My Husband's Secret Son Needs My Baby to Live - Chapter 13: Chapter 13
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Marlon stood frozen, words failing him.
"But he doesn't seem mature at all. Is he really someone you can trust, Margret?"
My gaze drifted to Kris playing with my daughter, and I shook my head at Marlon.
"I don't need to depend on him. But I know he can't live without me."
"Do you know the fundamental difference between you two, Marlon? He doesn't care who fathered my child or what surname she bears. The only thing that matters to him is me."
I strode toward Kris and my daughter, leaving Marlon gaping after me.
Only later did I realize our encounter at the school gate wasn't coincidence at all.
Marlon had spent half a year staking out Harvard to find me.
I'd deliberately concealed my information—even his connections couldn't trace me. But he remembered my Harvard dream, so he stubbornly quit his job in Canada and combed the campus daily.
After locating me, he rented the house right next door.
Every day brought new toys and clothes for my daughter. He'd cook my favorite meals and leave them at my doorstep. On my birthday, he outdid himself—9,999 yellow roses arrived at my door.
"Margret, yellow roses mean 'apology for love.' Please forgive me?"
I stepped around him without breaking stride.
"Go home, Marlon. We're finished. Stop hurting Melanie—she needs you now, doesn't she?"
Pain flickered in his eyes.
"Margret, I've got all the time in the world. We loved each other for twenty years. Look—this is the nursery I set up for our daughter back home."
"Oh, and Jake! I built a special room for him too. Come back to Canada with me, Margret!"
Marlon's voice cracked with desperation as he fumbled for his phone.
I met his gaze steadily.
"Stop this. You're only making things harder for me."
Jake burst out growling at Marlon, shattering his last shred of hope.
He staggered back, then trudged away like a broken man.
Mrs. Taylor later told me he'd lingered outside our window for hours that night—a statue watching our celebration through the glass, laughing and crying by turns.
And he deserved every second of that pain.
Months later, news reached me: Isaias had died three months prior, and Melanie stood arrested for child trafficking.
The truth unraveled—Isaias wasn't Marlon's son. Melanie had never aborted his child.
She'd lost the ability to bear children after a miscarriage during her nightclub hostess days. To keep her cash cow Marlon, they'd bought Isaias from traffickers—explaining the boy's chronic frailty.
That bitter smile when I'd mentioned Melanie finally made sense.
Marlon established a trust fund for our daughter, funneling 60% of his earnings into it.
The deposits never stopped.
His message was clear: he'd always be there if I turned around.
But life only moves forward.
I'd give my daughter the same unshakable foundation my parents gave me.
Years later at my graduation, Kris snapped the happiest photo of me and my daughter.
Seeing our radiant smiles in that frame, I realized—I'd already been reborn, stepping boldly into my new life.
"But he doesn't seem mature at all. Is he really someone you can trust, Margret?"
My gaze drifted to Kris playing with my daughter, and I shook my head at Marlon.
"I don't need to depend on him. But I know he can't live without me."
"Do you know the fundamental difference between you two, Marlon? He doesn't care who fathered my child or what surname she bears. The only thing that matters to him is me."
I strode toward Kris and my daughter, leaving Marlon gaping after me.
Only later did I realize our encounter at the school gate wasn't coincidence at all.
Marlon had spent half a year staking out Harvard to find me.
I'd deliberately concealed my information—even his connections couldn't trace me. But he remembered my Harvard dream, so he stubbornly quit his job in Canada and combed the campus daily.
After locating me, he rented the house right next door.
Every day brought new toys and clothes for my daughter. He'd cook my favorite meals and leave them at my doorstep. On my birthday, he outdid himself—9,999 yellow roses arrived at my door.
"Margret, yellow roses mean 'apology for love.' Please forgive me?"
I stepped around him without breaking stride.
"Go home, Marlon. We're finished. Stop hurting Melanie—she needs you now, doesn't she?"
Pain flickered in his eyes.
"Margret, I've got all the time in the world. We loved each other for twenty years. Look—this is the nursery I set up for our daughter back home."
"Oh, and Jake! I built a special room for him too. Come back to Canada with me, Margret!"
Marlon's voice cracked with desperation as he fumbled for his phone.
I met his gaze steadily.
"Stop this. You're only making things harder for me."
Jake burst out growling at Marlon, shattering his last shred of hope.
He staggered back, then trudged away like a broken man.
Mrs. Taylor later told me he'd lingered outside our window for hours that night—a statue watching our celebration through the glass, laughing and crying by turns.
And he deserved every second of that pain.
Months later, news reached me: Isaias had died three months prior, and Melanie stood arrested for child trafficking.
The truth unraveled—Isaias wasn't Marlon's son. Melanie had never aborted his child.
She'd lost the ability to bear children after a miscarriage during her nightclub hostess days. To keep her cash cow Marlon, they'd bought Isaias from traffickers—explaining the boy's chronic frailty.
That bitter smile when I'd mentioned Melanie finally made sense.
Marlon established a trust fund for our daughter, funneling 60% of his earnings into it.
The deposits never stopped.
His message was clear: he'd always be there if I turned around.
But life only moves forward.
I'd give my daughter the same unshakable foundation my parents gave me.
Years later at my graduation, Kris snapped the happiest photo of me and my daughter.
Seeing our radiant smiles in that frame, I realized—I'd already been reborn, stepping boldly into my new life.
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