Page 188 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

Dante finally stirs from his haze, lets out a long breath, and picks up his phone. His fingers move quickly across the screen. He scrolls through files before showing me what he’s about to post: scanned boarding passes, conception dates, medical margin of error.

Minimal. Surgical. Completely devoid of emotion.

The conclusion is obvious to anyone capable of reading a calendar.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him softly.

“Yes, I do. Otherwise she’ll twist the truth and find a way to make you responsible for all her misery. You know that as well as I do.”

He’s right.

I nod and he posts it.

Social media does the rest. Within hours, public opinion turns against Bianca with the same violence that supported her yesterday. I should probably feel guilty but all I feel is relief.

Dante wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“You don’t have to feel guilty. She’s the one who chose to expose all of this publicly. She thought she could use it against us.”

“I know.”

Deep down, none of this chaos really matters to me. The only thing that truly matters is that Dante isn’t the father of that child. That mine won’t have to share a father with the child of the woman who tried to kill me.

For the first time since I learned about Bianca’s pregnancy, I can finally breathe.

*

After dinner we go upstairs.

In the darkness, after making love, I remain curled up against him, listening to his breathing gradually settle.

I know he loves me.

I know he chooses me.

And yet, some nights, I still hate the fact that he shared his bed with her.

I think he’s asleep when he speaks.

“Bianca and I never had a romantic relationship in the true sense of the word.”

His voice is low. Tired in a way that has nothing to do with the late hour.

“After you disappeared, she used to come see me often to talk about you. For a few minutes, it felt as though you were coming back to me. I looked forward to those moments more than I should have.”

I say nothing. I let him continue.

“That’s how we got closer. One night, a little over a year after you disappeared, I’d had too much to drink. The next morning, I woke up with her in my bed. I barely remember anything.”

His arms tighten slightly around me.

“After that, things just… happened. It was easy. No expectations. I was just tired of being alone.”

My heart tightens.

“I never loved her the way I love you,” he says softly. “She knew that. I never lied to her about it.”

I close my eyes for a moment.