“You must be tired after coming back alone. Do you want to rest first? Have you eaten?”
His fake concern made my skin crawl.
I cut him off, my voice sharp.
“Then what about Mariam? Why is she here? Don’t you have a single explanation for what happened five years ago? And why… all these years…”
I wanted to ask him, ‘Why didn’t you come see me even once?’
He looked at me as though I were an unreasonable madwoman, and his voice was cold.
“Arizona, the past is past. No matter how much you dwell on it, nothing will change. Why keep tormenting yourself? As for children, if you want one, we can always have another.”
We can always have another?
A crushing tightness seized my chest, and blackness closed in at the edges of my sight.
He and Mariam killed my child. They destroyed my career. They ruined my name!
And now, all of it was brushed aside with “We can always have another.”
Did he think our son was some toy, something to discard and replace whenever he pleased?
When he saw me sway on my feet, his eyes flickered with concern. He instinctively reached out to steady me, but a cry from outside cut him short.
“Charlton! Luca fell!” Mariam’s anxious voice rang through the courtyard.
His face changed instantly, and without hesitation, he rushed out the door.
I stared blankly after him, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.
When our son was alive, a mere tear in his eye would earn nothing but his daddy’s stern words. “Be strong. Boys shouldn’t cry.”
Never once did he show such worry.
But for Mariam’s child, a simple stumble sent him into a panic.
Halfway through the doorway, he turned back and gripped my shoulders hard.
“Arizona, I’m at a critical point in my career. Mariam is the director’s daughter; whether I get promoted depends entirely on her. I know you hate her, but we can’t fight her. Listen, don’t make trouble now, alright?”
The way he said it told me he had practiced those words many times.
It was as if he were ready for my outrage, ready to suppress me.
But instead of lashing out, I smiled faintly, each word torn from my bleeding heart.
“I won’t make trouble.”
Making trouble meant there was still hope. But I had none left.
All I wanted now was divorce and justice for my son.
He froze and then let out a long sigh of relief, as though shedding a great burden.