Two years overseas, and I flew back to San Francisco for the product launch. The moment I stepped on stage, a seven-year-old boy threw a bucket of dirty mop water all over my Tom Ford suit. "Get off the stage! My dad designed this!" "Mommy, this bad man is trying to steal Daddy's credit. Did I do good?" I froze, trying to figure out whose brat this was. Then my wife Chloe scooped the boy into her arms, her face glowing with affection I'd never seen before. "Mason, you're amazing. That's exactly how we deal with thieves." She turned to face me, her eyes ice-cold. "Liam, Blake handled all the company business while you were gone. The credit belongs to him." I laughed. Right there, in front of five hundred investors and tech journalists, I announced my resignation. Let's see how they develop products without my family's investment firm backing them. ... "Blake carried this company for two years while this guy lived it up overseas." "Now the product's ready and he flies back to take credit? Shameless!" "The kid did the right thing. Pour it on him!" "Disgusting." I looked up at Chloe, waiting. Waiting for her eyes to meet mine, for even a flicker of hesitation, a word of defense. But Chloe acted like she didn't hear the vicious accusations. She kept adjusting Mason's collar, tender and gentle. Since when did she like kids? Five years of marriage. Every time I mentioned having children, she'd wrinkle her nose and say her career came first. Kids were loud, messy, inconvenient. I respected that. Never pushed. I thought she genuinely didn't want them. I'd even prepared myself for a childfree life. But now, watching her hold another man's son—the movements so natural, so practiced— Two years. I'd been gone two whole years. To secure overseas channels and lock down critical partnerships, I'd drunk myself into the hospital three times with a bleeding ulcer. To beat our competitors to market, I'd flown to twenty-six countries, answering emails at 35,000 feet like it was normal. Once, I worked for thirty straight hours on connecting flights. When I landed, my vision went black. My assistant had to carry me to the ER for IV fluids. Mason tilted his cherubic face up at Chloe, his voice saccharine: "Mommy, why is the bad man still here? He smells gross!" He pointed at my soaked suit with theatrical disgust. Chloe's smile deepened. She pulled out a tissue and wiped a water droplet from Mason's cheek, then kissed him loudly on his soft little face. "Baby, ignore him. Let's listen to Daddy talk." She carried the boy over to Blake, who'd just walked onto the stage. Blake slid his arm around Chloe's shoulders. His other hand ruffled Mason's hair affectionately. "Everyone, please—let me say something!" He sighed, perfectly calibrated. "This project represents everyone's blood, sweat, and tears. Seeing our work questioned, of course emotions run high." "Mr. Sterling was once part of the team. Though he spent the last two years abroad, he may not fully understand the depth of everyone's contributions." "I get it. He was involved in the early stages, after all." "Mason's young and doesn't know better. I hope Mr. Sterling won't take it personally." He paused, gazing at Chloe with practiced devotion. "And thank you, Chloe, for believing in me. For walking this road with me to the end." A perfect family. Pressed together on stage in front of everyone. Blake's words sounded supportive, but every sentence accused me of stealing credit. The crowd erupted in admiration. "Blake's living the dream—success at work AND at home!" "Chloe and Blake are perfect together. And their son is so smart!" "That's what a real family looks like. Through thick and thin!" Someone in the back yelled: "Get that thief out of here! Don't let him ruin our launch!" A wave of agreement. Voices demanding I leave. Through the "Get out!" chants, I looked at Chloe one last time. She leaned into Blake's side, didn't even glance my way. My heart turned to ice. The anger evaporated. I pulled out my phone and submitted my resignation through the company app. I was done with this place. Watching the employees who used to kiss my ass now turn on me like rabid dogs—it was almost funny. The things people will do. I drove home, needing silence. In the living room, our wedding portrait was gone from the wall. In its place: a massive "family photo." Blake holding Mason. Chloe leaning on Blake's shoulder. All three of them smiling like they'd won the lottery. I pushed open the master bedroom door. My things were gone. Blake's suits hung in the closet. Children's books and Chloe's skincare products covered the desk. On the nightstand, our wedding photo had been replaced by a picture of Chloe and Mason. My clothes, my photos—everything shoved into the storage closet. While I was overseas killing myself to provide, my home had become someone else's home. I sat on the couch and smoked. One cigarette after another, until the ashtray overflowed. Chloe finally came home.
