Chapter 4
Xander went to open the door, and to my surprise, it was Cathy.
He glanced back at me briefly, then lowered his voice and asked, “Didn’t we agree you’d come tomorrow morning? Why are you here already? Where’s the baby?”
“He’s with Mary. He’s fine,” Cathy replied softly. “Xander, I don’t want to stay at the hospital anymore. Can I move into the villa now? I get so scared when you’re not around. I can’t bear to be away from you–not even
for a second.”
There was a tremble in her voice, the hint of tears. Xander’s tone immediately softened.
“Alright, alright. Don’t cry. You just had surgery—if you start getting emotional, it might delay your recovery.”
Their entire conversation drifted clearly to my ears. But I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing.
Raising my voice, I asked, “Xander, who’s at the door?”
Ah, so we’re playing games now?
I could play, too.
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Xander led Cathy over and gently took my hand,
“This is the nanny I hired–for you and the baby. Her name is Cathy, You’ve met before–she used to be my secretary,
She got married last year and had a child, but now she’s back. She can help with breastfeeding, handling house paperwork, and looking after you,”
He paused, then added, “Unfortunately, she recently had an eye infection and can’t see right now. But once her vision recovers, she’ll be your eyes around the house,”
My eyes?
Weren’t those my eyes to begin with?
Xander really was a convincing liar.
Clearly, this story had been rehearsed,
Cathy played along smoothly. “Yes, ma’am. From now on, I’ll be taking good care of you and the baby.”
She stressed the word “care” with deliberate emphasis–an obvious provocation.
But I didn’t rise to the bait. I simply replied, coolly, “Thank you,”
Cathy didn’t respond. Then, moments later, I heard the unmistakable
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sound of lips meeting.
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Xander’s breathing grew heavier. The sofa creaked with their movements.
Cathy, frustrated that I hadn’t reacted, decided to escalate–kissing Xander right in front of me, knowing I couldn’t see.
I couldn’t help but think of the old Xander–the one who used to pull me
onto that same sofa.
My skin was always sensitive, and the old fabric had been rough. Every time we made love on it, I’d break out in hives.
So one night, I bought some yarn, and Xander and I stayed up until dawn, knitting a blanket together.
Xander, how could you?
How could you stoop so low?
It was revolting.
I could feel my expression twisting. I stood and excused myself, heading upstairs.
Stumbling into my room, I collapsed to the floor, barely able to breathe.
My stomach lurched.
I gagged uncontrollably.
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Maybe the noise I made finally interrupted their little performance.
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I heard footsteps. Xander came upstairs.
“Sharon? What’s wrong?” he asked, touching my shoulder. “Are you not feeling well?”
The moment his hand landed on me, the nausea worsened.
Then Cathy’s voice floated up, filled with suspicion: “Wait… could she be pregnant?”
Xander froze.
He looked at me. “Sharon… did you get your period this month?”
I shook my head.
It was always regular. I’d assumed the delay was from the trauma I’d been through.
Seeing my response, Xander hesitated, then muttered to himself, “How could that be? I was careful. The doctor said Sharon wasn’t likely to
conceive…“–
Then, louder: “Sharon, I’ll take you for a checkup right now. If you are pregnant, we’ll have to terminate it immediately.”
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Cathy laughed–mocking, triumphant.
He had gone so far as to blind me to protect her child.
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But now, at the possibility that I might be pregnant, he wanted to get rid of the baby?
I let out a bitter laugh.
“Why do we have to terminate it?” I asked, voice cold.
“Because…” Xander stammered, unable to come up with a reason.
But I knew.
He’d promised Cathy they’d only have one child–Jason.
And that meant he could never allow me to carry one of my own.
I was not Cathy.
And my child would never be like hers.
All those years of love?
They meant nothing.
I felt like a complete fool.
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After a long silence, Xander finally offered a clumsy excuse:
“I promised my old friend I wouldn’t have children of my own until his son was grown. I said I’d dedicate myself to raising his boy…”
He really thought he was clever.
But that was the most pitiful lie I’d ever heard.
I couldn’t even bring myself to argue.
“I’m not pregnant,” I said flatly. “If you don’t believe me, get a test kit. I’m tired. I want to sleep. You two can go.”
I kicked them out of the room.
Then I lay on the bed, utterly drained.
So tired.
Before long, I sank into a deep, heavy sleep.
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