I Raised My Husband's Love Child...Then He Shot Me

Chapter 35

His swing gently bumped into mine.

"I didn't come with you," he said softly. "I came because I wanted to."

The sunset bathed him in a golden glow. We sat in silence, side by side, watching the caretakers usher the kids back to their dorms.

One little boy paused at the door to wave. Julian waved right back with a bright smile.

"Julian…" I hesitated, heart thudding. "What if we…"

He turned toward me, eyes shining, waiting for me to finish.

But I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to say it aloud.

Children's laughter floated across the yard. The breeze rustled through the trees.

And in that quiet, ordinary dusk, in the heart of this vibrant little courtyard, it struck me—maybe some regrets in life could be softened by new beginnings.

Outside my studio window, snow began to fall softly. I sat at my desk, my pen gliding smoothly across the screen of my drawing tablet.

"Daphne! Tea time!" Marine, my French colleague, tapped my desk, waving a box of macarons. "They've got a new pistachio flavor!"

In the break room, artists from five countries were deep in a playful debate over how to set up the Christmas market.

I took the cup of black tea Marine handed me and joined the discussion about gingerbread house decorations.

This vibrant, joyful atmosphere was something the old me never would've imagined.

Having my own career felt empowering.

Reentering society on my own terms? Even better.

My phone buzzed with a message from Julian.

He'd sent a photo: his orange cat lying on its back, hugging a ball of yarn. In the background, I spotted a half-finished scarf. He'd told me he wanted to finish it before Christmas—to give it to me.

We hadn't put a label on whatever this was, but slowly, I was learning to just be—and that felt good.

A smile crept onto my face. I was about to reply when Jonathan's name popped up on my screen.

Seventeenth missed call since the court-mandated cooling-off period began.

Persistent as ever. Just like when he'd first chased after me.

But I'd changed. I wasn't the woman who would fall for him again.

My thumb hovered over the red "Decline" button—then tapped it gently.

Late that night, in the Zander residence, a crystal chandelier cast Jonathan's tall shadow across the floor.

Wendy curled up on the bed, pale and trembling, clinging to the sheets.

The miscarriage had drained her—she was thinner, her eyes sunken with heavy dark circles.

"Get up." Jonathan stood at the foot of the bed, voice cold as steel.

Wendy flinched, but didn't move.

"I said get up!" he roared, yanking the blanket away.

She gasped as the cold hit her skin through the thin fabric of her nightgown, goosebumps rising instantly.

"Jonathan…" she whispered. "The doctor said I need rest."

"Rest?" he sneered, grabbing her wrist and dragging her off the bed. "You killed my child and you think you deserve to rest?"

Wendy collapsed to her knees, wincing as they hit the floor.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "It wasn't me—"

Smack!

The slap silenced her.

Jonathan leaned down, his grip on her chin crushing.

"If you and your mother hadn't stirred up so much drama, Daphne wouldn't have left me."

Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, but she didn't dare move.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I was wrong. I really was."

"Wrong?" He wiped his hand on his suit in disgust. "Tomorrow, you're going to apologize to Daphne."

Wendy's eyes widened. "What?"