I checked my watch. 2:00 AM. "You're... back?" Her voice softened. "The launch ran late. Have you eaten? I'll make you some pasta." I didn't respond. Just stared at her coldly. She avoided my eyes, glancing at the family portrait on the wall, then at the wedding photo I'd pulled from storage. Awkward. She stepped closer, reaching for my hand. I jerked away. "Honey..." She lowered herself, trying appeasement. "Mason's little. He doesn't understand. Don't blame him. And Blake... he's been under so much pressure." "Pressure?" Was my life easy? "He's raising Mason alone while running the company... Blake's applying for that international design certification. I wanted to help where I could." "And Mason's such a sweet kid. I made him my godson. It's not what you think..." She paused, reading my face. Her voice went soft, coaxing. "I know you're upset. People said awful things today. Blake's presentation wasn't great. But he never meant to steal your credit." She moved closer again, her tone saccharine like she was soothing a child. "Don't be mad, honey. Once Blake gets his certification and the launch buzz dies down, I'll find a chance to explain everything to the team." Watching her grovel, hearing her honeyed explanations—I had to admit, part of me wanted to believe her. Then I remembered the family portrait. My belongings erased from our home. That urge died instantly. "Explain?" My voice came out hoarse. "Explain how I became a stranger in my own house?" Chloe's face went white. She opened her mouth to defend herself. "It's not—" "Enough!" I cut her off. Suddenly, Chloe gasped and bent over, clutching her stomach. The color drained from her face. Her brow furrowed in pain. Blood bloomed across the couch cushion. "Ah... it hurts..." Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Her body trembled. It looked real. My heart clenched despite everything. All my anger evaporated in the face of her sudden agony. "My stomach... hurts so much..." She leaned against me, voice weak and breaking. "I think... it's my period..." Furious and panicked, I half-carried her toward the door. "Can you walk? I'm taking you to the hospital!" "Yeah..." She nodded weakly, practically hanging off me. I floored it the entire way. Every time I glanced over, she was curled in the passenger seat, eyes closed, hand pressed to her stomach. Blood soaking through her clothes. My chest knotted up. At the hospital, they wouldn't let me into the gynecology exam room. I waited outside. An hour later, my wife emerged. She looked slightly better. I handed her a cup of hot water. "Rest. Tell me if you need anything." She nodded, taking the cup. Her eyes darted away. Her phone rang. She checked the screen. Her expression shifted. "Honey, there's an emergency at the office. I have to go handle it right now." I frowned. What emergency happens at 3 AM? But looking at her face, I sighed. "I'll drive you." I dropped her at the office tower and watched her hurry inside before driving home. Back at the house, I parked and sat in the car, exhausted, rubbing my temples. Something caught my eye under the passenger seat. A medical report. I picked it up, frowning. It listed vaginal bleeding. When I saw the cause—"condom retained internally"—my brain went blank. Like I'd been struck by lightning. I sat there, the air suffocating. I'd been gone two years. Whose condom was it? I couldn't process it. Couldn't understand how my loving wife had become this. I drove back to the office. The top floor—the CEO's office—had its lights on. Through the privacy glass, I could see two silhouettes. Couldn't make out details. Thankfully, my fingerprint still worked on the elevator. I went up. Before I even reached the CEO's office, I heard the sounds. Rhythmic. Unmistakable. Through the office glass, I saw Chloe half-lying across the wide desk. Blake leaned over her, both of them disheveled. Chloe's breathy moans mixed with Blake's heavy panting, echoing in the office. "Ah... Blake... not so hard... it hurts..." Chloe's voice. "Mmm... Mason's still home waiting... ah!" "Let him wait!" Blake's breathing was ragged. "That little brat's asleep by now! You should be worried about Liam!" "Ugh... don't... don't mention him..." Chloe's voice grew more urgent. "That useless piece of shit... gone for two years and comes back causing problems. What the hell is he anyway..." Blake let out a contemptuous laugh. "Soon the money's mine. The company's ours. Even his wife... is mine now!" "Stop..." Chloe giggled coquettishly. The obscene words and flesh-on-flesh sounds kept assaulting my ears. This was the woman who almost made me soften. Straight from the hospital to her lover's bed. Chloe. You couldn't even wait. The last shred of feeling I had for her died.
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