Their Game Was Watching Me Age

He yanked at his tie in frustration.

“That was the past! Who else could I turn to then? You were lying in a hospital bed. Should I have told you how devastated I was? Do you even have a heart?”

“Sophia was helping us both by carrying some of my pain. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Natalie, you’ve become more and more unreasonable.”

I stared at his self-righteous face, my heart sinking further with every word.

So, in his eyes, I was the root of all wrongs.

“Yes, I’m unreasonable.”

I laughed, though tears streamed uncontrollably.

“Then tell me—just how much more of this so-called ‘connection’ do you two share that I don’t know about?”

My words only agitated him further.

“Natalie Evans! Must you twist everything into a fight?”

“Twist?” I wiped my tears away and glared at him.

“Fine. Let’s count—just how much of this home was built on Sophia Reed’s ‘credit’?”

That finally broke his composure. His excuses tumbled out like beans spilling from a bag.

“You want to know? Fine! I’ll tell you!”

“This house? Sophia helped me pick out every detail in the décor! She said she understood my taste better than anyone else, knew exactly what I liked!”

My chest tightened sharply.

I remembered complimenting him back then, and how smugly he’d accepted the praise.

“The first lipstick I ever gave you? Sophia picked that shade! She said your fair skin would look best with it!”

So the first gift I cherished had been tainted from the start.

I clenched my fists, nails biting deep into my palms.

“And even our wedding rings—when I couldn’t decide, it was—”

He froze mid-sentence, realizing too late what he’d admitted.

“Natalie, don’t overthink it. They were just little things.”

“She’s just… just like family.”

He reached out to hold me, but I shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me.”

I backed away step by step.

“Daniel, I used to just suspect.”

“Now I’m certain. You truly disgust me.”

That night, I locked myself in the study, sleepless.

By morning, a thought I’d suppressed for years resurfaced—Daniel’s locked wooden box on top of his bookshelf.

He always said it held memories from his student days, off-limits to me.

I had respected his privacy once. But now, I only wanted to know what secrets lay inside.

I dragged over a stool and pulled the box down.

The lock was simple—I picked it easily with a hairpin.

The lid creaked open.

On top lay an old hospital wristband, the plastic yellowed with age.

Written on it in black marker was my name—Natalie Evans.

Beside it lay a wilted, blackened white lily and a stack of journals.

At the bottom rested a delicate silver bracelet, sized for a newborn baby.

On its pendant was engraved a single word.

—Grace.

My breath caught.

“She’ll be Grace,” Daniel had once whispered in my ear, holding me close.

“Grace, for a safe and peaceful life.”

The name of the child we never got to meet.

All at once, the grief I had buried and forced myself to forget surged like a broken dam, drowning me.

So he had prepared something for that child.

With trembling hands, I lifted the cold bracelet and opened the journal.