Chapter 1
GAbrIELLA
Forty-three years old…
A small smile graced my lips as I finished preparing the extravagant dishes on the kitchen bench.
I had prepared a feast of all my husband’s favourite foods since it was the night he was finally coming home.
Nico was a renowned plastic surgeon and had chosen to challenge himself by accepting a two-month secondment abroad.
I had every intention of going with him, but our work schedules never aligned. I was the leading paediatrician at the local hospital, and by the time I dealt with one crisis, two more managed to pop up.
With such demanding jobs, our schedules often clashed, though this was the longest I had ever been without him.
I missed my husband terribly.
His bad jokes that aged poorly. His smoky cologne that he hadn’t changed since college. And those laughing wrinkles that deepened around his eyes. They were always there when he was with me.
We had a good life, filled with joy.
Unable to resist, I sent him a message for the hundredth time that day.
Forty minutes till I see you, honey. I planned the biggest surprise for you.
Can’t wait, babe. Surprise? Tell me it involves you…with nothing on.
The surprise wasn’t me. But it was someone.
I tucked my phone away and checked the apartment, wanting everything to be perfect. I busied my excited mind by finding things to tidy, which had me flicking through the mail that had been neglected for far too long.
I skipped the advertisements, then my gaze caught on a letter addressed to Nico. A second ticked by as I tried to work out why a sudden sense of reckoning came over me.
I recognised the logo in the corner since I had so much trauma associated with the unique image.
A pink heart with a baby handprint in the middle. One Care Fertility Clinic.
For years, we had tried to get pregnant.
A baby was the one thing I truly, deeply wanted above all else, and I was denied it. We explored other options, yet Nico didn’t want a child who wasn’t naturally conceived or was not biologically linked to both of us.
That was a hard period in our marriage and for my personal well-being.
Despite countless investigations, there was no reason why we were unsuccessful. They said it was unexplained infertility. And that took a toll on me.
It was difficult to reconcile my inadequacies as a female. What good was I if my body couldn’t perform the one task it was created to do? What was so wrong with me that I was chosen not to be blessed with a child when it came so easily to others who didn’t deserve it at all?
Years of recovery got me to a stage of acceptance. That path wasn’t destined for me, but it didn’t mean my love and attention had to go to waste. I had so much to give.
I poured all that extra focus into the sick kids I cared for, which fulfilled my days with enough light to keep out the dark.
Yet, that logo… That tiny pink logo had me relapsing fast.
With trembling fingers, I ripped the envelope open, my eyes racing over the letter addressed to my husband.
I wished I hadn’t.
Crippling pain electrified my nervous system with each word I read.
As per your request, please find your test results disclosed below…
His full STD panel was negative, but that’s not what broke me. That was left to the final paragraph wrapping up the intimate letter with a lovely, soul-destroying bow.
Based on your latest semen analysis, your vasectomy remains viable after thirteen years. However, this is not a fail-safe method to verify paternity. If you require further clarification, we also offer accurate and discreet DNA tests…
Black invaded my vision, blocking out the hurtful words screaming from the page.
I don’t want to see anymore. Please don’t let me see anymore.
As if answering my desperate call, my brain shut everything down.
All I remembered was falling.
Fingers pressed the inside of my wrist as someone stroked my hair.
My eyes fluttered open to my husband hovering above me. However, there was something wrong. He looked stressed, his eyes wide with panic as his brows scrunched together.
A tinged haze coated my senses, blocking me from something, as if my body and mind were in a protective state.
Hypnotised, my hand raised to smooth the harsh lines of his face. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Nico gasped, then dragged me into his lap, squeezing so tightly I could hardly breathe. His lips scattered kisses down my face, his tone urgent and rushed.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Fucking hell, Gabs. You gave me a heart attack. I walked in the door and found you unconscious. Don’t ever do that to me again. I thought I fucking lost you. I can never lose you. Fuck, babe.”
He was trembling, shock having overtaken him.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the haze began to lift.
Floor? Why am I on the floor? Why did I have this sense of dread in my gut that made me want to vomit? Why does my husband’s touch make that feeling worse?
The momentary confusion began to fade as I detangled myself out of our position.
“Careful, careful,” he said, hovering beside me as I used the cupboards as leverage to stand.
That’s when I realised I should have just stayed on the fucking ground.
My gaze caught on the incriminating letter, innocently placed on the kitchen bench as if the printed page hadn’t just ripped me apart.
That’s right. That’s why I was on the floor.
Nico went to reach for me, and I flinched. He tried again, and I just couldn’t.
Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t hear him.
I didn’t want to.
My entire being was already breaking without the extra ammunition he was about to unload on me.
“Babe, what’s wrong? Come here. I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Instead of replying, I pushed the destructive piece of paper across the counter for him to read.
A resounding quiet coated the atmosphere as he skimmed the offering.
That’s when I raised my eyes, opening my senses completely, to catalogue his genuine reaction.
I wanted him to refute the words. To claim it was a misunderstanding. To curse and say he would sue the company for mixing up clients.
Anything.
But as soon as I saw his features, his body language, the unrelenting fear creeping over his face…
I knew it was true.
My husband, my best friend, was not who he claimed to be.
Then, when his guilty eyes swept up to mine, my hand whipped out to slap him hard across the face.
My palm stung. My chest ached. Everything hurt.