Chapter 5 : Reunion
1106 Words
Raphael's POV
“Why are you with my phone?”
Henrietta stiffened, fingers twitching before she quickly placed it back on the nightstand. Her lips parted slightly as if scrambling for an excuse.
“I was just checking the time,” she said too fast, reaching for one of my suits as if to distract herself.
I narrowed my eyes. “Next time, use the clock.”
She didn’t respond, just turned her back to me and continued what she was doing. But something in her posture made me pause.
She was tense.
Too tense.
Picking up my phone, I was about to put it away when the glowing notification banner caught my attention.
My breath hitched.
Kristine.
For a moment, I just stared. My fingers hovered over the screen, but I couldn’t bring myself to open the message.
She left. She was the one who left. The one who disappeared without a word, without an explanation. And now she had the audacity to send me a text as if none of it had happened?
A hollow feeling crawled up my chest. The memories rushed back—the nights I spent drowning in alcohol, trying to numb the pain of her absence. The way I read and re-read her last message, searching for something, anything,that would explain why she left.
And then I remembered.
That damn breakup text.
Short. Emotionless. Final.
I clenched my jaw and locked my phone without replying.
Henrietta’s voice cut through the silence. “Look, you don’t have to remind me,” she said, her tone neutral. “I know this marriage is fake. I know the contract. Nothing is going to change that.”
My gaze flickered to her.
She wasn’t wrong.
Whatever this was—whatever forced arrangement we had—it was never going to be real.
I scoffed. “Good. Keep it that way.”
Her face remained unreadable, but her hands clenched slightly before she turned on her heel and walked out.
I exhaled sharply, glancing at my phone again. The message still sat there, unopened. Mocking me.
But I shoved it deep into my pocket and left the room.
---
I was halfway to my car when I saw her.
A figure stood near my gate, illuminated by the golden glow of the streetlights.
I stopped in my tracks.
No.
It couldn’t be.
But as I stepped closer, my pulse hammering in my ears, she turned to face me.
Kristine.
My breath hitched.
She looked the same, yet different. Her sharp eyes still held their intensity, but something else lurked beneath them now—something softer, more uncertain.
Before I could say a word, she ran straight into my arms.
I stiffened, my muscles locking as her familiar scent overwhelmed my senses. Her fingers gripped my back tightly, as if afraid I would vanish.
A rush of memories hit me like a wrecking ball.
Nights spent tangled in sheets, whispering promises we thought would last forever. Mornings where she would curl into me, tracing lazy patterns on my skin. The way she used to smile—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
And then, the memory of her leaving.
Her silence.
That cold, final text that shattered **everything.**
I pulled back sharply. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Kristine’s lips parted, but before she could speak, a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Well, that explains a lot.”
I turned quickly.
Henrietta.
She stood at the entrance of the house, her arms crossed tightly, her gaze unreadable.
Shit.
Her expression didn’t betray any emotion, but something about the way she was looking at us made irritation spike in my chest.
“So that must be your real wife, right?” she said, voice laced with something I couldn’t place.
“You’re overstepping,” I said coolly.
“Oh, am I?” She let out a dry laugh. “Forgive me for thinking I deserved to know why my so-called husband has another woman throwing herself at him in the middle of the street.”
Kristine’s head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing.
“Husband?” she whispered, voice laced with disbelief. “You’re married?”
The way she said it—like she couldn’t even comprehend it—made something bitter coil inside me.
“How could you move on so easily?” Kristine asked, voice unsteady.
I laughed.
A sharp, humorless sound. “Move on?” I repeated. “You’re really asking me that?”
Kristine flinched.
Henrietta took a step forward. “What exactly is going on here?”
Kristine’s gaze flickered to her, something unreadable passing through her expression. But then she pressed her lips together.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said.
“The hell it doesn’t,” I snapped.
She looked at me then—really looked at me. Like she was struggling to say something, holding onto a truth she wasn’t ready to reveal.
“You should go inside,” I told Henrietta, my voice firm.
For a moment, I thought she would argue. Her lips parted slightly, her brows drawing together, but then—without another word—she turned and disappeared back into the house.
I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair before turning back to Kristine.
“There’s nothing left between us,” I said, voice devoid of emotion. “The day you left was the day I stopped giving a damn.”
Kristine’s jaw clenched. “Raphael—”
“No.” My tone was sharp, cutting. “I don’t care why you’re here. I don’t care what excuse you have. You don’t get to waltz back in and—”
“I was pregnant.”
Silence.
The words slammed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.
Kristine’s eyes shimmered, but her voice remained steady. “I was pregnant, Raphael. That’s why I left.”
No.
She had to be lying.
Kristine swallowed hard. “I had our baby.”
The world tilted.
My fingers twitched, my heartbeat thudding so violently it hurt.
No.
This isn’t happening.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
“I didn’t come back for me,” Kristine whispered, voice breaking slightly. “I came back because…” She took a shaky breath. “Because our child needs a father.”
The air rushed from my lungs.
Every thought I had shattered.
She wasn’t lying.
I could see it in her eyes.
This wasn’t some manipulative trick. This wasn’t some cruel game.
She was telling the truth.
I had a child.
A baby.
And I never knew.
- Writer
