Chapter 3

"Separation?" Kris scoffed dismissively. "That's absurd. Do you truly want our child growing up without a father?" He paused, glancing at me. Seeing the resolve on my face, he shook his head in disbelief.

"Unbelievable." He strode over, lifting me up and placing me on the bed as if doing me a favor. "There, okay? Just rest in bed. You'll be better by morning."

I remained silent, watching him exit. Once he was gone, I took out my phone and arranged for an abortion the following day. I couldn't continue like this. I needed to take charge of my life.

Disregarding the ache in my ankle, I limped to the freezer, grabbed a cloth, and cooled it until it was suitable as an improvised ice pack. I applied it to my swollen ankle, tears flowing down my cheeks. If he wouldn't care for me, I'd care for myself. I didn't sleep at all that night. It wasn't that I was waiting for him. I simply couldn't. But as I had anticipated, Kris didn't return home.

As daybreak approached, a message from an unknown number arrived. It contained several images, all of Kris. He was bare-chested, with visible hickeys on his neck, holding a boy of about five in his arms. The child clutched a storybook while Kris read to him, his expression soft and at ease—the very picture of a loving father.

I didn't need to ask who had sent the pictures. Shortly after, a message appeared.

[Fern: He's truly an excellent father, isn't he?]

My vision blurred as anger boiled inside me. I didn't respond and blocked the number instead.

At midday, I went to the hospital alone for the abortion. My body was weak after the procedure, and I had to rest for the entire afternoon before I could walk without feeling faint. Lying in that sterile room, I had ample time to reflect.

I contemplated the losses and gains I had experienced. I didn't want my child born into a family poisoned by conflict. Bringing a baby into a world of arguing parents and deception would mean giving them a childhood devoid of stability and affection. If that was the life I could offer, then perhaps not giving birth was the more responsible choice. I refused to pretend to be happy with a husband who had betrayed me, feigning that everything was fine while drowning in lies.

I resolved to leave Kris for good. I would dedicate the rest of my life to learning how to love myself.

When I finally left the hospital, stumbling down the steps in my weakened state, I saw him. Kris, standing there like a cruel twist of fate, holding a young boy in one arm and grasping a woman's hand with the other. It was Fern, naturally. The woman who had taken everything from me. They appeared to be a happy little family—a picture-perfect trio basking in the afternoon light.

I couldn't help it—I laughed. A harsh, cynical laugh that reverberated off the hospital walls. It was all so ridiculous, so cliché.

"What a charming family," I said, slow claps punctuating each word, my voice filled with a cold, hollow amusement.

Kris's head jerked up and I observed the panic flash across his face before he quickly released Fern's hand. He looked at me with a frown, his eyes narrowing. "Elodie, what are you doing here?"

I gave him a thin, humorless smile. "Getting an abortion," I said, my voice emotionless. I glanced down at the boy in his arms, who was now sticking out his tongue.

"Congratulations. He's officially your father. All yours now."

Kris froze, his face draining of color. He set the boy down and stormed over to me, seizing my arm firmly.

"What are you saying? You got rid of our baby? Have you lost your mind, Elodie?!"

His grip was so tight I could feel my bones grinding together, but I didn't flinch. "What do you think I'm talking about?" I wrenched my arm free and, with a nauseating feeling in my stomach, slapped him as hard as I could.

"We're finished, Kris. I want a divorce."

Kris was stunned by my slap, standing there motionless, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. It was Fern who rushed to his side, hands cradling his face as if he were an injured animal. She glared at me with red-rimmed eyes, full of outrage.

"Elodie Martin! Look what you've done to him! You've crossed a line!" she shouted.

"Crossed a line?" I let out a cold laugh. Without hesitation, I slapped her too, hard enough that the sound echoed down the sterile hospital corridor.

"If you think that's crossing a line, then what do you call destroying someone's marriage? Does that make you the victim now?"

Fern let out a shrill scream, stumbling back, clutching her cheek in shock. Her son, who had been clinging to her side, jumped in front of her, arms spread wide as if to protect her.

"Don't hurt my mommy! You ugly witch!" he shouted, his little face contorted in anger.

I let out a bitter, humorless chuckle. "A witch? If I'm the ugly witch, then your mom's the evil witch mistress, luring someone else's husband away—"

"Enough!" Kris's voice thundered across the hallway. He stepped forward, rage flashing in his eyes. "Why didn't I realize how unhinged you are?"

The commotion we were causing had drawn a crowd of onlookers, all murmuring among themselves. I caught a few snippets—"shameless," "homewrecker," "disgusting"—and watched as Kris's face turned crimson with embarrassment. He lashed out, kicking a potted plant at his feet, sending it crashing to the floor.

"Elodie, nothing ever happened between me and Fern!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She's right—you're out of control! I've been too lenient with you and this is the result I get!"

I pulled out my phone and opened the photos Fern had sent, the ones that proved his lies. I zoomed in and showed them to the crowd, ensuring everyone saw the damning evidence. "Take a good look, everyone," I said, my voice cutting through the tense silence. "This is my husband—half-naked at this woman's place in the middle of the night. Can you see those marks on his neck? Don't tell me they're mosquito bites!" I raised an eyebrow, daring him to lie. There was an uproar.