Chapter 11 #2
I rub my face, trying to keep my voice from breaking. “Cecily, please…”
She shakes her head. “No. Not now.” Then, softer, “I’m not telling them yet. Not about the pregnancy.”
I close my eyes. That word again.
“I just want them to have a peaceful Christmas. As happy as it can be under the circumstances,” she says, her voice trembling now. “But when we get back, they need to know. And you’re the one who’s going to tell them.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t cry this time. She’s past tears.
“I can’t keep covering for you anymore, Colin. That ended along with our marriage.”
I swallow hard, guilt clawing at my throat. There’s nothing I can say that would make her stay. Not after everything I’ve done.
The sound of light footsteps pulls me out of the fog.
When I turn toward the stairs, Alicia is standing at the bottom, wearing one of Ceci’s oversized sweaters. Her eyes are swollen, her face red and blotchy from crying.
And my heart cracks in a way it never has before. Not the sharp kind of pain that fades, but the slow, unbearable ache of watching one of the people I love most look at me like I’m the reason her world is breaking.
She doesn’t move. She just stands there, clutching the hem of her sleeve like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Is it true?” she asks, her voice trembling.
I rise slowly, taking a step toward her, my stomach twisting into knots. “What, sweetheart?”
“What they said on that site.” Her chin trembles. “That you have a new girlfriend.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. “No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “It’s not like that. People write terrible things online.”
“Liar!”
I flinch, and for a second, I can’t look at her.
“You’re lying,” she says again, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You do have a girlfriend. The girls at school showed me. Mommy told me too. Ethan said you hurt Mommy. That’s why you’re not going to live with us anymore.”
My throat burns. “Alicia, please. Let Daddy explain.”
But she’s already shaking her head, sobbing now, her hands curling into fists.
“I don’t want you to be my daddy anymore.”
The air leaves my lungs. And in that moment, I feel something inside me tear wide open. Something I know I’ll never be able to put back together again.
She turns away in hurried steps, bare feet pattering across the floor, straight to Ceci, who sits frozen on the couch.
“Mommy,” she sobs, collapsing beside her, burying her face against her mother’s shoulder. Ceci’s arms wrap around her instantly. Instinctively.
And I just stand there. Watching.
My daughter. My little princess who used to run into my arms every time I walked through the door, no matter how old she got. She won’t even look at me now.
Cecily whispers something to her, soft and soothing, her hand stroking Alicia’s curls.
I can’t hear the words, but I know that tone.
It’s the one she used when the kids were younger and got sick.
When nightmares woke them in the middle of the night.
The one I used to love hearing from the other side of the bed.
Now it’s killing me.
I take a step back, my vision blurring. Everything feels distant. Muffled.
This is what it feels like to lose everything. Not suddenly. Not cleanly. But piece by piece.
I don’t want you to be my daddy anymore.
I’ve never felt smaller. Never felt less of a man.
This is what it feels like to understand true devastation. Not the headlines. Not the boardroom fallout. Not even losing the woman I love.
It’s this. Watching the two of them cling to each other like I never existed. And realizing they’ll be okay.
Without me.
Maya
I stare at my reflection as I strip the makeup from my face. I know it’s all in my head, but it still feels like the skin on my cheek burns faintly. A lingering reminder of the slap I took two days ago from that fat bitch at the office who thought she could humiliate me in front of everyone.
She’d hit me hard—hard enough to leave a mark that lasted the entire day. But I know exactly what it was.
Jealousy. Plain, pathetic jealousy.
And that’s exactly what I told her. That insulting me wouldn’t change a thing, wouldn’t make her life any less miserable or the truth any different. Because someone like Colin would never look at her twice.
“You wish he would even know your pathetic name,” I’d said, smiling just enough to make sure it stung.
I curse under my breath, forcing the memory out of my head, and toss the makeup wipe into the trash.
My phone won’t stop buzzing on the counter. Notifications flashing across the screen like angry bees. I open the app and roll my eyes.
Hundreds of comments.
Homewrecker. Slut. Disgusting whore. Husband stealer.
Cheap tramp. Gold-digging bitch. Side piece.
Trash. Skank. Mistress. Jezebel. Snake. Family wrecker.
Clown. Home destroyer. Desperate whore. Cheap side chick.
