The Wife's Last Stand

The smell of disinfectant in the delivery room hit my nostrils as I endured a brutal wave of agonizing contractions. The nurse cradled the little one wrapped in a pink swaddle and came closer, her voice gentle. "Mrs. Joe, it's a girl, six pounds eight ounces, very healthy." I weakly smiled and reached out to touch my daughter's soft cheek. The tension in my nerves finally eased a bit, and I wanted to tell Tate Luther the good news right away. The nurse had placed my phone on the bedside table; the screen was lit with a social media notification. I swiped open the screen, my fingertips still trembling from giving birth. The pinned post on Moments is from Tate Luther's secretary, Caroline Connery. The caption is just one short sentence: "Secretly gave birth to your child." Below it is a photo of Tate Luther in a sharp, tailored suit, holding a swaddled infant. His eyes show a tenderness I've never seen before, his fingertips gently resting on the baby's forehead. My heart felt like it was clenched by an icy hand, making even my breathing labored. I stared at the photo for a long time, until my vision blurred, barely managing to press the call button. The phone was answered after three rings, Tate Luther's impatient voice coming through. "What is it? I'm busy right now." I opened my mouth, my throat dry and sore. "Tate, I've given birth—it's a daughter." There was a two-second silence on the other end, his tone growing even more impatient. "Got it. I'll come over later." "Where are you now?" I couldn't help but ask. "I'm handling some personal stuff, so don't cause a scene." No sooner had I finished speaking than the call was abruptly cut off, leaving only the busy signal ringing in my ear. Personal stuff? Is that with Caroline Connery and that kid? A chill spread from the soles of my feet through my entire body, overpowering the exhaustion and pain from childbirth. I opened the photo, saved it, then went to the company's work group chat. The group was still buzzing with talks about next week's project plan, messages refreshing nonstop. I took a deep breath, hesitated with my finger, then sent that photo. No caption, just a single, isolated photo. The group went silent immediately; the previous messages froze from a few minutes earlier. Soon after, my phone vibrated wildly—it was Tate Luther calling. I answered, and his voice came through, nearly roaring with rage. "Amelia! Are you out of your mind? Who told you to post that in the group chat?" "What's going on?" My voice was calm—so calm that even I was taken aback. "Caroline is my lifesaver. She's carrying my child and has given birth to a son." Tate Luther's tone was matter-of-fact, with a barely noticeable hint of pride. "From now on, they'll live at our place. Her son will be the perfect companion for your daughter. Isn't that wonderful?" "Lifesaver?" I repeated the word, feeling only how absurd it sounded. "Back then, I was in a car accident. She saved me. I can't betray her." "So you had a child with her behind my back, and you're even planning to bring them into our home?" "Amelia, don't be so unreasonable." Tate Luther's tone grew cold. "This is our home. I won't let them in." I gritted my teeth as I said. "You don't get a say in this." The call was cut off again. Holding the phone, I felt completely numb.