ago, when I was nearly violated, he had calmly called the police and ensured the perpetrator received the maximum sentence. He had never lost his composure like this.

"Watch out!"

A scream shattered my thoughts.

Joshua shoved me aside. In the blur of motion, I saw Brooklyn dive in front of him. A wooden club meant for Joshua struck her instead, and she collapsed into his arms, blood trickling down her forehead.

Panic seized him. He scooped her up, his composure completely shattered—roaring in uncontrolled desperation.

"Brooklyn! Why the hell did you take that hit for me?!"

She reached up, touching his face with a weak, tragic smile.

"Because I love you, Joshua. I've loved you since I was sixteen... If Paige wasn't here, would I have been Mrs. Delgado?"

His eyes reddened. He didn't answer with words, but his actions screamed the truth.

"You idiot," he choked out. "I'm taking you to the hospital right now. If anything happens to you, I'll never forgive myself!"

I stood there, a ghost to him. He placed Brooklyn in the car, slammed the door, and drove away, leaving me in the dust.

I turned to leave, but a heavy, sinking ache settled in my womb. Before I could process it, blinding pain exploded at the base of my skull.

Someone had struck me from behind.

As my vision blurred, I heard the leader—the one with the bleached hair—laugh darkly.

"You shouldn't have messed with our Brooklyn, sweetheart."

I tried to run, but my limbs refused. Blood trickled down my neck, warm and sticky. Lower down, another warm stream flowed between my legs.

The pain consumed me, and the world went black.

When I woke, agony radiated from every inch of my body. My clothes were torn, my skin covered in bruises. The tearing pain below told me everything, plunging me into piercing despair.

Flashes of light blinded me. Onlookers held up their phones, photographing my humiliation.

Shivering, I pulled the tatters of my clothes around myself and curled into a ball on the dirty ground. I dialed Joshua's number.

Once. Twice. Again and again.

He hung up every time.

Eventually, I let the phone drop. With the last of my strength, I called emergency services myself.

The hospital corridor passed in a blur of ceiling lights as the gurney rattled toward the operating room.

Through the haze, I saw him. Joshua was standing near a dispenser, filling a cup with hot water.

He turned. When he saw me on the stretcher, battered and broken, his eyes went wide. The cup slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor.

"Paige... I..."

Tears streamed down his face. He reached out, grasping my hand.

Inside, I felt nothing. No anger. No pain. Just silence.

I pulled my hand away and spoke, my voice flat.

"I don't blame you."

Because I don't love you anymore.

I left the second half unsaid.