While Our Daughter Needed Him, He Chose His Mistress

"I've already explained that Laura’s pregnancy with my child was an accident. You’re just jealous of her, stirring up trouble for no reason." Patrick’s voice grew cold. "Now, Laura’s child is gone because of you, and you feel no guilt. Today, you even took your daughter to take over the amusement park that belongs to Laura."

"I didn’t have anything to do with Laura. How her child was lost is none of my concern." I replied icily, "I’m tired of saying this. Believe it or not."

"You can argue all you want," Patrick sneered. "You’ve been using the child to compete for my favor, challenging my limits. You’re not fit to be Audrey’s mother. I’ll give Audrey to Laura to raise—let her be her mother instead."

Without another word, I turned and started heading upstairs.

Patrick grabbed my arm, his eyes filled with a mixture of coldness and mockery.

"If you don’t want to give Audrey to her, I’ll compensate Laura with a child of her own, but don’t disturb her again."

"Do whatever you want," I answered flatly.

A flicker of doubt crossed his face before he sneered.

"If you’re really so reasonable, then come over here and tear off the Smurfs for us, hand over the wet wipes, and wash Laura’s underwear by hand. She has delicate skin, so it’s your responsibility."

The foul-smelling cloth and Smurfs hit me in the face. A sharp edge from the tin foil scraped my cheek, drawing blood. The disgust was overwhelming, but I refused to engage any longer.

I tossed the underwear aside, tore off the Smurfs, and threw them at him.

"Can you let me go now?"

Patrick studied me, seemingly confused. Laura, still draped over him, squirmed and hummed at the sight.

I ignored the two of them as they made their sounds behind me and walked upstairs.

In the quiet of my room, I began folding my daughter’s clothes, taking out the album I had made for her. As I flipped through the pages, tears welled up, blurring my vision. Her bright, innocent smile in the photos made it feel like she was still with me.

Just yesterday, she had been beside me, cheerfully saying, "Mom, don’t be sad. Dad’s too busy with work to spend time with us."

"Dad’s work is too hard. Audrey doesn’t want Dad to spend my birthday with me. I just wish he could rest for a day."

I sobbed as I held onto the clothes that still smelled of her. My daughter had been so understanding, so considerate of her father, and yet that man had sent her to her death on her birthday.

I gathered my things, contacted a lawyer, and made plans to leave.

As I descended the stairs, I found Patrick and Laura in the kitchen, disheveled and unbothered. The flush on Laura’s face hadn’t even faded.

"Miss Lucia, Patrick is just trying to make up for the harm you’ve caused. Please don’t blame him, and don’t teach the children to do such bad things. What if they grow up to be like you?"

She went on, her tone dripping with insincerity. "I heard today is Audrey’s birthday. I’m so sorry. But today is also the 5,200th anniversary of my first meeting with Patrick. He promised to celebrate every anniversary with me, so he left you and Audrey."

Her apology was a thin veil for her boasting. She added, "I made a mango-flavored cake to apologize. I hope you’ll accept it."

I had no interest in her false sympathy. All I wanted was to bury my daughter in peace.

Patrick, seeing me leave without a word, assumed I was upset about Laura. He grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved me against the kitchen counter.

"Lucia, have you lost all your manners? Laura is kind-hearted and doesn’t hold anything against you or your daughter. Why are you acting so high and mighty now?"