The Child I Carried Secretly
I was recovering from surgery for a stress-induced ulcer, the price I' d paid for building an empire with my husband, Braden. He said he was at a work dinner. He lied.
From my hospital bed, I found his anonymous online confession: a sordid tale of his affair with a young intern while his "sick" partner was away. The details were a perfect match.
But the true horror came later. His mistress, Kandy, in a fit of rage, shoved me so hard I fell. The fall caused a miscarriage, ending the life of the child I was secretly carrying-the child he had begged me for.
He later saved me from a fire, leaving him with a mangled leg. In the hospital, he pleaded for my forgiveness, then begged me to spare Kandy from the consequences.
"She's just a kid," he pleaded.
He wanted me to save the very person who destroyed our baby.
In that moment, the woman he married died. I decided I wouldn't just leave him. I would systematically destroy everything he had ever built.
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Chapter 3
Erika Frederick POV:
The bathroom door creaked open. Braden stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, steam clinging to his skin. He saw me, phone still in hand, his face draining of color. His eyes fixed on the illuminated screen, then flickered wildly to my face.
"Erika? What are you doing?" His voice was a harsh whisper, laced with panic. He lunged for the phone, but I held it tight.
"Give me that! Are you going through my things? That's an invasion of privacy!" He stammered, trying to regain control, trying to turn the tables. My gaze drifted to his throat. The faint, almost imperceptible red marks on his neck were gone, scrubbed clean.
"I just picked it up to put it on the charger, Braden," I said, my voice eerily calm. "It was ringing." The lie tasted bitter, but I needed time. I needed to see his reaction, to watch him squirm.
He visibly relaxed, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Oh, right. Sorry. I just… you know how sensitive I am about my work stuff." He even managed a weak smile. Sensitive? Or guilty?
I remembered his grand pronouncements about transparency, about how we were partners in everything, no secrets between us. What a joke.
"So," I began, my voice still dangerously soft, "how was that 'work dinner' last night? Did you close the deal?"
He hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. "Uh, yeah, well… we made some progress. It's a tough client, you know. A lot of schmoozing." His words were a tangled mess, a tapestry of evasions.
A tear, unbidden, slipped down my cheek, then another, until my pillow was damp. I couldn't hold it in anymore. The dam broke.
Braden froze, his eyes wide. "Erika? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He rushed to my side, enveloping me in a hug that felt more like a cage. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. I know I've been distant lately. Work, you know. It's been crazy." He stroked my hair, his touch sending shivers of revulsion down my spine.
"It hurts, Braden," I choked out, a fresh wave of sobs racking my body. "Everything hurts. My stomach, my head… everything."
"I know, I know." He murmured, pulling away just enough to look into my eyes. His face was a mask of concern, his eyes shimmering with what looked like genuine sorrow. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you yesterday. I should have been. I really am the worst." He found the hot water bottle, filled it, and placed it gently on my stomach, his hands rubbing my back in slow, comforting circles.
I watched him, my tears blurring his face. He looked at me with an intensity that twisted my gut. There was a tender sadness in his eyes, a desperate longing. Could it be real? Could he actually love me, even after everything?
But love, I realized, was a complicated thing. Especially after a decade of shared struggle, shared dreams, shared everything. It wasn't just a feeling; it was a tangled web of habit, dependency, and convenience. He might feel something for me, deep down, a vestige of the man I once knew, but it was tainted, poisoned by his actions.
I wasn' t a character in some dramatic novel who could simply walk away, free and clear. Our lives were too intertwined, our company, our finances, our entire future. He was my partner, my husband, my co-founder. Untangling us would be a massacre.
"Braden," I said, my voice hoarse, but firming with a new resolve. "Kandy has to go."
His hands stilled on my back. He looked up, his face etched with surprise. "Kandy? What are you talking about? She's just an intern, a kid." He tried to sound dismissive, but a flicker of fear danced in his eyes.
I just stared at him, my silence more potent than any accusation. My gaze was cold, unyielding.
He squirmed under my stare, then sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of defeat. "Fine. Fine, Erika. Whatever you want. I'll… I'll let her go. You're right. She's too young, too… distracting." He paused, then looked at me, his eyes pleading. "Just tell me what you need, Erika. Anything. I'll do anything to make this right."
Anything? I thought. We'll see about that.