Married to My Baby's Killer - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Every glance, every fleeting gesture—Vincent used to capture them all.
But after our wedding day, he never picked up his camera again.
Once, I asked him to take maternity photos for me. He brushed me off, claiming he'd lost his camera, and handed me over to some fancy photographer instead.
The truth? He hadn't lost it. His lens was reserved for only one person—the one he truly loved.
As I slid the photo album back into place, my eyes stayed dry. I had no tears left for him.
I booked a flight on my phone, then drafted divorce papers. If he wanted Estelle that badly, fine. He could have her.
The next morning, my eyes were swollen shut—puffy as walnuts.
Vincent noticed. For once, he actually looked concerned. He made me breakfast—something he never did—boiled an egg, peeled it carefully, and pressed the warm shell gently against my swollen lids.
His tenderness almost made me wonder if last night had just been a nightmare.
But the hollow ache in my stomach reminded me—this was real.
Vincent sighed when I ignored the porridge he'd made.
"Jude, we lost the baby. I know you're hurting. So am I. But you need to take care of yourself. After so many miscarriages, your body's weak. Eat something—for me. Don't make me worry, okay?"
"Where's my baby's body? I want to see him."
Three months along. My baby would've had tiny fingers by now. But I'd never hold him. Never see his face.
Vincent's answer was the same as always: "I had him buried properly. You're too emotional right now. I don't want you breaking down even more."
"Your parents are devastated too. Let's go to the family dinner tonight. It'll do us all good."
The moment we stepped into the Long estate, I saw her—Estelle, draped over Kenneth's arm, all coy smiles and batting lashes.
When she spotted me, she tilted her head and smugly pushed out her belly like a trophy. "Oh, Jude! Long time no see. Sit down, sweetie. I heard about your… another miscarriage. You really should take better care of yourself!"
Ever since the wedding fiasco, I'd avoided Kenneth and Estelle like the plague. But luck wasn't on my side today.
My chest burned as I stared at her six-month bump. She was carrying Vincent's child. Meanwhile, none of mine had made it past twelve weeks.
Vincent's mother, Vicky, took one look at me and scowled.
"Useless. Can't even keep a baby in your womb. How many times now? And you still whine about being tired? What kind of woman did my son marry?"
Vicky was Vincent's bio mom—and Kenneth's stepmom. At fifty, she'd watched her own son lose the CEO seat to his half-brother. That had to sting.
Vincent used to defend me. But now? His eyes were glued to Estelle, full of naked longing, blind to the tension crackling in the room.
"Don't be upset, ma'am," Estelle cooed, oozing fake sympathy. "Jude just… wasn't meant to be a mother. It's not like she wanted to lose all those babies."
Vicky snorted. "She's cursed. Dragging my son down with her."
Estelle reached to "help" me sit—then "tripped."
She caught herself instantly. But Vincent didn't hesitate. He shoved me aside and lunged for her, pulling her into his arms like some damsel in distress.
"Elle, are you okay? You're pregnant—why are you walking alone? Where's Kenneth?"
Estelle beamed. "Ken's in the U.S. sealing his CEO deal. So busy these days!"
Then she shot me a smirk before turning back to Vincent with a sickeningly sweet pout.