chapter 3

Daphne said, “Elliott, did you forget today’s your baby’s funeral? How could you—”

“Mom?”

Elliott was clearly shocked—it was Daphne on the line.

He continued, “Mom, since when do you team up with Ophelia to trick me? I’m really busy here. Stop this nonsense, okay?”

“You disobedient wretch!” Ryan said and snatched the phone.

He added, “You think we’d joke about something like this? No matter where you are, get your ass back here now, or you’re not a Caldwell anymore.”

After hanging up, Ryan turned to my parents with an apologetic expression.

Ryan said, “Mr. and Mrs. Holloway, I’m so sorry. This never would’ve happened if I’d raised him right.

“When that bastard gets back, I’ll teach him a lesson.”

Mom’s heart ached for me. Furious as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to lash out.

Dad just gave Ryan a look. No words, but that silence? Way scarier than any outburst.

When I got my phone back, I somehow scrolled to my Instagram.

There it was—Claire’s post from the exact day my baby died.

There Claire was, all smiles in a birthday crown, eyes closed for a wish—with Elliott’s profile right beside her.

Caption: “My prince remembered my wish after all these years. So happy.”

I had no idea what her friends commented, but her reply said,

[ We’re really just friends.]

Hah.

Friends?

Some friend Elliott was.

His son died, and he was busy celebrating her birthday.

What a heartwarming friendship.

Ryan and Daphne saw the post too—awkward as hell.

But I didn’t want to dwell on it. I just quietly proceeded with my baby’s burial.

Staring at that smiling little face on the tombstone, I broke down crying again.

Sorry, baby. Mommy failed to protect you.

My depression during pregnancy wrecked his health—always sick, meds more than meals.

This time, I’d thought it was just a minor cold. I never imagined it’d get this bad.

Now my only regret? Letting that trash couple’s drama hurt me so bad it hurt my baby.

Sorry I couldn’t give you a strong body, baby.

Elliott didn’t come home until four hours later.

He seemed surprised to see both families gathered together like this.

Elliott asked, “Mom, Dad, why is everyone here? Where’s my baby?”

Ryan said, “You bastard! How dare you even mention the baby.”

No matter how shocked Elliott was, no matter how hard it was for him to believe, the baby’s death certificate didn’t lie.

Elliott stared at the document, completely stunned. After a long silence, he finally took a deep breath, his voice hoarse.

“When did this happen?

“Ophelia, something this important—why didn’t you give me a heads-up? Do I even matter to you as your husband?”

Husband?

I nearly laughed out loud at that.

I said, “If your memory isn’t completely gone, check your phone and look at our call history.

“What were you doing at the time shown on the death certificate? You know better than I do. Was it because I didn’t notify you? Or did you just refuse to listen?”

Elliott’s lips parted slightly, but he couldn’t find any words to refute me. In the end, he just glared at me, his face icy.

He said, “If you hadn’t been so unreasonable all the time, I wouldn’t have lost all trust in you.”

Unreasonable?

Just because I called him a few times on our child’s birthday, hoping he’d come home to celebrate with us—that made me unreasonable?

Just because I asked him to come when our child was burning up with fever and got admitted to the ICU—that made me unreasonable?

I shut my eyes, exhaustion creeping into my voice.

“Elliott, I’m done. I don’t want to argue with you anymore.”