Page 187 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

Her whole body goes rigid, as if the words don’t register.

She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, searching for confirmation.

“The baby isn’t mine,” I repeat.

I don’t break eye contact. I let her find the answer there.

Her eyes widen, stunned. Then her lips part slightly. And the tears come—a silent overflow, almost involuntary, as if her body is finally releasing a tension it’s been carrying for far too long.

She presses herself against me.

I feel the relief move through her. Her fingers clutch at my jacket, and she says nothing. There’s nothing to say.

Not here. Not yet.

I guide her gently toward the exit, my hand at her back, and we slip into the cold light of the parking lot before Bianca has time to reappear. Stephen follows us without a word.

We settle into the back seat of the car.

Valeria keeps her head against my shoulder, one hand in mine. I can still feel the faint tremor running through her at intervals—the adrenaline fading, her body learning how to breathe normally again.

Stephen starts the engine without a word and pulls the car out.

Through the window, the clinic buildings drift away and disappear.

I press my lips to the top of Valeria’s head.

There’s still a lot to untangle.

But for now, I don’t need anything else.

Just this.

Her body against mine.

48. Grief

Valeria

I still have trouble believing it: Dante isn’t the father of Bianca’s baby.

Strangely, instead of the relief I should’ve felt, what I feel is concern.

For him.

I can see how torn he is—relieved that he’s no longer tied to Bianca for the next two decades, yet already attached to the child he believed was his.

Those two feelings exist side by side, refusing to reconcile.

He’s been very quiet since we got back. Sitting on the couch, staring off somewhere I can’t reach.

I let him.

He has something to grieve. That takes as long as it takes.

I’m still not going to tell him about our baby. The last thing I want is for him to hear this news as some kind of consolation prize—a child replacing another. When I tell him, that moment will belong only to us.

Not to Bianca’s shadow.