This wasn’t a careless mistake. This wasn’t a brief affair. Whatever Clinton had been hiding had been going on for months—maybe even years. The realization sliced through her, sharp and merciless, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
“Why?” she whispered, lifting her face to his, desperate to find even a trace of the man she had loved for ten years.
She found nothing.
No guilt. No regret.
Just silence.
Then Clinton’s phone rang.
The sharp sound shattered the moment. He pulled it out immediately, his expression shifting the second he saw the name on the screen.
“Hey… Lydia,” he said softly, his voice suddenly warm, tender. A small smile touched his lips.
Monique’s chest tightened as she watched him change right in front of her.
“…I’m almost done here… What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” His brow furrowed, concern clear in his tone. “I’ll be there soon. Put Dr. Hilda on the line.”
He paced slightly, listening intently.
“How far apart are the contractions?” A pause. “Three minutes?” He exhaled, nodding. “Hilda, please take care of them. I’m on my way. Please.”
Another pause.
“I love you too.”
The call ended.
Monique stood frozen, her heart cracking open.
She noticed the nervous energy in him—the urgency, the worry. It burned. He had never looked like that when she was in labor. He had missed the births of both their children, always too busy, always unavailable.
Now look at him.
The irony was cruel.
He glanced at her impatiently. “Let me know when you’re ready to go through the process and finalize everything.”
The words were clinical. Empty.
Monique let out a bitter laugh through her tears, the sound hollow and broken.
“If there’s anything you’re unhappy with or want added,” he continued calmly, “just tell me.”
Like they were negotiating a contract.
Like this wasn’t the death of a marriage.
Without another word, Clinton brushed past her and headed for the door.
Monique didn’t move.
Tears slid down her face as she stared blankly ahead. The luxurious hotel room—once meant to be their place of reconnection—now felt like a cruel joke. Every polished surface reflected her loss.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Final. Absolute.
Her legs gave out. She sank to her knees, the thick carpet doing nothing to soften the collapse of her world. On the table, the envelope sat in plain sight, heavy with meaning—proof that everything she believed in was over.
In just minutes, her life had been rewritten.
The future she had imagined; growing old together, raising their children side by side had been torn away, leaving her standing at the edge of a life she never asked for and never saw coming.
꧁━━━━━꧂꧁━━━━━꧂꧁━━━━━━꧂
The kitchen door opened, letting in a rush of cold autumn air. The chauffeur, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, stepped inside and shut the door quickly, rubbing his hands together.
“Ah, that’s better,” he muttered. “This cold… winter’s going to be harsh this year.”
Louise set a cup of steaming Malawian tea on the table and placed a plate of cinnamon rolls beside it. The smell of cinnamon filled the kitchen. The chauffeur wrapped his hands around the cup, relief washing over his face as he took a careful sip. He reached for a roll just as soft laughter drifted in from the lounge.
“Sahara’s awake,” he said quietly. Then his expression changed. “How’s Monique?”
Louise let out a long, heavy sigh.
The night before had shaken the entire house. Monique was supposed to be away for a week with her husband, a trip meant to reconnect them. Instead, she had come back alone. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face drained of life. For a terrifying moment, Louise had feared something had happened to Clinton.
But the truth was worse.
Clinton wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t missing. He was at the hospital—by another woman’s side, welcoming a son that wasn’t Monique’s.
Louise glanced toward the dining area. Monique sat stiffly at the table, staring at the plate in front of her without touching it. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes dull, like someone who hadn’t slept at all.
“Poor girl,” Louise whispered, shaking her head.
The sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the quiet.
Louise wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the door. When she opened it, Clinton stood there, polished as ever. Suit crisp. Hair neat. No sign that he’d torn his family apart.
“Mr. Beaumont,” Louise said carefully.
“Mmm,” he replied, already moving past her.
He stopped in the lounge, his eyes landing on Monique. She didn’t look up. She nudged her food around with her fork as if he wasn’t even there.
Before he could say anything, Sahara’s laughter grew louder. The little girl came running in, curls bouncing, her face lighting up the moment she saw him.
“Daddy!” she squealed, throwing herself into his arms.
“Hey, princess,” Clinton said softly, catching her. His voice warmed instantly. “I missed you.”
“I missed you more!” Sahara said, hugging him tightly. Then she pulled back, her face suddenly serious. “Daddy… why didn’t you come home last night? Mommy was crying.”
The room froze.
Louise felt her heart drop.
Monique finally looked up, pain flashing across her face.
Clinton swallowed. “Sweetheart,” he said carefully, “Daddy had work to take care of. Important work. But I’m here now, see?”
Monique pushed her chair back and stood. “Sahara, baby,” she said, forcing calm into her voice, “go upstairs and get dressed. Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.”
“But I wanna stay with daddy,” Sahara pouted, resting her head on his shoulder and tightening her small arms around his neck.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Clinton said, setting her down. “I’ll still be here when you come back. Promise.”
Sahara reluctantly climbed the stairs, casting curious glances over her shoulder, the tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.
Louise busied herself in the kitchen, close enough to intervene if needed but trying to give the couple some semblance of privacy.
The painful memory of Clinton as he rushed out, prioritizing his new family flashed through Monique’s mind. The full weight of her new reality, threatening to crush her.
Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low and filled with barely contained fury.”How dare you walk in here like nothing’s happened? How dare you act like everything’s normal in front of our daughter?”
Clinton’s face hardened. “What did you expect me to do, Monique? Tell our five-year-old that Daddy’s leaving because he has another family now?”
The words hung in the air like a slap. Monique recoiled as if physically struck, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “Another family,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is that what we are now? Your ‘other’ family?”
“I just came to pick up my clothes and some documentation.,” he said, his demeanor cold and detached.
He moved to head upstairs, but Monique’s quiet voice stopped him in his tracks. With her back to him, fists tightly clenched, she asked, “So this is it? Is this the end of us? Of our dreams? Our family?”
Clinton sighed exasperatedly. “Can we not do this?”
The dismissive tone in his voice was the last straw. Monique whirled around to face him, her eyes burning with rage. Through gritted teeth, she confronted him. “You have no right to take that tone with me. I’m the one who got cheated on here. I’m the one whose dreams and family got destroyed by your cheating. The least I deserve is answers!”
Clinton ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “What do you want me to say? I fell out of love, okay? Love is not set in stone and blood.”
Monique laughed bitterly, her heart crashing with his self-righteous words. “And Sahara?” she pressed, thinking of their innocent daughter upstairs.
“What about her?” Clinton asked, his tone bordering on indifference.
Monique couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Did you ever think about her as you destroyed this family with your selfishness?”
Clinton’s jaw tightened. “I will explain it to her… she will understand someday.”
“Your selfishness truly knows no bounds,” Monique spat, disgust evident in her voice.
Neither of them spoke, but the tension was impossible to ignore.
Monique stood there, a mixture of fury and heartbreak etched on her face, while Clinton’s expression remained impassive, almost bored.
It was as if the man she had loved for a decade had been replaced by a stranger, someone who cared nothing for the pain he was causing.
Louise, who had been trying to give them privacy, couldn’t help but overhear. Her heart ached for Monique and young Sahara. She wondered how a man who had once seemed so devoted to his family could change so drastically.
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