The Sixth Baby Won’t Be His - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading The Sixth Baby Won’t Be His, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of The Sixth Baby Won’t Be His.
Every wedding plan Gerald drafted for Lydia was more extravagant than the last—each one dripping with luxury, each one tailored to her whims. She got to pick her favorite, of course.
For every holiday, no matter how insignificant, Gerald showered her with lavish gifts—hand-delivered, no matter the distance. He'd cross oceans just to see her face light up.
And me? I got the scraps.
I still remember the day we signed our marriage license. Not a single flower. That evening, as we passed a florist, I lingered, staring at the vibrant bouquets, my chest aching with quiet want. Gerald noticed—of course he did—but all he offered was a dismissive chuckle. "Flowers are for little girls. You're not that childish, are you, Honey?"
Yet for Lydia, he bought an entire estate overseas—just to plant a garden of rare blooms because she loved them.
When I saw the photos of them kissing in that sea of flowers, I laughed—then shattered. My hands shook as I snapped pictures of everything—the wedding drafts, the gifts, the messages, the garden. And then, I found it.
The fake marriage license.
Back then, Gerald had claimed he didn't want me "burdened," so he arranged for "officials" to come to our home for the paperwork. Turns out, they were just actors.
I tore the certificate in half and tossed it into the trash.
That night, I lay beside him, studying his sleeping face—so serene, so perfect. Once, the sight had filled me with warmth. Now, it made my stomach churn. Silent tears soaked my pillow until dawn.
The next morning, Gerald had the nutritionist prepare my usual elaborate breakfast. Before, I'd have been touched by his "thoughtfulness." Now, I knew the truth.
Every meticulously balanced meal I ate—Lydia had tasted first. The only difference? Hers were made by Gerald's own hands.
The realization hit like a punch. I barely made it to the sink before dry-heaving. Gerald rushed over, hands steadying me.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
There it was—that flicker of excitement in his eyes.
"Are you… pregnant again?"
I almost laughed. Why so eager? Planning to sacrifice another child for your mistress?
Wiping my mouth, I forced a weak smile. "No. You know my body's wrecked. After losing those babies, I can barely conceive."
He cradled my face, voice dripping with false comfort. "Jenny, don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. I don't hold it against you. Just focus on getting better, and I promise—we'll have a healthy child one day."
His fingers brushed through my hair, tone shifting to something lighter. "Don't be sad, alright? Today's my mother's 60th. We need to be there, my love."
Then, the familiar hesitation. "But… since our marriage is still a secret—even my mother doesn't know—if anyone asks about you…"
I didn't let him finish. "I'll say I'm your assistant."
His smile was instant. "I knew you'd understand, Honey."
The hotel ballroom glittered with guests. The first thing I saw? Lydia draped over my mother-in-law's arm, playing the perfect, pampered darling. She wore a designer gown worth more than my yearly salary, fake-checking my mother-in-law's pulse with a giggle.
"Auntie, you're so healthy! You'll live to be two hundred!"
My mother-in-law preened, slipping off her ancestral jade bracelet—the one meant for the next generation's wife—and pressing it into Lydia's hands.
Lydia's eyes flicked to me, sweetly insincere. "Auntie, this is too precious. I couldn't possibly—"
"Oh, nonsense!" My mother-in-law laughed. "Gerry brought his girlfriend today! That's his future wife, isn't it? Maybe she'll give us five grandchildren!"
Then she finally looked at me—really looked—her lip curling at my simple dress.
"What girlfriend? That's just Gerry's little assistant."
Her gaze turned venomous. "Running around, having illegitimate children—five stillborns? Hah. God has eyes."
For every holiday, no matter how insignificant, Gerald showered her with lavish gifts—hand-delivered, no matter the distance. He'd cross oceans just to see her face light up.
And me? I got the scraps.
I still remember the day we signed our marriage license. Not a single flower. That evening, as we passed a florist, I lingered, staring at the vibrant bouquets, my chest aching with quiet want. Gerald noticed—of course he did—but all he offered was a dismissive chuckle. "Flowers are for little girls. You're not that childish, are you, Honey?"
Yet for Lydia, he bought an entire estate overseas—just to plant a garden of rare blooms because she loved them.
When I saw the photos of them kissing in that sea of flowers, I laughed—then shattered. My hands shook as I snapped pictures of everything—the wedding drafts, the gifts, the messages, the garden. And then, I found it.
The fake marriage license.
Back then, Gerald had claimed he didn't want me "burdened," so he arranged for "officials" to come to our home for the paperwork. Turns out, they were just actors.
I tore the certificate in half and tossed it into the trash.
That night, I lay beside him, studying his sleeping face—so serene, so perfect. Once, the sight had filled me with warmth. Now, it made my stomach churn. Silent tears soaked my pillow until dawn.
The next morning, Gerald had the nutritionist prepare my usual elaborate breakfast. Before, I'd have been touched by his "thoughtfulness." Now, I knew the truth.
Every meticulously balanced meal I ate—Lydia had tasted first. The only difference? Hers were made by Gerald's own hands.
The realization hit like a punch. I barely made it to the sink before dry-heaving. Gerald rushed over, hands steadying me.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
There it was—that flicker of excitement in his eyes.
"Are you… pregnant again?"
I almost laughed. Why so eager? Planning to sacrifice another child for your mistress?
Wiping my mouth, I forced a weak smile. "No. You know my body's wrecked. After losing those babies, I can barely conceive."
He cradled my face, voice dripping with false comfort. "Jenny, don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. I don't hold it against you. Just focus on getting better, and I promise—we'll have a healthy child one day."
His fingers brushed through my hair, tone shifting to something lighter. "Don't be sad, alright? Today's my mother's 60th. We need to be there, my love."
Then, the familiar hesitation. "But… since our marriage is still a secret—even my mother doesn't know—if anyone asks about you…"
I didn't let him finish. "I'll say I'm your assistant."
His smile was instant. "I knew you'd understand, Honey."
The hotel ballroom glittered with guests. The first thing I saw? Lydia draped over my mother-in-law's arm, playing the perfect, pampered darling. She wore a designer gown worth more than my yearly salary, fake-checking my mother-in-law's pulse with a giggle.
"Auntie, you're so healthy! You'll live to be two hundred!"
My mother-in-law preened, slipping off her ancestral jade bracelet—the one meant for the next generation's wife—and pressing it into Lydia's hands.
Lydia's eyes flicked to me, sweetly insincere. "Auntie, this is too precious. I couldn't possibly—"
"Oh, nonsense!" My mother-in-law laughed. "Gerry brought his girlfriend today! That's his future wife, isn't it? Maybe she'll give us five grandchildren!"
Then she finally looked at me—really looked—her lip curling at my simple dress.
"What girlfriend? That's just Gerry's little assistant."
Her gaze turned venomous. "Running around, having illegitimate children—five stillborns? Hah. God has eyes."
End of The Sixth Baby Won’t Be His Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to The Sixth Baby Won’t Be His book page.