Gold digger. Thirsty bitch. Bottom feeder.
Trashy slut. Office slut. Husband thief. Psycho bitch. Plastic-faced whore.
Each word sharper than the last—like knives thrown by strangers who’ve never even met me, but think they know exactly who I am. And my personal favorite: Rot in hell.
Every picture of mine turned into a battlefield.
I had to disable comments on Instagram, but they just kept going back to my old posts to talk shit anyway. And my DMs? A complete nightmare. Full of insults, threats, and long moral lectures, probably from a bunch of suburban housewives who can’t keep their own husbands interested.
“Get a hobby,” I mumble, tossing the phone aside. “Or better yet, get laid.”
The mirror catches my reflection again as I wipe away the last traces of foundation. Without makeup, I look paler, more fragile. Good.
I glance out the window just in time to see my aunt and cousin getting into my aunt’s car, pulling out of the driveway. My shoulders relax in relief. It will be easier to talk to Uncle Thomas alone, without their moral interference breathing down my neck.
I smooth down a few strands of hair and check my reflection one last time—just the right amount of exhaustion, a little bit of vulnerability.
I take a deep breath as I prepare for the conversation. He has never said no to me. I hope this won’t be the first time.
The truth is, I need money. The article didn’t come cheap.
I paid a decent amount to make sure it got published.
Because as well known as Colin is in the financial world, and with all the recognition Montgomery Clifford has in the media, his private life isn’t exactly the kind of thing that draws clicks.
Not unless someone gives it a little push.
And all of that for something that stayed online for only a few hours.
The asshole I made the deal with said the order to take it down came from above, that there was nothing he could do.
And lately, I’ve made a few “investments” that didn’t exactly work out in my favor. Not the way I expected them to actually pay off.
As I start down the stairs, that same old nostalgia hits me. It’s always the same when I come back to this house. Especially this time of year.
No matter how much I’ve grown, no matter how hard I’ve fought to get what I want, walking down this staircase always makes me feel like her again. The lost little girl who had her entire world ripped away overnight.
But not this time.
Uncle Thomas is in the library, standing in front of the tall window, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the same brand he’s been drinking for as long as I can remember. The amber liquid catches the light from the lamp, warm against the gray outside.
I walk in quietly, my bare feet sinking into the rug.
He doesn’t turn, but I see his shoulders tense before he lets out a weary sigh.
“Your aunt and cousin just left,” he says, his tone even but tired. “Probably for the best. Otherwise, we’d be in for another round of matching screams.”
He’s not wrong.
When I arrived yesterday, my aunt and cousin didn’t waste a single minute before ambushing me with their questions—their judgment. I gave them the same story I gave Colin. That I didn’t know what happened, that I would never risk exposing us like that.
Uncle Thomas had defended me, his voice firm but calm, while they accused and whispered. The argument went on for a while, but I’d stopped listening after the first ten minutes. Let them talk. People always do.
“I'm sorry, Uncle Thomas,” I say, taking another cautious step closer. “I’d never do anything to embarrass you. You know that, right?”
He turns slightly, his expression gentler now, yet shadowed with disappointment. “Promise me something, Maya.”
“Anything.”
“Tell me you didn’t know who he was when you took that job.”
My heart gives a quick, nervous jump, but my face doesn’t show it. I lower my voice to a whisper.
“I swear, I didn’t. I didn’t know until it was too late. And by then...” I let the words trail off. “By then, I was already in love with him.”
He exhales, long and heavy, then sets the glass down on the desk beside him. His hand reaches up, hesitating for a moment before brushing my cheek. His touch is gentle, fatherly—almost enough to make me feel something close to guilt.
“I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve already been through enough, my child,” he says. “You’re young. You’ll fall in love again. You’re smart. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. Don’t let this destroy it.”
I offer him a soft smile and step closer, wrapping my arms around him. “You’re the only one who truly understands me,” I whisper against his shoulder.
He returns the hug, one hand resting on my back.
For a moment, I let myself sink into it.
In the middle of all this chaos, his embrace has always been one of the few things that truly brings me comfort.
Uncle Thomas has always been there for me, especially when my world fell apart.
I don’t even know what would have become of me if it weren’t for him and his family.