I remembered how Archie had always been so insistent that I take them. He claimed they would keep me strong, ensure a healthy pregnancy. And I had trusted him. Every dose, every pill—I had taken them diligently, never questioning.
But every time, my stomach had burned. A slow, creeping heat, a sensation I had dismissed as normal. Until that night.
The night I collapsed in the shower, blood pooling at my feet. The night it all ended.
Archie had planned it from the start.
I wanted to storm through that door, to demand the truth, to scream at him. But his next words shattered me completely.
"Claire has just given birth," he said, his tone composed, almost gentle. "I’ll convince Wendy to adopt our baby. By then, my son with Claire will be part of our family."
My body froze. Claire.
My cousin.
His ex-girlfriend.
My mind reeled back to our wedding day, five years ago. Archie was never meant to marry me. He was meant to marry Claire. But she had disappeared just before the ceremony, and at Grandfather James’ insistence, I had taken her place.
And now she had returned—bringing Archie’s child with her.