His Mistress Ate My Strawberries

Two months after our daughter passed away, Henrik Kim’s mistress gave birth to a baby girl. He rented the most extravagant ballroom for a lavish celebration of the child's one-month birthday and made me the event planner: “Elora is sensitive, so ensure all sharp objects are out of sight.”

The mistress cradled her baby, smiling at me. “Elaine, don't you think little Elora resembles your daughter?”

I didn’t attend the birthday party. Henrik didn’t know that the heir from a well-known London family, whom I once turned down for him, had returned to propose. And I accepted.

When we found out the child was a boy, Henrik couldn’t stop smiling. He had a mountain of baby clothes and supplies delivered. Eventually, he bought the estate next door and moved Jessie Coleman in. He hired twenty staff members just to cater to her.

Over dinner, I offhandedly mentioned these expenses, and Henrik inexplicably threw his plate. “Elaine Ortiz, Jessie is pregnant with a boy. We need to be careful.”

“You’re just managing the accounts. The money comes from my account. Not a penny is from you.”

I paused, my fork suspended mid-air, unsure which of my words had incited his anger. Little Kai, sitting next to me, slowly stopped swinging her legs. She asked quietly, “Are you two fighting?”

I quickly set down my fork. “No, sweetheart. Daddy and I are just talking.”

Henrik bent down to pick up the plate, trying hard to smile. Kai believed him. She resumed swinging her legs, her face brightening with a smile. “Daddy, I really want some strawberries.”

“Sure, I’ll have them delivered in a few days,” Henrik promised, making her eyes gleam with happiness.

After dinner, Kai went to her room for a nap, and Henrik resumed his serious demeanor. “Elaine, Jessie is living next door so I can visit her easily, not for you to cause trouble.”

I glanced at the stains on the tablecloth. Jessie had sent her housekeeper over yesterday, saying she fancied my tablecloth and wanted to swap them. But Henrik saw this as me deliberately causing strife. Just like now, I had done nothing, yet I was accused of stirring up trouble.

I let out a soft laugh. “Alright, I get it.”

Henrik frowned, assuming I was being moody. “Be reasonable. I’m different from you. You have no parents, no pressure from the previous generation; you are free.”

“But I am the sole heir to the Kim family. I must have a son to carry on the family name.”

I felt like a stone was lodged in my throat as I looked at him in disbelief. What does he mean, I’m free? My parents died when I was five, and the Kim family took me in until I was twenty, at which point I married him. After marriage, I was forced to take medication and undergo treatments to stimulate ovulation. Finally, I got pregnant but had a daughter.

My in-laws wanted me to have a son, but due to the excessive medication and treatments, my uterus was damaged, and I could never conceive again. Since Kai’s birth, I have been someone the Kim family disregarded. I wasn’t allowed to attend family events with Kai, appear in media, interfere with Henrik’s affairs, or have any social media presence to protect the family image.

I was like a caged bird in the Kim family, not even comparable to Jessie’s treasured canary. Yet, he said I’m free?

Before I could question him, Henrik’s phone rang. He smiled again. On the other line, Jessie’s voice was as clear and melodious as ever. “Henrik, your son wants some strawberries!”

He almost jumped up, indulging her over the phone, “I’ll go get them for you right away. Give me ten minutes.”

As I watched him stride away, I realized for the first time that he could walk quickly. Behind me, on the staircase, little Kai hugged her teddy bear, stubbornly biting her lip. “Mommy, I won’t eat strawberries anymore.”

That was the second-to-last time Kai mentioned strawberries. The last time was after she fell from a slide, hitting her head on a sharp piece of metal. Blood poured from the back of her head, and I cried until I couldn’t breathe, trembling all over.

Yet, she struggled to hook her little pinky around mine, saying, “Mommy, I have a secret for you.”

“I still love strawberries. When I wake up, can you buy some for me, Mommy?”

I nodded vigorously, intending to call Henrik, but a message from Jessie popped up. Henrik had rented her an entire strawberry farm. She sat in a plush chair, caressing her pregnancy bump. Henrik squatted on the ground, picking strawberries for her.

Meanwhile, our daughter was dreaming of strawberries—a dream from which she would never wake.