On the night of our wedding, Scott, my husband, was eager for intimacy, but I was exhausted and hoped to delay our physical connection for just a while longer. Scott, being the understanding partner he was, accepted my excuse with a kiss goodnight. Little did I know, our night was far from over.
In the hushed hours of midnight, I stirred from my slumber, feeling the bed tremble beneath me. Startled, I turned to find Scott on the bed, cradling a baby in his arms. I was in complete shock when he introduced the infant as Ella, his orphaned niece, and disclosed the sudden responsibility thrust upon him.
“Everly, this is Ella,” he gulped, and my world spun as he continued. “She is my orphaned niece. My stepsister, Maya, is gone now. I found out about her just a few weeks ago.”
That was the start of a night of revelations that would reshape our lives.
“Everly, I was scared you’d leave if you knew about her,” Scott confessed, not meeting my eyes.
“How could you do this, Scott? How can we start our life together with secrets and lies?” I asked, appalled. But I took a deep breath. “Scott, what’s the plan here? Are you… wait, are we going to adopt Ella?”
“I haven’t thought that far, Everly. Right now, I just need to take care of her,” he answered, avoiding further discussion on the matter.
The following morning, as sunlight flooded through the windows of Scott’s grand estate, the weight of the previous night’s secrets hung heavily in the air. Questions buzzed in my mind like persistent insects, demanding answers. Who was Ella’s mother? Why had Scott kept her existence hidden from me? And what did this mean for our newly minted marriage?
The baby’s mother, Maya, was his estranged step-sister that no one in the family had any contact with. So why did he help her?
As we settled into our new roles, caring for Ella amidst the opulent surroundings of Scott’s home, the facade of marital bliss began to crack. Doubts gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, fueled by the shadows of Scott’s past and the mystery surrounding Ella’s origins.
Days turned into weeks, and the rift between us deepened as I struggled to reconcile the man I thought I knew with the secrets he harbored. Scott’s attempts at reconciliation fell on deaf ears as I grappled with betrayal and uncertainty.
Maybe we should consider putting Ella up for adoption,” I said tentatively.
“Adoption? Everly, that’s unthinkable. Ella is my responsibility,” Scott argued.
“Maybe find a loving foster family for her. Someone could be a better mother than me—”
“Is this your way of testing me? You think I married you just to have a mother for Ella?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“You’re being ridiculous!”
The following day, I sought solace at the beach with Ella, hoping the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore would calm the turmoil within me. As I gazed out at the endless expanse of ocean, lost in thought, a figure emerged from the mist, a mysterious woman I have never seen before.
Her demeanor was cold and aloof, her lip curled in disdain as her gaze flickered between me and the baby nestled in my arms. I braced myself for her scrutiny, her piercing eyes seeming to bore into my soul as she uttered a single question that sent a chill down my spine.
“Scott’s daughter?” she asked, her voice laced with contempt, as if the mere mention of his name left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick with unspoken implications and hidden meanings.
I hesitated, unsure of how to respond to this enigmatic stranger who seemed to know more about my husband than I did. Could she hold the key to unlocking the secrets that had plagued our marriage since that fateful night?
With a sense of unease settling over me like a shroud, I was determined to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
Once home, I confronted my husband and he finally admitted that Ella was his daughter. I took all of my belongings and left the mansion.
Yet, amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of hope emerged. Scott’s unwavering love for Ella softened the edges of my resentment, reminding me of the fragile bond that tethered us together. Despite the lies and deceit, I couldn’t deny the genuine affection he held for his daughter, so I forgave him and returned home.
But just as we began to find a semblance of peace, a cryptic message arrived, casting a shadow of doubt over our fragile truce.
“Maya’s not the only secret Scott’s buried,” the message read.
The revelation that Ella might not be the only secret Scott had buried sent shockwaves through our already tumultuous existence.
Once I gathered courage, I called the number written in the letter. “Meet me at Brown Beans Café,” the voice from the other side of the phone said. “Don’t tell Scott.”
“I’m Scott’s ex-wife… and this is our baby, Renee,” the woman I met at the café revealed.
“Sco-Scott’s ex-wife??” I uttered, heartbroken.
“Everly, you need to understand the danger you’re in. Scott’s not who he seems. He’s just using you,” she insisted.