Chapter 3I Took Their Advice… And Ran With My Child

The other day, after arranging my collection of designer bags, I decided to graciously check on Alistair, who was busy in his study. I tiptoed through the bedroom and crept up behind him.

He was holding his phone to his ear, clearly on a call, while staring at a photograph in his other hand.

I popped my head over his shoulder. “Alistair!”

Normally, when he was busy, he’d look up, smile, and motion for me to sit with him. If he wasn’t, he’d pull me onto his lap to look over the boring documents with him.

But this time, he flinched, hastily shoving the photo into a drawer as if trying to hide something.

“Alistair, what are you hiding?”

His eyes darted away, avoiding my gaze. The ever-composed, rational man was suddenly a picture of guilt. “It’s nothing. Just some old junk.”

“Alistair!” I felt a surge of panic. “You’re lying.”

He had a tell. Whenever he lied, he would subconsciously tap his fingers on the nearest surface.

I reached for the drawer.

“I said it’s nothing!” He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm, preventing me from opening it. Then, he locked it.

“Alistair, what can’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice laced with hurt. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never hidden anything from me. Even during company crises, confidential files were left out in the open for me to see.

He refused to say what it was, just kept avoiding my eyes.

My frustration mounted, and I angrily tried to snatch the key from his hand. In the struggle, I lost my balance and nearly fell. Alistair caught me, pulling me upright before his patience finally snapped.

“Selena, when are you going to stop with this drama?”

His voice was icy, laced with an anger he could no longer contain.

I froze, then glared at him. “Alistair Russo, if you can’t stand me anymore, then let’s get a divorce.”

I spun around and stormed out.

Behind me, there was only silence. He didn’t even try to follow me, to apologize.

Men.

He wasn’t worth my tears. I wiped my eyes, packed my things, and moved into the guest room. Curled up on the bed, my tears soaked into the silk pillowcase.

I couldn’t hold it in. I started sobbing.

The truth was, I had seen it. The photo in his hand was of a woman. It looked old, the edges frayed and white.

And the woman looked just like me.