The Wife He Chose to Lose

ISABELLE'S POV “Stop moving.” I froze, then glanced at my husband through the mirror. “I’m not moving.” “You are.” Alexander Beaumont stood behind me, his brows drawn together in concentration as he struggled with the tiny zipper at the back of my dress. I bit back a laugh. For a man who could negotiate million-dollar contracts without blinking, Alexander looked personally offended by a zipper. “You know,” I said, “I can call Maria.” His eyes met mine in the mirror. “And admit defeat?” “It’s a dress, Alex.” “Exactly.” I laughed softly. The sound filled our bedroom. Finally, the zipper slid into place. Alexander rested his hands briefly on my shoulders. “There” I turned around. “Thank you.” His gaze moved over my sky blue dress before settling on my face. “You look beautiful.” The compliment still made something flutter inside my chest, even after four years of marriage. “You have to say that. You’re my husband.” “I don't have to do anything.” I raised an eyebrow. “Should I remind you how this marriage started?” A faint smile touched his lips. “That contract expired years ago.” The words warmed me more than I wanted him to know. Our marriage had been arranged by our families. The Laurents had connections the Beaumonts needed at the time, while Alexander's grandfather had been determined to see his eldest grandson settled before his death. Neither Alexander nor I had been in love when we exchanged vows. We had barely even known each other. Neither of us expected to fall in love, but somewhere along the way, we had. The arrangement had become a marriage, and the stranger I had married had become the man I loved. Alexander reached for his wristwatch. “We should leave.” My smile faded slightly. Sunday breakfast. Every Sunday, the Beaumont family gathered at the family estate. Alexander rarely missed one, no matter how busy he was. Once, I looked forward to them. That was before every family gathering became another reminder of the one thing I had failed to give the Beaumonts - a child. Alexander noticed the change in my expression. “We don't have to stay long.” I forced a smile. “I'm fine.” “Isabelle.” “Really.” I picked up my handbag. “Let's go before your mother decides my inability to arrive on time is another one of my flaws.” Alexander's expression hardened. “She shouldn't speak to you the way she does.” But she does. The words almost escaped. Instead, I smiled. “Come on.” Alexander stared at me for another moment before following me out. … The Beaumont Estate looked more like a private resort than a family home. Tall iron gates opened onto acres of perfectly maintained gardens, fountains, and old oak trees. The enormous stone mansion stood at the centre of it all, carrying generations of Beaumont history within its walls. Alexander parked near the entrance. Before I could open my door, he caught my hand. I looked at him. “What?” His thumb brushed over my fingers. “If Mother starts—” “I can handle her.” “You shouldn't have to.” For one hopeful second, I waited for more. I'll handle her. I won't let her humiliate you again. But Alexander only squeezed my hand. “Just ignore her.” The hope disappeared as quickly as it had come. I nodded. I had become very good at ignoring things or pretending to. We entered together. “There you are!” Victoria Beaumont hurried across the foyer and wrapped her arms around me. “At least someone is happy to see me,” I teased. Victoria pulled back dramatically. “I'm always happy to see you. My brother, however…” Alexander walked past us. “Good morning to you too, Victoria.” She stuck her tongue out at his back. I laughed. Of everyone in the Beaumont family, Victoria had always treated me like a sister rather than an outsider. “Come on,” Victoria whispered. “Breakfast started five minutes ago. Mother has already checked the clock twice.” My stomach tightened. We entered the dining room. Edward Beaumont sat at the head of the long table, reading something on his tablet. At sixty-four, Alexander's father still carried the commanding presence of the businessman who had spent decades turning Beaumont Group into one of the country's largest companies in processed food and real estate. Catherine Beaumont sat beside him. Elegant, perfectly dressed and already looking at me. “You're late.” No greeting. “Five minutes, Mother,” Alexander said as he pulled out my chair. “A great deal can happen in five minutes.” “Good morning, Catherine,” I said quietly. Catherine's eyes moved over me. “Good morning.” I sat. For several minutes, breakfast passed peacefully. Edward and Alexander discussed a new processing plant. Victoria complained about a client at work. I listened quietly, occasionally joining the conversation. Then Catherine placed her coffee cup down. “Oh, Victoria, did I tell you?” Victoria looked up. “Tell me what?” "I attended