I Aborted Our Baby The Day He Celebrated His Mistress Birthday Chapter 02

I Aborted Our Baby The Day He Celebrated His Mistress Birthday Chapter 02

Julian’s voice pulled me out of sleep. He was on a call.

In the kitchen, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, he was coaxing Harper back to sleep while following a recipe video for some pregnancy-safe breakfast.

Quite the multitasker.

He only hung up when he saw me walk in.

“There’s tea on the table,” he called out. I walked right past him.

I dropped into a chair at the table. Finally. Quiet. My eyes closed on their own.

“Hey. Eat.” Julian slid a plate in front of me, everything arranged with sickening care.

My spoon was halfway to my mouth when he swatted my hand away. “Hold on — let me get a picture.”

He snapped the picture, hit send — to Harper, of course — and shoved the spoon back into my hand. “Okay. Eat.”

My appetite was gone.

I sat back in my chair. “Why are you sending her pictures of my food?”

“She wanted to see it,” Julian said. “That’s just how she is — curious about everything. She even asked about the pajamas I got you.”

“And you sent her a photo of those too.” Something in my voice made Julian freeze.

He didn’t answer.

“I saw the photos she posted from her apartment, Julian. She was wearing the exact same pajamas.”

A lace camisole. The kind that barely passed for clothing.

In the photo, Harper was draped over Julian’s arm, chin tilted just low enough to make sure the camera caught everything the lace didn’t cover.

It wasn’t a one-time thing. Harper had turned copying me into a hobby.

The same soft waves. The same shade of lipstick.

Julian and I had carved a wooden ornament together on a trip once — a custom piece, one of a kind. Harper wanted the exact same one. Obviously, she couldn’t have it.

So Harper pouted until Julian caved and gave her ours.

The one I’d engraved our wedding anniversary into, by hand, on the bottom — sitting in Harper’s apartment now. Just like that.

“I don’t like this,” I said. Julian didn’t even blink. “It’s not that serious. Don’t be petty.”

“She thinks you have great taste. She says you’re her idol. What’s wrong with her wanting the same look?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Not because he was right.

The old me would’ve blown up. Screamed at him until one of us slammed a door.

But there was nothing left to ignite. Every nerve in me that used to catch fire had gone cold.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re right.”