The atmosphere between them had just begun to settle when a woman’s voice cut through the silence.
“Weston, why didn’t you wait for me outside?”
The sound of high heels clicking against the floor grew louder, and soon, Guinevere appeared, her stunning face framed by a confident smile.
When she noticed the two of them, her steps slowed, and her eyes flickered over to Stella with surprise.
“Ms. Sealey, what a coincidence. What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone dripping with curiosity. “Did you need something else?”
She moved effortlessly to Weston’s side, slipping her arm around his.
Weston glanced at Guinevere, his brow furrowing slightly. He didn’t pull her away, but his voice held an edge of confusion. “Do you know her?”
Guinevere smiled affectionately, leaning into Weston’s side. “We met just now. I thought she was a fan at first.”
Stella felt like the air had been knocked out of her. She stood frozen, her pulse racing. She had never seen them so familiar, so comfortable with each other. The sight was like a punch to the gut, and she couldn’t find the words to respond.
Her fingers dug into her palms as her voice cracked. “Mr. Ford…”
Her words trembled, and it was clear that confusion and hurt were reflected in her eyes.
Something shifted in Weston at that moment. Seeing her like this stirred something inside him—irritation, though he couldn’t quite place why.
Guinevere, oblivious to the tension, continued to speak brightly, introducing Weston with a proud smile. “As you might guess, this is my fiancé. He’s here to accompany me to my prenatal care checkup.”
Stella’s mind went blank. Prenatal care checkup?
Her eyes drifted down to Guinevere’s stomach, and before she could stop herself, her vision blurred with tears.
“Your child is… Mr. Ford’s?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The confirmation hit Stella like a wave crashing against rocks.
But Guinevere’s smile faded as she caught the look in Stella’s eyes. “Wait,” she said, her voice tinged with confusion. “You keep calling him Mr. Ford. Do you know my fiancé?”
Her gaze shifted to Weston, as if waiting for an answer.
Stella turned to him, her heart pounding in her chest. The words she feared most were about to be spoken.
Weston’s answer came quickly, coldly. “I don’t know her.”
The words cut through her like a blade.
‘I don’t know her…’
Stella’s knees almost gave way. She had been his wife, at least in name, up until now. But hearing him say that—seeing him so easily disown her in front of another woman—shattered something inside her.
Guinevere, seemingly relieved, let out a soft laugh. “I thought you had a new female friend that I didn’t know about! If that were the case, I would’ve had your child aborted six months ago.”
The mention of abortion sent a chill through Stella’s spine. Six months ago?
Her mind reeled, struggling to make sense of it. They had only married six months ago, and Guinevere seemed to be around five or six months pregnant.
Stella’s heart hammered in her chest. She felt like an intruder in her own life, a spectator to a reality she never thought she’d be a part of.
Weston looked taken aback by Guinevere’s blunt words. His eyes widened in shock as he reprimanded her, his voice sharp. “That’s nonsense!”
Guinevere flinched, her face falling as she frowned. “Are you scolding me?”
Weston’s demeanor softened in an instant. He reached for her hand, his voice gentle as he tried to calm her. “Don’t throw a tantrum. It’s bad for the baby.”
Guinevere sniffled, her expression now one of feigned innocence. “I just wanted you to comfort me. If I really wanted to abort the baby, I would’ve done it six months ago, instead of waiting until now.”
She gently caressed her stomach, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. “Thank God I didn’t act impulsively back then… Weston, you have to be good to both of us.”
“Yeah,” Weston muttered, his tone still warm as he gazed at her.
Stella stood motionless, watching the scene unfold before her. She was nothing more than an observer in this moment. Her husband, the man she had loved—had once believed was hers—was now openly affectionate with another woman.
She had never seen Weston so tender, so patient with anyone else. And she hated it.
The ache inside her chest grew, the pain sharp and unrelenting. It felt as if the hole inside her heart was growing larger with each passing second. All that remained was emptiness, as the wind howled through the cracks of her fragile facade.
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