My Husband Wanted Me to Raise His Mistress’s Baby

Dinner ended in a tense, suffocating silence.

The aunts cleared the table while Destiny stayed seated, sipping her wine with a sly, satisfied smile. Fabian didn't look at me once. As soon as the last pie plate left the table, he slipped upstairs toward the guest bedroom.

I followed him.

The hallway floorboards creaked beneath my boots. The ceiling was low, the wallpaper peeling at the seams. I caught him right outside the bedroom door, grabbed his forearm, and spun him around.

"Why is she here, Fabian?" I kept my voice low, but the words were sharp.

He blinked, startled. His left hand immediately rose to the back of his neck, rubbing that familiar circle of skin.

"Destiny? She’s an old neighbor, Margot. Mom invited her. I told you, they’re close."

"She sat right across from me and talked about your body," I said, stepping into his space. My chest burned. "She knows how your fingers twitch when you’re relaxed. How does she know that? Why is she flaunting it in my face?"

Fabian let out a soft, tired sigh. He didn't get angry. He never got angry. Instead, he reached out, took both of my hands, and rubbed his thumbs over my knuckles. His eyes were wide, clear, and full of gentle sorrow.

"You know how Destiny is," he whispered. "She’s always been dramatic. She likes drama, Margot. She craves attention, and you're reading into things that aren't there."

"I am not reading into—"

"Margot, please. Listen to yourself." He tilted his head, his voice dropping into that smooth, placating cadence that had disarmed me for five years. "I brought you here to connect with my family. For five years, you were always too busy with the company. I finally have you home with my mother, and you’re turning our very first holiday into an ugly scene about jealousy. Is that really what you want this weekend to be?"

The words hit like cold water.

A sharp knot of doubt twisted in my gut. Was I being paranoid? Did I bring my ruthless boardroom instincts into a simple country home? Fabian looked so earnest, so wounded by my suspicion.

I looked at his soft face, hated the hesitation creeping into my bones, and forced myself to swallow the bile.

I pulled my hands back. "Fine," I muttered.

I turned into the bedroom and shut the door, hating the small, bitter taste of defeat on my tongue.

***

The next morning, the smell of burnt bacon and hot grease woke me early.

I pulled on a simple pair of jeans and a dark wool sweater, leaving my hair in a neat, low ponytail. When I walked into the kitchen at eight, the room was already packed.

Regina was standing by the stove with a frying pan. Destiny sat right at the center of the kitchen table, wearing an off-the-shoulder pink cardigan. Fabian sat beside her. Their chairs were shoved close together, their shoulders almost touching.

Regina didn't say good morning. She wiped her hands on her apron and thrust a rusty metal peeler and a large plastic bowl of dirty russet potatoes into my hands.

"Here," Regina said, her tone flat. "Make yourself useful. The men want hash browns, and the breakfast dishes need scrubbing after."

I stared at the potatoes. I hadn't peeled a vegetable in nearly a decade.

"Sure," I said quietly.

I carried the bowl to the small porcelain sink. The faucet sputtered, dribbling lukewarm water over greasy frying pans that smelled of old lard. Behind me, the kitchen buzzed with laughter.

Destiny lifted a cast-iron skillet from the counter, showing off a golden, steaming square of cornbread.

"I made my grandmother's recipe," Destiny announced, her voice sweet and musical.

Regina threw her hands up, beaming with open delight. "Now look at that golden crust! That’s what I’m talking about. Destiny just has such a natural warmth. A real homemaker's touch. You can’t buy that in a store."

Destiny giggled, sliding a thick, buttered slice directly onto Fabian’s plate. "Here you go, Fabian. Just how you like it."

Fabian didn't push it away. He looked up at her, gave her a soft, familiar smile, and took a bite. "Thanks, Des. Perfect, as always."

My fingers tightened around the greasy potato peeler until the rusty blade dug straight into my thumb.

I forced myself to stay calm. I didn't want to fight. I wanted to fix this. I looked around the tiny, run-down kitchen—the chipped yellow laminate, the water stains on the ceiling, the ancient, clanking stove. These people lived hard lives. Maybe Regina’s bitterness came from pride and lack of money.

I dried my hands on a paper towel and walked over to where Regina was plating bacon.

"Regina," I said softly, keeping my tone gentle. "I noticed the pipes are noisy and the counter space is tight. I’d love to pay for a full kitchen renovation for you. New custom cabinets, marble counters, top-of-the-line appliances. Whatever you want. My treat."

Regina froze. Her eyes darted from my face to the cracked countertops. Then, her thin lips stretched into a wide, honeyed smile.

"Oh, Margot," she sighed, clapping her hands together. "That is... well, that’s so very generous of you. Truly. Thank you, dear."

A small weight lifted off my shoulders. I smiled back and turned down the short hallway toward the guest bathroom to wash the starch off my hands.

The door to the back pantry stood open.

Just as I reached it, Regina’s voice drifted out, sharp and dripping with venom. She was whispering to Fabian's aunt and cousin.

"Did you hear her?" Regina sneered, letting out a dry, mocking laugh. "Offering to redo my whole kitchen like I’m a charity case. Look at her, strutting around. She really thinks she can buy her way into this family."

I froze in the dim hallway.

The blood drained from my face, leaving my skin ice-cold.