My Husband Wanted Me to Raise His Mistress’s Baby

By three that afternoon, the living room smelled of stale coffee and woodsmoke. Fabian’s cousins sat around the television, yelling at a football game. I sat in a faded armchair by the window, an unread book open in my lap.

Then Destiny walked into the room.

She wasn't in her green dress anymore. She was wearing a robe.

It was made of midnight-blue silk with silver piping along the collar. The heavy fabric caught the pale afternoon light, shimmering with every step she took.

My breath caught in my throat.

I knew that robe.

Two Christmases ago, I bought it for Fabian at a boutique on Madison Avenue. It had cost eight hundred dollars. Fabian had worn it once on Christmas morning, smiled, and kissed me. Months later, I noticed it was gone from his closet. When I asked him about it, his hand had gone straight to the back of his neck, rubbing that familiar circle.

*I gave it to Goodwill, Margot,* he had said, giving me that gentle, puppy-dog look. *It was just too fancy for me. Someone else needed it more.*

Now, it hung loosely over Destiny’s shoulders. The sleeves were rolled up twice to fit her small wrists. The hem brushed her bare calves.

She stopped right beside Fabian’s cousin, Sarah. Destiny lifted her arm and ran her fingers down the silk sleeve, stroking the fabric with slow, deliberate care.

"It’s so soft, isn't it?" Destiny murmured, sighing with theatrical pleasure.

Sarah looked up from her phone and nodded. "Pretty. Where'd you get it?"

Destiny’s gaze drifted slowly across the room, locking directly onto mine. A tiny, cruel smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh," Destiny said, her voice carrying over the sound of the TV. "Just a little gift from an old friend. He said it looked much better on me."

My whole body turned to stone.

My hands lay flat against the wooden armrests of my chair. I didn't blink. I didn't speak. I didn't let out a single breath. If I opened my mouth right then, the fury boiling inside my chest would tear the roof off this house.

I stood up. I didn't look at Destiny. I didn't look at Fabian, who was pretending to sleep on the sofa with a blanket pulled up to his chin.

I walked straight through the kitchen, unlatched the back door, and stepped out onto the porch.

The Virginia air hit me like a bucket of ice water. The wind was bitter and sharp, cutting through my wool sweater. I didn't care. I needed the pain. I leaned both hands on the wooden railing, the peeling white paint biting into my palms.

I raised my left wrist and checked my watch.

Four minutes.

I gave myself exactly four minutes to breathe. In for four seconds, hold for four, out for four.

My mother used to tell me that anger made a woman sloppy. In business, the person who screamed was always the person who lost. If I wanted to survive this family, I had to be made of stone.

The freezing air burned in my lungs. By the time the second hand ticked past the fourth minute, the roaring in my ears had faded into a cold, terrifying stillness.

I turned around and walked back inside.

***

I caught Destiny in the narrow hallway near the coat closet. She was admiring herself in a warped oval mirror, smoothing the blue silk over her hip.

"Destiny," I said softly.

She turned around, her eyelashes fluttering in fake surprise. "Oh. Hi, Margot."

I walked toward her until there were only two feet between us. The hallway was dim, lit by a single dusty bulb overhead.

I didn't raise my voice. I didn't grit my teeth. I used the exact cadence I used when I sat across from hostile executives trying to hide stolen funds. Quiet, precise, and completely without warmth.

"We need to talk," I said.

Destiny tilted her head, her lips parting into an amused smirk. "About what?"

"The robe," I said, my voice flat. "The comments at the dinner table yesterday. The way you slid your hand over my husband’s knee during breakfast."

Her smile froze, but her chin stayed up. She didn't say a word.

"I run a company with four hundred employees," I told her, staring directly into her dark eyes. "I spot patterns for a living. I see exactly what you are doing, Destiny. And it stops right now."

For three seconds, something chilling happened.

The flirty, sweet country girl vanished into thin air.

Her smile died. Her eyes turned flat, dead, and entirely predatory. There was no embarrassment in her face. No shame. Just the cold, calculating look of a hunter sizing up its mark.

It was the face of a professional.

Then, faster than a camera flash, the mask snapped back on.

Destiny stumbled back half a step. Her lower lip began to tremble violently. Her eyes flooded with real, shining tears in a fraction of a second. She grabbed the lapels of the silk robe and clutched them against her chest, as if I had just threatened her life.

"Margot, please," she whispered, her voice cracking in pure agony. "I'm just trying to be friendly. Fabian is like a brother to me. I don't understand why you dislike me so much."

A deep, sickening chill rolled down my spine.

It wasn't fear. It was clarity.

She didn't hesitate. She didn't fumble. The tears, the wounded stance, the trembling voice—it was all rehearsed to perfection.

This wasn't an impulsive mistake. She had done this before. Many, many times.