Chapter 7
But I simply opened my book and continued reading the page I hadn’t finished.
Anastacia stood there, waiting for my response, but I didn’t look up. After a long pause, she asked again, “Miss Penelope, don’t blame me for being nosy, but you and Mr. Barnes have been married for so long. How come you don’t have a child?”
The word “child” hit me like a sharp pang, and the softest part of my heart was instantly filled with dense pain.
That night, when Killian returned, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I looked at him, a question escaping my lips before I could stop myself: “Killian, you still can’t accept the fact that you‘ re going to be a father?”
Killian froze, his expression suddenly
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uneasy. He placed the tea in his hand down with a deliberate slowness, avoiding my
gaze.
“Why are you suddenly bringing this up?” His tone was distant.
Seeing his reaction, I knew the answer without needing more words. “Nothing, just pretend I didn’t ask.”
The truth was, Killian and I had once been expecting a child. At that time, we had only been together for a short while, and he wasn’t the CEO of Barnes Group’s that he was now. When I told him the news, his face twisted into a frown, and he shook his head.
“Now‘ s not the time to have a child. I haven’t even secured the position of president yet. I’m not ready to be a responsible father. Penelope, you should get an abortion.”
For years, Killian had instilled in me the belief that he wasn‘ t ready to be a father-
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that he couldn’t take care of a child. Yet
now, he was willing to step into the role of father to another woman’s child.
I had just seen him browsing the news about confinement centers when it hit me. That night, Anastacia sent me a pregnancy test form.
Five minutes later, she messaged me, feigning innocence: “Sorry, Miss Penelope, I meant to send this to my boyfriend, but your profile pictures are so similar that I accidentally sent it to you.”
Killian and I did have similar profile pictures–couple photos we had been using since college.
I chose to ignore her insinuation. But the u–ultrasound image on the pregnancy test form reminded me painfully of our own child.
An hour later, Anastacia couldn’t contain herself any longer. She sent me a long
message:
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“Alright, Penelope, I’ll be
straightforward. This child is Killian‘ s.”
“Have you noticed? Since I started. working two years ago, Killian‘ s been working late, coming home less and less. He’s not busy with work, he’s busy making a baby with me.”
“How much do you think he loves you? All those pink gifts you received were just leftovers from me after I picked them out.”
“Your pink diamond necklace was just an afterthought after he bought me an emerald. He bought you a pink suit you could wear in public, but bought me a lingerie set you’ll never wear out.”
“I told him today that I’m pregnant, and he couldn’t wait to buy me a new house, to get all the baby products in one go. He’s even picking out the confinement center and postpartum care center.”
“Penelope, you just took advantage of his
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naivety when he was young. Killian didn‘ t love you. He only chased after a pretty face when he was young and impulsive. Now, I’m younger, more beautiful, and
pregnant with his child. What do you have to compare with me?”
I thought I was calm enough to handle it, but these words hit me like a slap, burning my eyes with hot tears.
How could a wife who had stood by his side for ten years possibly compare to a young, delicate mistress?
I didn’t block Anastacia. I let her keep sending her provoking messages.
In just seven days, I would leave this place, cut ties with everything, and everyone.
The next day, Anastacia sent me the new property certificate.
