But even the most passionate feelings could fade under the wear and tear of time. Our once-fierce love gradually settled into a quiet routine.
Still, I always thought we were deeply in love with each other.
Now, it just seemed ridiculous.
At 35, Jaxton had matured, and his career was thriving. His thoughts were no longer those of an 18-year-old.
He needed an heir, someone to inherit his vast wealth, a child of his own blood.
This idea, vague at first, took root in his heart.
He needed a child, and I couldn't give it to him.
So, when that woman called me, I felt a sense of inevitability.
Jaxton's infidelity wasn't without warning signs. I had noticed his strange behavior more than once, but I always comforted myself, convincing myself not to overthink it. I was just deluding myself.
But the truth was, it was never me who was infertile.
It was Jaxton.
The doctor who examined us was my friend. When she found out about Jaxton's condition, she immediately came to me, asking delicately what I thought.
Shocked and hurt, I hesitated but finally asked her to keep it a secret and create a fake report.