Chapter 3

From the wedding, to the affair, to being locked away.

To dying in the end on a cold operating table.

The last thing my mind fixed on was Marcus in his old age.

"I was wrong. I really do know I was wrong. I'm sorry for what I did to you."

Tears streamed down his aged face as he stood before my grave, not a single soul beside him.

Maybe he'd learned the truth. Maybe he regretted it.

It didn't matter anymore.

The dream ended, and I opened my eyes.

That woman stood at the foot of my bed, holding the child, and suddenly dropped to her knees.

"Please, let us have this, my son and me. Raising a child alone is just too hard!"

Only then did I get a clear look at her.

Delicate, like a flower ready to wilt at any moment.

The child cried without stopping in her arms. I was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke.

"All right."

She clearly hadn't expected me to agree so fast. Her eyes filled with confusion.

I picked up my phone and sent my mother a message.

"Marcus cheated. He had my uterus taken out without asking me."

All I remembered was that in the dream, when I didn't agree, this woman had pinched the child hard.

And then Marcus's revenge began.

This time, I'll give them what they want.

The woman lowered her head, the child suddenly wailed, and Marcus burst through the door.

The scene felt like something I'd seen before.

"Whatever you've got, take it out on me! Don't make things hard for them!"

I thought of him in tears, and it suddenly struck me as funny.

"Marcus, I'll let you go. You let me go too."

He froze, unable to believe what he'd heard.

"What did you say?"

"I said, we're getting divorced."

I looked at him, my eyes full of disappointment.

Marcus shook his head and laughed.

"You're still half-asleep. That's not what you said before."

Once the words were out, something seemed to occur to him, and he asked me carefully.

"What did you see?"

I had no patience for going in circles with him.

"She already told me. Marcus, if you had the guts to do it, have the guts to own it. You don't want to take responsibility for them?"

"How could I not!"

He rushed to defend himself, and I gave a bitter smile.

"Fine."

When he'd finished, Marcus looked at my pale face, and something in him seemed to soften.

Then the child cried out for his daddy, and Marcus crouched down on instinct to soothe him.

"Don't cry. Daddy's here."

The gesture was as practiced as if he'd done it ten thousand times.

I could only turn my face away. After a moment the crying stopped, and I helped the two of them up.

I let out a sigh.

"As long as you don't make things hard for them, I'll do whatever you say."

His tone was as if the divorce I'd mentioned hadn't registered with him at all.

As if I were just throwing an ordinary tantrum, the kind a little sweet talk could fix.

I said nothing. My chest felt tight.

He looked at me, his face slowly going cold, and pulled the two of them closer against him.

"Our business stays away from the child. The child is innocent. No matter what happens later, you are not to lay a hand on him. That's my line."

The words felt like something I'd heard before.

Back when we married, he'd said the same thing to me.

Said that was his line.

But now the illegitimate son was his line, the mistress was his line, and I had long since been flung out past the horizon.

"You think I'm going to shove him, pinch him, is that it?"

The Marcus from ten years on said nothing, just stood there with a cold face, watching me.

An understanding between adults lives in what goes unspoken.

Ten years, and he still didn't believe me.