My Husband Murdered My Parents to Please His Mistress

Chapter 3

The truth was, his legs had already recovered enough for him to walk normally months ago.

It felt as though a huge stone was pressing down on my chest, so heavy I could barely breathe.

That night was no different.

Elijah handed me a glass of milk and kissed my cheek the way he always used to.

“Drink your milk and get some sleep.”

It was a glass of milk laced with sleeping pills.

I took it from him, my hand trembling slightly, but I still drank every last drop in front of him.

Looking at him, I asked softly, “Weren’t you supposed to be leaving on a business trip tonight?”

He answered naturally, “I had Mr. Bexley go in my place. I haven’t properly spent time with you in a long while.”

He said it so earnestly.

But this time, I was not going to believe him again.

Elijah added, “Isabelle is still little. Be gentler with her, and the two of you will get closer. Didn’t you always love looking at other people’s kids? Now there just happens to be one in the house. And honestly, you were too cold and too stern today. Isabelle’s a little afraid of you now.”

The blame in his words was impossible to miss.

But he had forgotten that the reason I used to love looking at other people’s children was because I had once lost a baby for him.

Only now, I no longer had the strength to dig up old wounds.

And I had even less strength to fight with him.

I deliberately yawned and gave him a light push.

“I’m sleepy. I want to go to bed. You should go to the study and get on with your work.”

He stood in the doorway for a long time, as if waiting for me to act the way I used to, to cling to him, or ask him for a goodnight kiss.

The old me had wanted nothing more than to stay attached to him all day long.

I had always asked him again and again whether he wanted to sleep beside me.

I had even taken the initiative every single day to massage him and stay by his side through rehab.

But that night, there was none of that.

Elijah probably thought the sleeping pills had already kicked in.

The moment the door closed, I rushed into the bathroom and threw up all the milk I had just drunk.

My stomach churned violently, and the nausea was overwhelming.

And right then, it suddenly hit me that my period had always been irregular.

I took out a test strip and checked.

Two lines.

To take care of the paralyzed Elijah, I had moved in with him five years earlier.

Back then, I had been foolish enough to think that from that day on, this was the home Elijah and I would share.

So over the years, I had not actually left many things of mine here.

While packing my clothes, I accidentally knocked Elijah’s coat to the floor.

A Disney souvenir ticket stub slipped out of the pocket.

The date on it was 8.11.

That day just happened to be my birthday.

Before that day, I had begged him for a long time, hoping he would come back and spend my birthday with me.

But I had waited until the cake had melted, and only then had Elijah called to say he was too busy with work to get away.

Now, though, I finally knew the truth. It was not that he had been busy that day.

He had simply given all his time to Yvette and the child, taking them to the amusement park.

So during that entire day, the only time he had briefly remembered me was the five minutes he spent calling me.

Just then, I heard Elijah next door, coaxing Isabelle to sleep.

“Daddy, can you put me to sleep like this every day from now on?”

After a few seconds of silence, I heard Elijah answer gently, “Yes, I’ll always stay with you. But in front of Miss Quarles, you can only call me sir. Remember that, okay?”

Yvette’s voice drifted over from the hallway too, bright and cheerful.

“I did a pretty good job tonight, didn’t I? Lijah, shouldn’t you reward me?”

Elijah said in a low voice, “Yvette, I’m only letting you get away with this once. The day after tomorrow, you have to—”

He must have thought I was already asleep, because he did not even bother lowering his voice.

At that moment, it felt as if something had stabbed straight into my heart.

The pain of being deceived, along with that deep sense of helplessness, came surging up little by little.

I had held it in for so long, but in the end, the tears still fell.

I covered my face and cried silently.

So everything that had happened that night had been nothing more than another act, staged for me to see.

*****

My friend had said they would come pick me up at ten that morning.

But I had only gone to wash up for a few minutes, and when I came back, I saw that Isabelle had already gone through the suitcase I had packed.

She had even deliberately stomped on it several times.

Then she pulled a face at me and snapped viciously, “You’re the bad woman stealing my daddy! Get out of my house!”