The Sixth Baby Won’t Be His - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Gerrald, ever the dutiful son, peeled his mother's clutching fingers from his arm with icy detachment. His face might as well have been carved from marble.
"Find yourself another son to wipe your chin in old age," he said, his voice colder than a winter grave. "I'm going after Jenny."
The next words dropped like shards of glass: "And take this as your final warning - say one more word against her, and you'll join Lydia in my personal hell."
He didn't look back. Didn't hesitate. The hotel doors swung shut behind him as he booked the first flight home, abandoning everything in his wake. But the house that welcomed him wasn't a home anymore - just a hollowed-out shell where Jenny's laughter used to live.
Every trace of her had been erased. No lingering scent of her vanilla shampoo. No indentation on the couch where she'd curl up reading. The silence was so complete it rang in his ears.
Gerrald stood paralyzed in the doorway, his mind playing cruel tricks. Any second now, he'd catch her reflection in the hallway mirror. Hear the soft rustle of her sundress as she straightened their wedding photo. Feel the warmth of her body passing behind him. But the house remained still - a museum of everything he'd destroyed.
His gaze snagged on the southeast corner. The ghost of a handmade rocking horse haunted the space. He could still see Jenny's radiant face when they'd built it during her first pregnancy, her fingers caressing the smooth oak curves.
"I grew up with four walls and no family, Gerrald," she'd whispered, eyes shining. "This is my first real home. I won't mess this up - our baby will never know that loneliness."
His feet carried him to the kitchen on their own accord. This had been her sacred space, where she'd whisper love songs while stirring pots of his favorite beef bourguignon. "However late you work," she'd promised, kissing his cheek, "there'll always be a hot plate for you."
But the stove hadn't been lit in years. Not since the third... no, fourth pregnancy. Not since her hands shook too badly to hold a knife. Not since her womb became a graveyard by his design. The guilt hit like a sucker punch, stealing his breath.
Gerrald squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears came anyway. Lucas's wedding toast echoed in his skull: "Any man who betrays a woman's love deserves to swallow ten thousand needles."
How arrogantly he'd laughed then, so certain of his devotion to Lydia. The truth cut deeper than any blade.
His phone shattered the silence. Lucas's voice was grim: "No survivors found yet - ocean recovery takes time. But that's not why I'm calling." A weighted pause. "We dug up Lydia's skeletons. You need to hear this."
"Talk." Gerrald's knuckles bleached white around the phone.
"That professor scandal? She didn't just sleep with him - she blackmailed half the faculty. The 'medical specimens'? Pure fiction. She played you to eliminate Jenny's pregnancies - terrified an heir would jeopardize her future as Mrs. Raymond."
Lucas hesitated. "And Gerrald... she didn't return for love. Some casino magnate's wife put a hit on her in Macau. You were just convenient protection."
The silence stretched like a noose before Gerrald rasped: "Two favors. First - when Lydia lands tomorrow, send her coordinates to that jilted wife."
Lucas inhaled sharply. "You're signing her death warrant?"
"Damn right." Gerrald's voice could've frozen hell. "Second: bankrupt the Lin family. I want them picking garbage for scraps."
A beat of silence. "Consider it done. But what about you?"
Gerrald moved to the trash bin, fishing out the fraudulent marriage certificate - the paper prison he'd built for Jenny. He held it for a suspended moment before methodically shredding it. Not just tearing - obliterating. Until the lies were confetti dust between his fingers.
The way he should have done years ago.