Nina’s POV
At Easter luncheon, my husband was having sex with another woman.
The door was not fully closed.
I stood outside the study on the second floor of the Fontaine estate, holding my son’s medicine kit. From inside, I heard a woman’s breathless moan, followed by the dull thud of a desk hitting the wall again and again.
“Jasper, don’t stop.”
My blood went cold.
It was Luna Fairchild. Jasper Fontaine’s unforgettable first love. The living, breathing third person in my six-year marriage.
“Greedy,” Jasper said with a low laugh. His voice was rough, but gentle. “But I like you that way.”
That kind of tenderness—I had been his wife for six years, and I had never once received it.
I looked through the crack in the door.
Luna was lying back on the desk, one leg hooked over Jasper’s shoulder, the other hanging over the edge. Her body moved with every thrust. Jasper stood in front of her, his shirt open at the collar. One hand was braced on the desk, and the other held her waist.
A photo frame had been knocked face down. A pen had rolled onto the floor. The things on the desk shook with their movements, like some cruel, shameful rhythm.
Suddenly, I felt sick.
Downstairs, guests were laughing, and children were screaming as they searched for Easter eggs. Their voices drifted up through the floor.
And my son, Ulysses, was still waiting for me downstairs. He had scraped his knee while chasing after an egg, and I had come up to get his medicine.
Luna’s voice rose again, soft and broken, one sound after another.
My stomach rolled. I wanted to step back, but my feet felt nailed to the carpet.
Clatter.
The medicine kit slipped from my hand and fell to the floor.
The room went silent.
So I pushed the door open.
“Jasper.”
Luna gasped and shoved Jasper away. In a panic, she grabbed her coat and pulled it over herself.
Jasper turned around. His shirt was messy, and his breathing was still uneven, but there was not a trace of panic on his face.
For a moment, even the noise downstairs seemed to be wrapped in thick cotton.
“Why didn’t you knock?” he asked with a frown.
“This is my home,” I said, staring at him.
“Wow! I found the golden egg!” a child shouted from downstairs.
“It’s not what you think…” Luna said, her voice shaking.
“Then what is it? Did you trip and fall on him?”
She closed her mouth.
Jasper buttoned his shirt. “Don’t make a scene. The guests are still downstairs.”
Don’t make a scene.
Hearing those words, I almost laughed.
Six years of marriage.
I gave him a child. I used my money to fill the hole in the Fontaine family’s finances. I held this home together for him.
And in the end, he had the nerve to cheat on me in our own home.
I walked up to him and slapped him across the face.
The sound was sharp and clear.
His face turned to the side.
Luna covered her own face and took a step back.
“Nina,” Jasper said, his voice full of warning.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hand stopped in midair.
I bent down and picked up the medicine kit. The smell in the study rushed toward me, and my stomach turned again. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and forced the nausea down.
Ulysses was still waiting for his medicine.
I turned and left.
Downstairs, the Easter luncheon was still bright and lively. Children were counting their eggs. Guests held glasses of champagne and laughed as if nothing had happened.
Ulysses sat on the bench by the window. Blood had already soaked through the tissue on his knee.
“Mommy!” His little face twisted in pain. “Why did you take so long? It hurts.”
“Don’t move.”
I knelt in front of him. My hands were still shaking, but the moment I touched his wound, they became strangely steady.
Clean. Disinfect. Press to stop the bleeding. Bandage.
“Can I keep looking for eggs?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then can I have ice cream? Auntie Luna said we can have ice cream on Easter.”
“No. You just bled. You can’t run around, and you can’t eat anything cold.”
Ulysses was not like other children.
He had been born early and spent a month in the NICU. He had a clotting disorder and a weak immune system. Other children could fall, cry for a bit, and get back up. Ulysses might keep bleeding.
Once, a careless nanny had made one mistake, and he ended up in the ICU.
After that day, I paused my graduate studies and took over all his medicine, food rules, and daily care myself.
His face fell at once.
Just then, Jasper came downstairs.
He had changed into a clean white shirt. Nothing on his face looked different. If not for the faint red mark on his left cheek, even I might have wondered if that slap had only been in my imagination.
“Papa.”
Jasper touched Ulysses’s head.
Ulysses lowered his voice and said in French, “Papa, je veux une autre maman.”
Dad, I want a different mom.
My hand froze over the medicine kit.
Ulysses stiffened for a second, then relaxed.
In his eyes, I was just a woman who stayed in the kitchen all day and smelled like butter. Of course I would not understand French.
I looked up. “Ulysses, what did you just say?”
He turned his face away, impatient. “I’m practicing French with Dad. You don’t understand, so don’t interrupt.”
Then he lifted his face and continued.
“Mom is always wearing an apron, and she never lets me do the things I like. My classmates will probably think she’s our maid. Auntie Luna is different. She rides horses and wears pretty dresses. She looks like a mom in the movies. Dad, you like her too, right? Can she be my mom instead?”
My own son wanted another woman to be his mother.
For one moment, I still tried to make excuses for him.
He was only a child.