Twins of Deceit

The Truth Beneath the Perfume

Then came Scott's familiar voice. "What else can I do? Ysabel doesn't want to be a housewife, and Colette's job doesn't really matter. She might as well quit and stay home. Taking care of one or two kids makes no difference anyway. Just don't let anything slip, alright? The company I'm working for has business with your department—you won't lose out on this."

The two of them smoked for a long time, their voices fading into clouds of gray. I stood hidden nearby, nausea rising in my throat as my stomach churned violently. The baby must've sensed my distress—it started kicking, restless and uneasy.

Clutching my belly, I staggered step by step back to the hospital room, trembling with fury and panic. Pain began to stab through my abdomen as I thought, 'Scott Camden, your little plan just backfired. I won't carry your child anymore!'

…

On the way home, my mind wouldn't stop spinning. 'If Scott plans to give me that woman's baby to raise, then Ysabel must be close by, and our due dates must be near each other—otherwise, there's no way he could pull this off.'

The thought made my blood run cold. I wrapped my arms around my belly. The baby seemed to sense my heartbreak; it shifted gently inside me, tiny fists pushing against my skin in soft, rhythmic bumps.

Once, that would have filled me with joy—I would have talked to the baby, smiling through tears. But now, all I could think about was how to make Scott pay for what he'd done. I didn't even want this child anymore.

My hand rested over my belly as a storm of conflict raged inside me.

I'd known Scott for six years. When we first met, we were both fresh out of college, rookies just finding our way. Our companies were in the same building, and we saw each other often on the elevator, though we never spoke.

One night, I stayed late at work—it was past nine by the time I finished. By chance, Scott had also worked overtime, and we ended up in the same elevator. Suddenly, the elevator malfunctioned.

Terrified, I clutched his hand in panic. Scott stayed calm, called for help, and tried to comfort me while we waited for rescue.

Afterward, when it was all over, I saw the scratch marks I'd left on his hand and offered to buy him dinner to make it up to him. One thing led to another, and soon we were in love.

I'd thought our marriage had a solid foundation—that Scott was dependable and responsible. He had always been attentive, thoughtful, gentle. I never imagined that behind that facade, he'd been keeping another woman.

Dizzy and numb, I opened Ysabel's profile again and followed the trail through her Facebook page. She wasn't exactly cautious—everything was linked: her WhatsApp, her other social media accounts, all synced and open for anyone to see.

I went through all of it. By the time I finished, I felt sick to my stomach. They'd been together for two years—two years ago, when Scott and I had been trying for a baby.

How could he? How could he be tenderly entwined with another woman while pretending to build a family with me? He'd even lied about his work schedule—told me he worked six days a week when he actually had weekends off, spending every spare moment wrapped up with her.

The more I read, the deader my heart felt. What I'd thought was love returned was just my own delusion.

At that, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

'Scott Camden, you made this mess yourself. And I hope, someday soon, you regret it as much as I do.'

…

When I returned to the hospital room, Scott had composed himself. He was holding a thermos in his hands. "Honey, I made some chicken soup for you. Come have a taste."

He opened the lid. The soup shimmered with a slick of yellow oil and floating bits of parsley. Love fades, I thought bitterly, even in the small things—he'd forgotten I hated parsley.

My stomach turned violently.

I tossed the spoon aside and snapped, "I don't eat parsley! Did you forget? You clearly don't care about me anymore! Scott, you've changed. You're seeing someone else, aren't you? Don't lie to me—you said that perfume was from a client, but that was a lie, wasn't it?"