Embarrassment flashed across his face, quickly hardening into irritation. “Claire Whitmore, you did that on purpose! Your birthday is—”
He stopped short. Clearly, he couldn’t remember the exact date. Three years of marriage, and he couldn’t recall my birthday—but he knew every one of Sophie Lane’s preferences by heart.
He tossed the phone back to me, his tone impatient. “You’re just looking for trouble. I came here to take you home, and this is the attitude I get?”
Before I could answer, his own phone rang. On the screen, two bright characters spelled “Sophie.”
“Daniel, the contract signing ceremony is about to start,” Sophie’s syrupy voice cooed through the speaker. “Mr. Whitmore and the others are here—when will you get here?”
Daniel’s tone softened instantly, dripping with sweetness. “I’ll be there soon. Be good and wait for me.”
When the call ended, he didn’t spare me a glance. Grabbing his jacket, he headed for the door. “I’m going to the ceremony. You can discharge yourself and take a cab home. We’ll talk later.”
The door closed behind him, and with it, the last flicker of warmth in my heart. Home? That place filled with false memories had long ceased to be mine.
I picked up my suitcase, walked to the window, and watched his figure hurry down the steps. Pulling out my phone, I sent a message to my lawyer: Handle the divorce and injury cases in full. Also… deliver two gifts to the signing ceremony.
Then I texted the subsidiary’s director: You can withdraw the investment now.
Half an hour later, I stepped out into the warm sunlight.
Daniel Reed—goodbye forever.
My sweet daughter, Mommy has avenged you.
At the signing ceremony, Daniel adjusted his tie with confidence while Sophie clung to his arm, her belly slightly rounded.
Just as the host was about to announce the start, a courier walked straight to Daniel.
“Mr. Reed? A gift from Ms. Claire Whitmore.”
The first envelope, embossed in gold, was handed over. Daniel tore it open curiously—only for the words Divorce Agreement to leap out at him. His face drained of color. He glanced sharply toward the doors, but I was nowhere in sight.
The second, a plain brown envelope, came next. Inside lay the icy weight of paper: Death Certificate—my daughter’s name printed above a black-and-white photo that stabbed like a knife.
His hands trembled. His lips moved soundlessly, a flicker of panic finally breaking through his composure.