Margaret Holloway's daughter's baby shower yesterday." My fork stopped. Alexander didn't notice. "Did you?" Victoria asked. "Beautiful event." Catherine smiled. "She's expecting twins." "Good for her." "After barely a year of marriage." Catherine continued. “Two beautiful boys.” Silence. I already knew where the conversation was going. Catherine smiled. “She's only been married eleven months.” “Mother,” Alexander warned. “What?” Catherine looked innocent. “I'm sharing good news.” Victoria shifted uncomfortably. Catherine turned toward me. “How long has it been now?” I swallowed. “Mother,” Alexander said again. “Four years?” Catherine already knew the answer. Everyone did. “Almost,” I replied. “And how many treatments?” My appetite disappeared almost immediately. “Catherine,” Edward said without looking up. “Enough.” But Catherine continued. “I'm simply concerned. Doctors can perform miracles these days, yet somehow—” “We just completed another IVF cycle,” Alexander interrupted. I looked at him. Catherine 's eyebrows rose. “And?” “We're waiting.” “Again.” One word. Yet it carried years of judgment. I lowered my eyes. The injections, the appointments, the hope, the disappointment, crying alone in the bathroom when another test showed a single line. Alexander holding me afterwards and promising we could try again. Catherine saw none of that. She only saw failure. “A family like ours needs continuity,” Catherine said. “Alexander isn't getting any younger.” “He's thirty-one,” Victoria muttered. Catherine ignored her. “There are responsibilities attached to the Beaumont name.” Alexander put down his fork. “Isabelle knows that.” “Does she?” Something inside me tightened. Alexander's jaw clenched. “That's enough.” Catherine sighed and returned to her breakfast. The conversation was over. At least for everyone else. I stared at my untouched food. That's enough. Two words. Alexander always said them eventually. But never soon enough. Never strongly enough to stop the next comment. Under the table, his hand found mine. I didn't pull away. I loved him. Perhaps that was what made everything hurt more. … We left earlier than usual. Neither of us spoke until we were inside the car. Alexander started the engine but didn't drive. “I'm sorry.” I looked through the window. “You didn't say it.” “I know.” “She doesn't hate you.” I laughed quietly. “That makes me feel much better.” “Belle.” I finally looked at him. “I know I'm disappointing them.” “You're not disappointing me.” My throat tightened. “Aren't I?” “No.” The answer came immediately. Alexander reached across the console and took my hand. “I married you, Isabelle. Not your ability to give me children.” My eyes burned. “You want and need them.” “Of course I do.” “And if this treatment doesn't work?” He was silent for a moment. Then his fingers tightened around mine. “We try again.” A tear escaped before I could stop it. Alexander wiped it away with his thumb. “And if that doesn't work,” he continued, “We figure something else out.” I leaned into his touch. “You make everything sound easy.” “That's because you worry enough for both of us.” A small laugh escaped me. “There she is.” “Who?” “My wife.” I rolled my eyes. Alexander smiled and finally pulled away from the estate. For the first time that morning, I could breathe. Maybe Catherine's words didn't matter. Maybe the insults, whispers, and pitying looks didn't matter either. As long as Alexander and I remained together, I could survive them. I had to believe that. … That evening, I stood in our bathroom, brushing my teeth when an uncomfortable sensation rolled through my stomach. I stopped. My reflection stared back at me. Suddenly, nausea rose into my throat. I dropped the toothbrush and rushed toward the toilet. Several minutes later, I sat on the cool bathroom floor, breathing slowly. It’s probably breakfast or stress. I had barely eaten. “Belle?” Alexander knocked. “You okay?” “I'm fine!” “You don't sound fine.” I quickly stood. “Just give me a minute.” My hand reached for the sink. The room tilted. I froze - Dizziness, Nausea, Tenderness I’d noticed that morning. My eyes slowly moved toward the calendar beside the bathroom cabinet. I counted. Once. Then again. My heart began pounding. No. I couldn't allow myself to think about it. Not yet. We had been here too many times. We had hoped too many times, and every time, hope had left me with another piece of myself to put back together. “Isabelle?” Alexander knocked again. I stared at the calendar. The IVF, timing, the symptoms. My hand slowly settled against my stomach. For the first time in months, something other than fear stirred inside me. Hope. Dangerous, beautiful hope. “Belle?” “I'm okay,” I whispered, but my eyes remained on the calendar. Tomorrow morning, I would call the clinic. Maybe this time, the answer would be different.