Desiree instantly panicked. “President Higgins, you misunderstood! I was just joking. When I feed stray cats, I often call myself their mom.”
“I really didn’t mean anything else… please don’t misunderstand…”
She looked so anxious that her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
If I hadn’t checked her social media before coming to the office, I might have actually believed her.
On her side account, I saw her dining with Vincent on our wedding anniversary, the one he had skipped, at a candlelit dinner costing 3,000 per person.
I remembered that on the day we had been trying for a baby, just as we were about to begin, Vincent had left for an “urgent phone call.”
She even posted a photo of two hands clasped together on a hotel bed, mocking me. “The big dog is so obedient, I lured him over with one call. Meanwhile, the old bitch can only stay home alone!”
That hand in the photo, I had known it for five years. There was no mistaking it.
Thinking of how I had endured endless hospital injections to stimulate ovulation, while Vincent, with his weak sperm, frolicked with his mistress, it made my stomach turn.
With that thought, I no longer bothered with Desiree’s act. I turned and walked away.