CHAPTER TWO:Flash Back,The Secret Child Revealed
1334 Words
Roberta’s POV
One month ago, I had a healthy daughter who laughed too loudly and called me Mommy. She wrapped her little arms around my waist and looked up at me with those big bright eyes.
Until that night.
“You had a son,” I said, pacing the living room. My voice shook anyway. “With another woman. And you kept him a secret for five years. Is that what you’re saying, Jace?”
“Sit down, Roberta.”
He said it so casually that for a second I just stared at him. Then I sat.
“His name is Nolan,” he said. “And he’s sick. Very sick.”
My hands went numb.
“Who’s the mother?”
“That doesn’t matter right now.”
“Who is she, Jace?”
His jaw tightened.
“What matters is that Nolan needs a bone marrow transplant.” He paused. “Ziva is a match.”
I stared at him.
Then I understood.
“No.”
“Roberta—”
“No. Don’t.” I stood so fast the room tilted. “Don’t tell me you have a son and then ask me to hand over my daughter.”
His expression hardened.
“She’s his sister.”
“How do you even know she’s a match?”
Silence.
Then, “I had her tested.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“When?”
“A week ago. During her physical.”
I remembered that appointment instantly. Jace insisting she needed a check-up. Ziva coming back with a tiny bandage on her arm. The nurse saying it was routine. Me buying her ice cream afterward because she’d been so brave.
All that time, I had no idea.
“You tested our daughter without my consent.”
“You would have said no.”
“Yes!” I shouted. “Because she’s seven years old, Jace. She’s not a donor bank.”
“She’s the only match.”
The words hung between us.
I looked at him like maybe, somehow, there was still a punchline hiding in all this.
“When did it start?” I asked. “Before we got married? After? Who is she?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“No, it isn’t. She destroyed my marriage.”
“She took nothing,” he snapped. “I made my choices. This changes nothing between us.”
Nothing.
I laughed. The sound came out cracked.
“Where has he been all this time? Your son?”
“With his grandmother.”
“Which grandmother?”
A pause.
“My mother.”
The room spun.
His mother lived six hours away. For four years, Jace had always found a reason not to visit.
My mom likes her privacy.
She doesn’t like visitors.
All lies.
His mother had known from the beginning. She had helped him hide Nolan. Helped him raise another child while I played wife in this house, blind to all of it.
“Ziva is seven,” I whispered.
“The procedure is low-risk.”
“She is seven.”
For the first time, something flickered across his face.
Not guilt.
Impatience.
The look of a man irritated that his plan was taking longer than expected.
“She will donate to Nolan,” he said. “The date is already—”
“I want a divorce.”
The words came out steady.
Jace laughed.
It was the kind of laugh that made my skin crawl.
“A divorce?” He leaned back, looking at me like I’d announced I was moving to the moon. “You?”
“I’m serious.”
His face changed.
“You want to leave me,” he said slowly. “And go where?”
I said nothing.
Because we both knew.
Nowhere.
“You have no job. No money. No life outside of me.” His voice dropped lower with every word. “Everything you have is because of me.”
My chest tightened.
“You think you can walk away?” He stepped closer. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
“I’m not asking you for anything,” I said. My voice trembled, but I forced the words out. “I just want out.”
“And Ziva?”
My heart lurched.
“What about her?”
His eyes locked on mine.
“You think you’re taking her with you?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“She’s my daughter too. And unlike you, I can actually give her a life.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what? Tell the truth?”
My pulse pounded in my ears.
“You wouldn’t survive a week without me,” he said. “And you think a court would give a child to a woman with nothing?”
Fear wrapped around my throat.
Because Jace Riggs did not make empty threats.
“I’ll take her from you,” he said softly. “And there will be nothing you can do about it.”
I knew he could.
I knew I couldn’t fight his money, his influence, his name.
But somehow, God help me, I still said it.
“I still want the divorce.”
Something snapped in him.
One second he was standing across the room.
The next he was coming at me.
I stumbled back. My heel caught on the rug and I hit the floor hard.
But I barely felt it.
Because his hand was already raised.
I saw it coming.
I had seen it before.
The first time had shocked me.
The second had broken something inside me.
This time, I thought:
This is it.
Then the door opened.
Jace froze, his hand still hanging in the air.
The click of heels echoed through the room.
Slow. Precise.
I didn’t have to look to know who it was.
A woman like Irene Riggs never rushed.
She stepped into the room like she owned it.
Perfect blouse. Tailored trousers. Diamonds glittering at her throat.
Her eyes swept over the room, passed over me on the floor, and moved on.
Like I was a stain on the carpet.
Her fingers rested lightly on Jace’s arm.
That was all it took.
His hand dropped.
“You shouldn’t waste your strength on something like this,” Irene said.
Then she looked at me.
“Pathetic creature.”
The words hit harder than a slap.
“The transplant will happen,” she said. “Ziva is a Riggs. This is her duty to the family.”
“What if something goes wrong?” My voice cracked. “She’s only seven.”
“And?” Irene tilted her head. “Children survive these procedures every day.”
“I won’t let you use my daughter.”
She smiled.
“And what exactly have you contributed to this family?” she asked softly. “Besides one child?”
I stared at her.
“You couldn’t even give this family a son. Eight years of marriage, and still nothing.”
My throat closed.
“You call yourself a wife, yet your womb has been disappointingly silent.”
“I tried—”
“Clearly not hard enough.”
The room went silent.
“The Riggs family needs an heir,” Irene said. “A son. Something you have failed to provide.”
Her gaze settled on me again.
“If we are going to lose any child, it will be the girl.”
Something inside me shattered.
“No.”
“Ziva will do the transplant,” Irene said. “And for once in your life, Roberta, be useful and stay out of the way.”
I looked at Jace.
He said nothing.
Just stood there as if this decision had been made long before tonight.
Then I heard it.
A tiny sound behind us.
I turned.
Ziva stood at the bottom of the stairs in her yellow pyjamas.
Her eyes were red.
Her lip trembled, pressed tight the way she always did when she was trying not to cry.
- Writer
