Chapter 2: The Shattered Dream

My hands, which had been dabbing away moisture with a tissue from the bedside table, suddenly froze. The smile dropped from my lips. I asked him seriously, barely above a whisper:

“Michael Harrison, are you serious?”

Michael looked at me with a calm expression, like he was discussing a business acquisition instead of detonating our entire life.

“Yes. The baby she had is my son.”

I stared at him in disbelief, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. This had to be some sick joke. The Michael I knew—the Michael who’d sworn on his grandmother’s Bible I was his everything—couldn’t possibly be saying this.

But he was already pulling on his Armani suit, moving with practiced efficiency, and even kissed me when I wasn’t paying attention, his lips brushing my forehead like it was just another Tuesday.

“All these years, you’ve been waiting for me to come home alone. Aren’t you lonely?” He adjusted his cufflinks, not even glancing at me. In that moment, my mind flashed back to all those lonely evenings—hearing the distant rumble of the L train outside, the quiet echo of my own footsteps in the condo, the emptiness swallowing me whole.

“I want to try having a real family life too.” The words hung in the air, stinging like a slap.