Chapter 3

It was Brandon who FaceTimed me. By then, it was almost midnight.

The camera was pointed at a familiar door. I recognized it instantly—it was the utility room in Logan's old family home.

The muffled audio coming through the speaker was a haunting echo of the past.

"Logan, you're hurting me... don't do that."

"Don't do what, Fiona? Say it."

...

I listened, completely numb, until Brandon ended the call.

A tear fell onto my screen. I stared at the dark glass, watching my own tear-stained reflection.

Months after discovering my husband's affair, I finally broke down and sobbed in our empty apartment.

Logan called me early the next morning. He apologized profusely, claiming he had had a few drinks with his brother, got drunk, and crashed, forgetting to call.

"It's fine," I said quietly. "I knew you went back home. I wasn't worried."

His eyes flickered with a brief flash of guilt. "I'm so sorry, babe. I broke my promise."

Then he immediately pivoted to asking how I was sleeping, how I was feeling, and if the baby was kicking.

I gave him distracted, hollow answers. At one point, when he asked what I had eaten for dinner, I told him the movie I watched was boring. He was so preoccupied he didn't even notice the nonsensical response.

He returned on the weekend. I was sitting on the couch, eating french fries and watching TV.

"That's junk food, babe. Not good for the baby. Try to eat less of that," he said with a warm smile. "Let me peel an apple for you."

When he walked out of the kitchen with the sliced apple, I just stared at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he teased. "Missed me that much?"

I pointed to his neck. "What's that red mark?"

Logan froze for a split second. He instinctively covered his neck with his hand. "Oh, this? Probably a mosquito bite. I must have scratched it. You know how bad the bugs are near the mountains in Ridgeville."

I nodded slowly. "Put some calamine lotion on it."

I didn't call him out. It was late autumn.

From that day on, Logan was even more attentive.

But whenever I fell asleep, the nightmares took over.

In my dreams, it was always raining. A relentless, endless downpour. And there was always that utility room door.

On one side of the door, Logan and Fiona were locked in their desperate embrace. On the other side, Brandon and I were violently clinging to each other.

Despite being in my third trimester, when I should have been gaining weight, I was visibly wasting away.

Logan was worried sick. He cooked elaborate meals, practically glowing with relief whenever I managed to eat a few bites.

On the day I went into labor, the doctor told me my husband was sobbing like a baby in the waiting room, completely ignoring the stares of strangers.

The delivery nurse looked at me with envy. "If my future husband is even half as caring as yours, I'll thank God every day."

I smiled but said nothing.

His love for me was real. But his betrayal was also real.

Just like my father.

When my mother was recovering postpartum with me, my father had an affair with her younger sister, Aunt Sarah.

After my mother found out, she packed her bags, divorced him, and left the country. We never heard from her again.

My father was devastated. He spent the next few decades drowning in regret.

Aunt Sarah cried, begged, and even threatened suicide, but my father refused to touch her. He said the only woman he ever loved was my mother.

He never remarried, never dated, and dedicated his life entirely to raising me.

Two years after I got married, he took his own life.

In his suicide note, he wrote that his biggest regret was succumbing to a "moment of passion," an impulse that cost him the love of his life forever.

That was why I despised the phrase "moment of passion" more than anything.

But now, I had become the very person I hated.

"Babe, I think his eyes look just like mine," Logan's voice pulled me back from my memories. "But he has your nose and face shape. What do you think?"

I looked closely at the newborn. To me, all newborns looked exactly the same.

Logan chuckled. "True. We'll see who he looks like when he grows a bit more."

My heart skipped a beat, pounding violently against my ribs.

That dark, suppressed question surfaced in my mind once again.