“Yes!”
“You’re being ridiculous!”
The following day, I sought solace at the beach with Ella, hoping the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore would calm the turmoil within me. As I gazed out at the endless expanse of ocean, lost in thought, a figure emerged from the mist, a mysterious woman I have never seen before.
Her demeanor was cold and aloof, her lip curled in disdain as her gaze flickered between me and the baby nestled in my arms. I braced myself for her scrutiny, her piercing eyes seeming to bore into my soul as she uttered a single question that sent a chill down my spine.
“Scott’s daughter?” she asked, her voice laced with contempt, as if the mere mention of his name left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick with unspoken implications and hidden meanings.
I hesitated, unsure of how to respond to this enigmatic stranger who seemed to know more about my husband than I did. Could she hold the key to unlocking the secrets that had plagued our marriage since that fateful night?
With a sense of unease settling over me like a shroud, I was determined to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
Once home, I confronted my husband and he finally admitted that Ella was his daughter. I took all of my belongings and left the mansion.
Yet, amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of hope emerged. Scott’s unwavering love for Ella softened the edges of my resentment, reminding me of the fragile bond that tethered us together. Despite the lies and deceit, I couldn’t deny the genuine affection he held for his daughter, so I forgave him and returned home.
But just as we began to find a semblance of peace, a cryptic message arrived, casting a shadow of doubt over our fragile truce.
“Maya’s not the only secret Scott’s buried,” the message read.
The revelation that Ella might not be the only secret Scott had buried sent shockwaves through our already tumultuous existence.
Once I gathered courage, I called the number written in the letter. “Meet me at Brown Beans Café,” the voice from the other side of the phone said. “Don’t tell Scott.”
“I’m Scott’s ex-wife… and this is our baby, Renee,” the woman I met at the café revealed.
“Sco-Scott’s ex-wife??” I uttered, heartbroken.
“Everly, you need to understand the danger you’re in. Sco