Sure enough, the next second he wrapped an arm around me and, in his gentlest voice, said the cruelest thing:
"Honey, she likes it here, so just give it to her. You stay downstairs; upstairs is hers. For the next few months, you'll take good care of Lily."
"When the baby's born, you can treat it like our Ethan has come back. These little grievances—think of them as suffering for Ethan's sake. As the wife, you need to show the generosity a wife should have."
The sneer froze in my eyes.
Wave after wave of sour, metallic bitterness crept up my throat. Hatred surged from the pit of my stomach, nearly shattering my composure, making me want to lunge forward and sink my teeth into his throat.
I don't understand.
The man who used to blush from his earlobes to his neck just from saying something sweet. The man who lied to my father about needing time off so he could sneak out to date me—so nervous he actually fainted. How could that same man now so casually talk about replacing Ethan with someone else's child?
Not even a flicker of guilt.
Sunlight poured through the window, but it couldn't chase the cold from my bones.