Expected?
Perhaps.
Though their marriage wasn’t built on love, three years of living together had convinced her she knew Alexander Hamilton inside out.
Unlike those arrogant tycoons, he was always gentle and courteous. His refined demeanor and considerate nature made him a rare gentleman.
Any woman who could rattle him must be extraordinary.
She had braced herself for a heartbreaking reunion of old flames. But reality surprised her.
When she stepped into the family home, the pregnant woman was chatting warmly with Margaret Hamilton. Alexander sat alone nearby, rising the moment she entered and naturally taking her bag. “Let me put this away for you.”
“Evelyn’s back,” Margaret greeted warmly. “Come sit.”
She called her “Mom,” then turned to the pregnant woman. “And this is…?”
“This is Annabelle,” Margaret introduced. “The Taylors’ daughter from next door. She just returned from abroad. Annabelle, this is Alexander’s wife.”
The pregnant woman slowly stood, supporting her rounded belly. “Hello, I’m Annabelle Taylor.”
She paused. “Your name is…”
“What a coincidence—same pronunciation, different characters.” The woman smiled. “Mine is ‘Annabelle,’ like the flower. Yours is ‘Evelyn,’ like the wood.”
Margaret added with a laugh, “Alexander has a connection with that name. One’s his childhood sweetheart, the other his wife.”
“Speaking of which,” Annabelle suddenly said, “Dr. Carter was the one who performed my surgery.”
Margaret looked at her in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes.” Annabelle extended a hand. “Thanks to her, my baby and I are both safe.”
She shook the offered hand firmly. “Just doing my job. Your case wasn’t complicated—just rest well post-op.”
At dinner, Margaret and Annabelle reminisced. The two families had been neighbors for decades. Alexander and Annabelle were born the same year and attended the same classes from elementary through high school.
“Those two were inseparable,” Margaret said, giving her a meaningful glance. “I even thought they were dating, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding.”
Annabelle chimed in playfully, “He was always delivering my love letters to my crushes.”
“Too familiar to date.” Annabelle’s joke drew laughter around the table.
She understood Margaret’s good intentions. This marriage was flawless—her husband attentive, her mother-in-law open-minded, never pressuring them about children. Perfect, except for the lack of love.
But the coincidence of “Annabelle” and “Evelyn” stuck in her throat like a fishbone.
Late that night, Alexander towel-dried her damp hair. “I didn’t get to explain at the hospital. Annabelle flew back from abroad for my birthday but got into a car accident on the way.”
So the night of her birthday, his abrupt departure had been to pick Annabelle up.
“We’re best friends.” He emphasized the last two words.
“Flying internationally at six months pregnant,” she murmured. “That’s certainly not an ordinary friendship.”
His hands stilled briefly. “…Yeah.”
“By the way,” he changed the subject, “you said you had a birthday gift for me?”
