The moment he left, I opened my eyes fully, my gaze falling on the laptop he had carelessly left behind.
A thought sparked in my mind.
I reached for it, unsure why. But when I opened it, my breath caught.
There, in a private folder, was a note labeled: "I will only love Mandy in this life."
I clicked it.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of photos filled the screen. All of them of Mandy… her son, who had just turned one month old.
Each photo was meticulously time-stamped, a total of 9,999 images.
Yet the child I had carried for ten long months—our child—didn’t even have a single posthumous photo.
My gaze landed on one picture.
It was from the day of Mandy’s baby’s full-month celebration. Sean was holding the child tenderly, a protective hand cradling his tiny frame.
And in his other hand, he held a longevity lock.
I recognized it instantly.
It was the pendant Sean had spent nine months crafting, carving late into the night.
Back then, I had foolishly believed he was preparing it for our baby, which he shared in my excitement and anticipation.
But now…
Now, as I looked closer, I saw the truth carved into the metal.
One word.
"Mandy."