My Broken Bride Is Not Broken Chapter 2

Jenny’s face was a mask of perfect concern. Her eyes, those beautiful, sharp eyes, were filled with my reflection—the same way they had been for years.

Whether it was the five years we spent side-by-side or the month since she’d "returned," she had always treated me with a tenderness that made it impossible to see the lie.

I quickly locked my phone and forced a weak smile.

"Just a dizzy spell," I lied, my voice steady despite the bile in my throat. "Stood up too fast. Low blood sugar, probably."

She sighed, a sound of genuine relief, and reached down to help me up. Her touch, which used to feel like home, now felt like a brand.

"Let’s go to the coast tomorrow," she suggested, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. "I’ll have Xavier book the flights to the Hamptons. You’ve always loved the ocean. We can do the engagement shoot on the beach. What do you think?"

She was as attentive as ever. But now, every word felt like a calculated move in a game I hadn't known we were playing.

"I don't think so," I said.

Jenny blinked, surprised. She gently stroked the back of my hand. "What’s wrong, Oliver? You seem... off. Did something happen? We promised each other, remember? No secrets. No lies."

The irony was so sharp I nearly laughed. I looked her dead in the eye.

"Jenny. Is there really nothing you’re keeping from me?"

She didn't even flinch. A small, playful smile touched her lips. "What could I possibly be hiding from you?"

I nodded slowly, swallowing the bitterness. "Right. Good to know. Let’s just sleep, Jenny. I’m exhausted."

The next morning, we were jolted awake by a frantic pounding on the front door.

Jenny opened it to find a man with bloodshot eyes, clutching a toddler—a boy about two or three years old. It was Damian.

"Jenny, please... he won't stop crying for his mother. He hasn't slept in two days. You told me not to come here, but I didn't know what else to do..."

Panic flared in Jenny’s eyes for a split second. She instinctively looked back at me, checking my expression.

"Oliver, don't misunderstand," she said quickly, her voice taking on that "commander" tone. "This is Damian. He’s the medic from my unit. His wife was one of my teammates—my best friend. She was killed during the mission. I’ve been helping them out because they have no one else..."

Before I could say a word, Damian broke into a sob.

"Mr. Thorne, I know you two are getting married. I didn't want to be a burden, but the boy... he just keeps calling for his mom. I’m at my wit’s end..."

I cut him off, my gaze fixed on Jenny.

"The boy wants his mother, Jenny. Are you his mother?"

She shot a warning glare at Damian before turning back to me, her expression softening into desperate innocence. "Of course not, Oliver. Look at him, he’s over two years old. I was deployed for three years—how could I have a child that age? Toby’s mother died saving my life. I’ve been a surrogate figure for them, and he’s confused. It’s a tragedy, that’s all."

I looked at the boy. Even at his age, the shape of his eyes and the line of his jaw were an undeniable mirror of Jenny’s.

My grandfather’s car was coming tomorrow. I didn't want a scene. I didn't want a confrontation that would keep me trapped in this house for one second longer than necessary. I forced myself to nod.

"I believe you," I said, the words tasting like ash. "Go ahead and take care of them. I’m going back upstairs to rest."

I turned my back on them. Jenny followed me, her footsteps hovering right behind mine.

"Oliver, I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure this doesn't interfere with our plans..."

But Damian called out again, his voice cracking with a practiced misery. "Jenny, he’s been sick. He hasn't eaten in a month since you left him... I need to take him to the hospital, but I don't know this part of the city. Please. If anything happens to Toby, I have nothing left to live for."

I looked at Jenny. She hesitated, but her eyes gave her away. She wasn't annoyed; she was terrified for that child.

"He’s just a baby," I said, my voice cold. "And his mother died for you. You should go. Take them to the hospital."

The relief that washed over her face was sickening. Her tone became light, almost giddy. "I’ll be back as soon as he’s checked out. Oliver, thank you. Thank you for being so understanding."

She didn't even change out of her lounge clothes. She ran to the door and scooped the boy into her arms with a practiced, maternal grace that shattered whatever was left of my soul.

I watched from the window as they walked to the car—the father, the mother, and the child. A perfect family unit.

I felt like I had been dropped into a bottomless trench. I kept sinking, deeper and deeper into the dark, until there was no sound left at all.