While I Bury Mom, He’s Livestreaming with His Mistress

The livestream had been going for nearly five hours.

The chat flooded the screen:

“So jealous—she’s staying in a $7,000-a-month postpartum recovery center and her husband’s right there with her.”

“Living the dream.”

“Manifesting a husband like that!”

Before Steven took over the Grant Family business, he served in the military. He hated being on camera. When I once asked for just a quick selfie, he shut me down cold with a look.

But here he was, smiling for the camera, streaming live with Nellie for all eyes to see.

Nellie beamed at the viewers. “He’s just really sweet and thoughtful~”

Thoughtful? A sharp ache stabbed at my chest as I wiped the corner of my eye, forcing a smile.

Steven was never that man with me.

I remember once begging him to go see a movie with me. It took ages to convince him. He finally said yes. But during that two-hour film? He slept through 90 minutes.

When he woke up, he rubbed his temples like I’d caused him physical pain. “Spending time with you feels like a waste of mine,” he muttered.

Clearly now, he could be patient, even loving—just not with me. With Nellie, he had all the time in the world.

Then my phone rang. Steven must’ve recognized my WeLiveID on the stream.

“You have 30 minutes,” he said. “Come pick up your mom’s things from the postnatal recovery center.”

By the time I arrived, the livestream had ended.

Nellie greeted me with a bright, fake smile. “Lucia! You came to see me?”

I ignored her. Walked straight to Steven and held out my hand. “Give me the box.”

The easy smile faded from his face, jaw tightening. “Nellie spoke to you. Are you deaf now?”

I gave him a thin smile, then turned to Nellie.

“Congrats, Ms. Owen. You bagged my fiancé, had his baby—what’s next? Climbing the ladder with a baby in your arms?”

Crash!

Steven slammed his teacup onto the floor, shards flying. “If you’ve got nothing decent to say, shut up.”

Suddenly, Nellie clutched her stomach, tears hitting the floor.

Steven tensed immediately. “Nel? What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

She bit her lip, eyes turning red as she cried while looking at me. “Lucia… I never meant to come between you and Mr. Grant,” she said.

“It’s just—the doctors told me this might be my only chance to be a mother. I swear, once my recovery’s over, I’ll leave. I won’t cling to him, I promise.” Then she turned toward the bassinet and stared at the sleeping baby.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart… I brought you into this world without a real family. You’ll never have a father around. But Mommy didn’t do this on purpose… Please forgive me…” She broke down in sobs, shaking, like she was shattered to her core.

Steven turned to me, his eyes dark with fury—like I had personally crushed something fragile.

“You happy now? You made her cry. That make you feel good?”

I laughed bitterly. “Are you seriously buying this performance? That was pathetic. The only thing she’s good at is crying on cue.”

My words lit a fire in him. Without a word, Steven ripped off the pocket watch my mother had left me. My heart dropped.

“No—don’t! Please!”

But Steven didn’t stop. He threw it across the room with full force. The watch hit the ground, shattering into pieces.

I stumbled backward in shock, tripping on the sharp corner of the table. Pain exploded through my hip as I hit the floor, gasping in agony.

Steven let out a scoff, “That’s what you get for running your mouth. Get out. And don’t pull this stunt again—no one’s buying your victim act.”

Nellie rushed to play the saint, glancing at me with faux concern. “Lucia, come on… Mr. Grant might really think you faked that fall…”

I gritted my teeth and glared at her coldly.