He Chose Her Over Our Child’s Corpse - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading He Chose Her Over Our Child’s Corpse, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of He Chose Her Over Our Child’s Corpse.
I didn't bother packing my own things—just gathered everything that belonged to Dora.
In this house, she was the only one worth remembering.
As I folded her clothes, Spencer appeared in the doorway.
He looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes. "Linsey," he said softly, holding up a paper bag. "I got your favorite apple pie."
His voice was gentle, almost pleading—the same hesitant tone I'd once used with him.
I glanced at the bag and shrugged. "I never liked apple pie. I only pretended to because you did."
That damn pie. It was a hassle to get—always a long line, rain or shine—but I'd buy it for him anyway. To make him feel less guilty, I'd lie and say I loved it too.
Thirty years.
I'd known Spencer for thirty years, bent myself into knots for thirty years.
My whole world had revolved around him. Before we got together, I was his confidante, helping him chase after other girls.
After we became a couple, I turned into his most devoted lover—or more accurately, a doormat with a girlfriend title.
I gave. He took. And I was happy just to earn a scrap of his attention.
Even after marriage, he lived like a free man while I carried the weight of everything at home.
Looking back, Spencer had it easy. My endless patience let him chase his dreams guilt-free—even when those dreams led him straight to Gloria.
He forgot he had a wife. A child.
And my blind devotion led us here.
If I'd demanded he step up, maybe Dora would still be alive.
I hated him. But I hated myself more.
"Linsey," he said, voice raw, "I know I've failed you for years. Dora's gone, but I can't lose you too. Let's start over. I'll cut Gloria off completely. We can have another baby, rebuild our family. I'll take care of you this time."
This was the first time he'd ever spoken to me like this—like I was the one who could walk away.
If Dora were still here, his words might have melted me. The old me would've clung to that hope.
But not now.
Dora's death had hollowed me out.
His promises just made me sick.
"Spencer," I snapped, "our daughter just died, and you're already talking about replacing her? How could you?"
"That's not what I—" He reached for my hand, desperate.
I jerked away. "From the moment you chose Gloria—"
In this house, she was the only one worth remembering.
As I folded her clothes, Spencer appeared in the doorway.
He looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes. "Linsey," he said softly, holding up a paper bag. "I got your favorite apple pie."
His voice was gentle, almost pleading—the same hesitant tone I'd once used with him.
I glanced at the bag and shrugged. "I never liked apple pie. I only pretended to because you did."
That damn pie. It was a hassle to get—always a long line, rain or shine—but I'd buy it for him anyway. To make him feel less guilty, I'd lie and say I loved it too.
Thirty years.
I'd known Spencer for thirty years, bent myself into knots for thirty years.
My whole world had revolved around him. Before we got together, I was his confidante, helping him chase after other girls.
After we became a couple, I turned into his most devoted lover—or more accurately, a doormat with a girlfriend title.
I gave. He took. And I was happy just to earn a scrap of his attention.
Even after marriage, he lived like a free man while I carried the weight of everything at home.
Looking back, Spencer had it easy. My endless patience let him chase his dreams guilt-free—even when those dreams led him straight to Gloria.
He forgot he had a wife. A child.
And my blind devotion led us here.
If I'd demanded he step up, maybe Dora would still be alive.
I hated him. But I hated myself more.
"Linsey," he said, voice raw, "I know I've failed you for years. Dora's gone, but I can't lose you too. Let's start over. I'll cut Gloria off completely. We can have another baby, rebuild our family. I'll take care of you this time."
This was the first time he'd ever spoken to me like this—like I was the one who could walk away.
If Dora were still here, his words might have melted me. The old me would've clung to that hope.
But not now.
Dora's death had hollowed me out.
His promises just made me sick.
"Spencer," I snapped, "our daughter just died, and you're already talking about replacing her? How could you?"
"That's not what I—" He reached for my hand, desperate.
I jerked away. "From the moment you chose Gloria—"
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