Years of Marriage, One Ultimate Betrayal

After seven years of marriage, my husband grew tired of our quiet life and took a college student as his mistress.

That fragile, pitiable girl held Alain Roth so completely he didn't come home for an entire month, no matter how I begged.

On our son's third birthday, I came to their villa, holding the feverish child and pleading for him to return. Inside, he stayed lost in passion with her.

Jeff Roth drew his last breath in my arms while their pleasure echoed through the night.

At the funeral, Alain held me and wept, swearing he would return to the family and love only me. I agreed, driven solely by Jeff's dying wish.

Four years later, a video from his old kindergarten surfaced, showing Alain with a radiant Mabel Flores and a three-year-old boy.

The boy smiled brightly at the camera, lifting a trophy high. "Mom, Dad, we're the happiest family in the world!"

My husband, Alain Roth, didn't come home until deep into the night. The moment the lights flicked on, I covered my swollen, tear-stained eyes.

He paused, then walked over. "Still awake?"

A faint scent of baby formula wafted through the air, freezing me in place. It was the exact kind our son, Jeff Roth, had loved.

It was pricey and could only be bought through Alain's connections. So, everyone else already knew he had another son, and they had all helped him hide it from me.

I swallowed the bitter surge in my throat, opened the kindergarten video, and turned the screen toward him. He stiffened, panic flickering in his eyes.

"That is Mabel's child," he stammered. "Her partner abandoned them, so she asked me for help."

He pulled me into his arms, pressing his cheek against my neck. "You know that after Jeff died, I ended things with her."

"Then explain this!" I shoved him away and slapped the birth certificate onto the table.

If I hadn't gone to the police station earlier that day, I would never have found out. On the open page, the relationship column read "father–son" in cold black ink.

As his name suggested, Jonathan Roth was a gift from God to the Roth family. And what did that make my son? Jeff Roth was a name as simple as an afterthought.

After a long silence, Alain exhaled heavily and sank onto the sofa, rubbing his forehead.

"Four years ago, when Jeff passed, I wanted to come back. But Mabel told me she was pregnant," he explained, looking up at me.

My expression was blank, and he continued, "I thought you loved children. Since we'd lost ours, I could let you raise Jonathan and heal yourself. My contact with her was only about the child."

I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. The hatred I had buried for years roared back to life.

He got up and took my hands, looking earnest. "I've truly changed. I never cheated."

I yanked free, grabbed the birth certificate, and tore it into pieces. "I will never forgive the murderer of my son or care for an illegitimate child!"

He froze, stunned by my outburst.

I fought back my tears, my throat tight. "You let that child drink the milk powder Jeff loved, sent him to Jeff's school, and gave him everything Jeff ever had. You don't deserve to be Jeff's father!"

His lips pressed into a thin line, his displeasure evident. "Say whatever you want about me, but Jonathan is innocent."

I bit my lip, feeling exhausted. "Let's get a divorce."

"No!" He grabbed my shirt, desperation flooding his voice. "If you don't want to see them, I'll send them away. We promised Jeff we'd stick together."

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. Alain opened the door, then paused. "What brings you here?"

Mabel Flores stood soaked from the rain, cradling her son. She glanced at me warily. "Jonathan kept begging to see you. I couldn't handle him."

Jonathan Roth reached out to him, whining, "Dad, I want to sleep with you and Mom tonight."