Faked Death to Destroy Them

I held the phone out with trembling hands, the evidence of Blake's betrayal glowing on the screen. The messages between him and Cassidy—weeks, months of deception—burned into my vision like a brand.

"What are you doing with my phone?" Blake's voice cut through the silence, sharper than I'd ever heard it before.

I couldn't look away from the screen. "She's Cassidy."

The bathroom door opened wider. Steam billowed out behind him as he stepped into the bedroom, water still dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. His eyes flicked to the phone in my hands, then back to my face.

"Does it matter?" he asked, reaching for a towel. His voice was eerily calm, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the collapse of our marriage.

"How long?" My voice cracked. "How long have you been with her?"

Blake shrugged, the gesture so casual it felt like a physical blow. Water droplets slid down his chest as he moved toward the dresser, pulling out fresh clothes.

"Does it matter?" he repeated, stepping into his pants. "Cassidy understands me in ways you never have."

The words hit me like ice water. I pressed one hand to my stomach, where our child—our miracle—grew. "And this baby? Do you even want it?"

Something flickered across his face—not guilt, not remorse, but annoyance. He paused in buttoning his shirt, his fingers stilling over the fabric.

"I did what I had to do," he said finally. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

The words hung between us like a death sentence. What I had thought was a tender moment—the night our child was conceived—had been nothing but another performance. Another lie.

---

I should have left. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to pack my bags and walk away. But where would I go? What would I do?

"He'll change," I whispered to myself in the darkness of our bedroom, one hand resting on my barely-there bump. "Once he sees the baby, once he holds his child..."

I convinced myself that staying was the right choice. For the baby's sake. For our family's sake.

Blake interpreted my decision differently.

The first time he disappeared for an entire evening, I told myself he was working late. The second time, I made excuses about stress and the baby affecting my memory.

By the third time, I couldn't ignore the truth anymore.

"Where were you?" I asked, watching him loosen his tie in the hallway mirror.

"Out," he replied, not meeting my eyes.

I caught it then—the faint trace of jasmine perfume clinging to his collar. Cassidy's signature scent.

"You reek of her," I said, my voice barely audible.

Blake turned, his expression hardening. "You're suffocating me, Madilynn. I need space to breathe."

"Space?" I echoed. "What do you call this? What do you call what we're doing right now?"

His laugh was cold, devoid of humor. "This isn't space. This is obligation."

---

The Dixon family charity gala was in full swing when Cassidy walked in.

She wasn't invited. I knew because I'd checked the guest list three times, hoping against hope that Blake had enough decency to keep her away.

She wore a deep red dress—identical to one I'd pointed out in a magazine weeks earlier, gushing about how beautiful it was.

"Coincidence," Blake had said when I mentioned it later. "Great minds think alike."

Now, watching Cassidy glide into the ballroom, that same dress hugging her curves, I understood it was no coincidence at all.

I stood frozen near the champagne fountain, watching as Blake's eyes found her across the room. Something electric passed between them—something that once belonged to us.

They didn't touch. Not at first. But as the evening progressed, I watched them orbit each other like planets drawn by gravity.

"Would you like some water?" My mother appeared at my side, her voice gentle with concern.

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile.

Across the room, Blake reached for a champagne glass—the same one Cassidy had just set down. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, lingering just a moment too long.

He leaned close to her ear, whispering something that made her throw her head back in genuine laughter. The sound carried across the ballroom—bright, delighted, real.

When was the last time I'd heard Blake laugh like that?

"Madilynn?" My mother's hand touched my arm. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"Just pregnancy hormones," I said automatically, the lie bitter on my tongue.

My mother's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. "Let me know if you need anything."

As she walked away, I caught sight of Blake's hand resting on the small of Cassidy's back—possessive, intimate, undeniable.

And I realized with sickening clarity that I was no longer fighting for my marriage.

I was fighting for my dignity.