The Regret of a Cheating Husband

Hana Silva POV:

A week ago, I spent the afternoon alone, huddled in the cold wind, clutching two reports in my trembling hands. The first confirmed a new life, a tiny pulse echoing my own. After years of trying, we were finally going to be parents. The second report, however, delivered a death sentence. Stage 4 stomach cancer. The doctor' s pitying gaze was a reflection of my own shattered hope.

My heart felt like a block of ice, cold and heavy in my chest. Two years. Two long years Anderson and I had tried for a baby. The moment I saw that positive line, I immediately called him, my voice thick with tears of joy. Our families had been overjoyed, celebrating the news of an impending grandchild. Their happiness was a stark contrast to the despair that now consumed me.

Just days later, the diagnosis came. Two reports, almost at the same time. One announced a beginning, the other, an end. A new life needed ten months to grow, but I barely had any time left. How could I tell Anderson? How could I tell him we were losing everything? Two lives, entwined in tragedy. I felt the weight of fate pressing down on me, stealing my breath.

A part of me was grateful Anderson hadn't come to the doctor's appointment. At least he hadn' t seen the doctor' s sad eyes, heard the terrible words. I needed time to process, to find the words to explain the unimaginable. But before I could, Katlyn' s call had come.

That night, Anderson found me at home. He wrapped my cold hands in his, his touch sending a shiver through me. "Your hands are like ice, sweetheart," he murmured, rubbing them gently. "I'll be home more now. I promise. We'll face everything together."

I just stared, my voice caught in my throat. He felt like a stranger, his words echoing in a void I couldn't understand. Was he really capable of such betrayal?

He led me to the dining table. A steaming bowl of soup sat before me, its aroma filling the air. My eyes burned. I had a sensitive stomach, a fact he knew well, and he used to cook for me whenever I had an episode. Now, he carefully blew on a spoonful, testing the temperature, before bringing it to my lips.

"Say 'ah'," he coaxed, his smile tender.

Anderson. I wanted to scream his name, to demand answers, to shake him until the truth poured out. His gentleness, his apparent love, clashed violently with Katlyn' s venomous words. He couldn't be this cruel, could he? I was on the verge of confronting him, of tearing down this fragile facade.

Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, a soft, familiar smile gracing his lips. A smile I knew was reserved for me. He quickly silenced the phone, his eyes meeting mine. "Everything okay, love?"

I swallowed the soup, forcing a weak smile. "It's delicious," I lied, the words tasting like ash.

He stroked my hair. "Good. All for you, my love. Nothing but the best for my Hana and our baby."

I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the spoon. He was a master of deception. Every sweet word, every gentle touch, was a lie. This soup, this moment, none of it was truly for me. It was a performance, and I was the unwitting audience. The soup, once a symbol of his love, now turned my stomach. It was bitter, an insult to my intelligence.

The entire meal was a charade. I felt like I was suffocating, every bite a struggle. The moment he excused himself to take the call in the other room, I bolted. I stumbled into the bathroom, dropping to my knees, and retched, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet. My body convulsed, tears streaming down my face.

When the spasms subsided, I stared into the bowl. Amongst the bile, I saw flecks of blood and tiny fragments of pills. My medication. I had barely been keeping it down. I curled into a ball on the cold tile floor, sobbing, my body wracked with a pain that went far beyond physical.

And then I heard it. A faint, muffled voice from Anderson' s phone. It was Katlyn. The sickening puzzle clicked into place. The final piece of my shattered world.