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

Chapter 40

Once again, Jonathan jolted awake from a nightmare.

The past two years had worn him down, tortured by Yvonne and her child, and it had taken a toll on him. He had aged a lot.

He pulled the crumpled paper rose from the drawer, a bitter smile twisting his lips as he tossed it into the trash. Then, he poured himself a full glass of liquor.

As the alcohol burned down his throat, a memory suddenly surfaced. Years ago, my eyes would have lit up when I held that paper rose.

But now, the latest post on my social media was a photo of two hands tightly intertwined, with the caption: "Slow and steady wins the race."

He couldn't take it anymore and broke down, sobbing.

The week before Christmas Eve, the city welcomed its first snow.

I was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching a movie. Pax was snoring softly, curled up on my lap.

Julian was in the kitchen, busy with dinner. The rich aroma of red wine beef stew filled the entire living room.

Outside, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, snowflakes drifted down silently.

"Daphne," Julian called from the kitchen, poking his head out. "Can you grab the cinnamon from the top shelf?"

I rubbed Pax's head and got up, my bare feet sinking into the soft carpet.

I reached up for the little brown bottle on the cabinet, and just as I did, arms wrapped around me from behind.

"Gotcha," Julian said, resting his chin on my head.

His hand covered mine, easily taking the spice jar, but he didn't let go.

"The beef's gonna burn," I laughed, nudging him with my elbow.

"I actually didn't need the cinnamon," he said suddenly, turning me around and gently pinning me against the cabinet. The firelight flickered in his eyes. "I just wanted an excuse to hug you."

At some point, Pax had trotted over and was now sitting by our feet, tilting his head and watching our strange human behavior.

Julian bent down, scooped him up, and stuffed him into my arms. "Let's take this little third wheel and go watch the snow on the balcony."

He wrapped the three of us in a giant blanket like one oversized cocoon.

Pax squirmed his way out through the folds and pounced on the light dusting of snow atop the railing.

We watched the snowfall for a while when Julian suddenly pulled a small box from his pocket. "What's this?"

"I had this ring made back when you were still with him," he said softly.

He opened the box to reveal a simple platinum band, lying quietly inside.

"I've kept it for a long time. Of course, I've prepared other rings too, but I thought proposing with this one would be more meaningful."

Just then, Pax jumped up and pawed at the wooden box. The ring rolled into my palm, icy cold yet burning hot.

Julian rarely spoke about his years of secret admiration for me, only letting his feelings slip out in small, unintentional moments.

"Daphne," he said, holding my trembling hand. His voice was softer than the snow. "I know you don't believe in forever, so I won't say a lifetime."

He paused, and I heard the tremor in his voice. "I just want to be the next name on your marriage certificate."

In the distance, church bells began to chime. Pax's tail brushed softly against my ankle.

"Okay," I heard myself say, my voice vanishing into the snowy night. "But you have to add Pax's paw print too."

Julian froze, like someone had hit pause. It wasn't until Pax meowed impatiently that he snapped out of it. With shaking hands, he slipped the ring onto my finger.

It fit perfectly, glimmering with a gentle silver glow under the snowy light.

"I actually wrote a whole speech," he muttered into the crook of my neck, his voice muffled. "But I forgot all of it."

I kissed the tip of his red ear with a smile. "This is better."

Suddenly, we heard a poof from the kitchen.

Pax immediately scratched at the glass door, panicking. Julian scrambled to save dinner, but wouldn't let go of my hand.

We stumbled, bumping into each other as we rushed into the kitchen. The windows were fogged up from the steam, casting three crooked little shadows on the glass.

Outside the window, the first snow continued to fall silently, covering all traces of where we had come from.