My Husband’s Golden Retriever, My Second Life Chapter 10

My Husband’s Golden Retriever, My Second Life Chapter 10

Ethan’s downfall came a month later. I had nothing to do with it. He destroyed himself.

His business partner reported him for embezzling corporate funds.

Once the first crack appeared, everyone piled on.

People who’d once feared crossing him finally stepped forward one after another.

Tax evasion, commercial fraud, bribery — the charges stacked up fast.

Enough to lock him away for a full decade.

I received the news while I was in the hospital for my prenatal checkup.

On the ultrasound screen, my baby’s heartbeat pulsed strong and steady.

“Perfectly healthy,” the doctor said, “All indicators are normal.”

I smiled to myself.

In my past life, my child had died at seven months.

In this life, my baby was seven months old, alive and vigorous.

I walked out of the hospital to find Zoe waiting in the car.

“Ms. Hayes, Mason just called. Wynn… the golden retriever passed away last night.”

I fell quiet for a few seconds.

“Bury her.”

“He’s asking where to bury her?”

“Find any quiet spot. No tombstone, no name. Nothing.”

As we drove through the city center, the giant screen on a skyscraper flashed breaking news of Ethan’s arrest.

His face flashed across the screen, haggard and worn, nothing like the confident, polished man he’d once been.

Reporters stated he faced over ten years in prison.

I turned off the car radio.

Zoe glanced at me through the rearview mirror, “Are you alright, Ms. Hayes?”

“I’m fine,” I said softly, “Let’s head home.”

Back at the house, I settled on the sofa, one hand resting gently on my belly.

The house lay utterly silent.

No barking, no trace of Ethan’s voice, no soft footsteps from the housekeeper.

It was only me and my baby.

I picked up my phone and pulled up Chloe’s old chat page.

Her last message, sent right before her supposed critical illness, still lingered at the bottom: Nora, thank you for always staying by my side. You’re my best friend.

I stared at the words for a long, long time.

Then I deleted the entire conversation.

Bright sunlight streamed through the windows.

I stood up, pulled back the curtains, and let the warm light flood every corner of the room.

“My baby,” I whispered, stroking my belly, “Let me tell you a story.”

My baby kicked gently in response.

“It’s a long story.”

“A messy one.”

“But it has a happy ending.”

“And she’ll never make the same mistakes again.”

Sunlight fell warm and soft across my face.

I’d died on a cold, bitter night in my past life.

In this life, I breathed freely in a warm, gentle afternoon.

It was all worth it.