Framed By My Husband's Love

Then Jace returned. Not Jace Bray, my husband. But Jace Bray, Katherine Hull's first love. The man who had abandoned her when she was at her lowest, poorest point.

When he first came back to town, Katherine locked herself in her study for days, emerging with puffy eyes and a distant look. Soon after, she started coming home late, her explanations vague, her phone always just out of my reach.

Annamarie started changing too, slowly, subtly.

I was on a work trip when Jace moved in. I walked into my home after almost a month away, and there he was, sitting on the couch, helping Annamarie with his homework. Annamarie, who rarely smiled, even for me, was laughing. A genuine, uninhibited laugh that twisted my gut. My son, whose legs I had spent years trying to fix just so he could walk without pain, was laughing with Jace.

Everything spiraled after that. Our family, my carefully built world, was shattered by Jace's presence.

I confronted Katherine. We argued, fought like strangers. She denied everything, of course. "There's nothing between us, Elise," she'd say, her voice tight, defensive. "We're married. Why are you so jealous? He's just a colleague, here for work." She claimed Jace was just "helping her with the firm."

Annamarie also drifted away from me. He started to resent my discipline, my attempts to guide him. "Jace never tells me what to do!" he'd whine, his eyes full of accusation. "You're so annoying, Mom!"

Then, the words that cut deeper than any blade. "I wish Jace was my dad," he'd said, his young face contorted with anger. "He buys me everything I want! You never do!"

The shattered glass of the picture frame had cut my finger. A deep, jagged gash. Blood welled up, thick and dark, staining the pristine white of Annamarie's tiny, smiling face. The perfect family, bleeding out on the floor.

That photo was taken on Annamarie's fifth birthday. I still remembered his wish, whispered into my ear as he blew out the candles. "I wish we could be a family forever, Mom. Never change."

A bitter smile twisted my lips. Forever.

I picked up the blood-stained photo, the broken glass still clinging to the edges, and tossed it into the overflowing trash can. It landed with a soft thump, disappearing beneath the detritus of my broken life.

Just then, my phone buzzed. A text message notification flashed on the screen.