A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips. A fairy tale? The prince, my husband, was upstairs betraying me, while I was still drowning in the illusion of his perfect devotion. Memories flashed before me: the extravagant wedding, the love-filled social media posts, the way he showered me with affection, always making me feel like I was his world.
It was all a lie.
***
By the time I stumbled back into our home, the weight of betrayal crushed me. Tears streamed down my face, but I wiped them away hurriedly as our family doctor entered the room.
"Time for your injection, Mrs. Simson," she said softly, holding up the syringe.
I froze, staring at the thick needle. My heart ached as fresh tears welled up. Six months ago, when Harry discovered he had "weak sperm," I had willingly undergone grueling IVF treatments for him.
The daily hormone injections, the endless medications—I endured it all because he said he wanted a child. Our child. I used to be terrified of needles, but I forced myself to be brave. The bruises, the allergic reactions, the weight I’d gained—it didn’t matter. I wanted to make him happy.
But now I knew the truth. His sperm wasn’t weak. He wanted a child, yes, but not with me.
I was still sitting numbly on the bed when the door burst open. Harry rushed in, his face a mask of concern.
"Clarissa," he breathed, his voice softening as he approached me with a single rose in hand. "I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy planning our anniversary that I almost forgot your injection today."
He knelt beside me, his warm hand covering mine as he placed the rose in my lap. "You’ve been so strong through all this," he murmured, his dark eyes searching mine. "Let me handle it this time."
Before I could respond, he gently took the syringe from the doctor’s hand, dismissing her with a polite nod. "I’ll do it myself," he said.
Harry had insisted on giving me my injections personally from the start. He’d even gone so far as to take lessons on administering them. It was one of the many ways he’d shown his "love."
But now, as he prepared the needle, his touch careful and practiced,
The room was filled with a comforting warmth as Harry held me close, his voice soothing, his presence steady. Yet beneath the rich aroma of roses lingering in the air, I caught a whiff of something foreign—perfume that wasn’t mine. My stomach churned, unease creeping in.