Suicide Watch with the Other Woman's Child Chapter 2

Without any physical injuries or medical reports, I kept my story simple, calling it a heated domestic argument. The officers gave me a stern warning and released me after a few hours.

When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was fully lit.

Grace sat on the living room sofa, holding our baby daughter Emma. Her older brother, Thomas, stood beside her, his face dark with fury.

Nick was sitting on the rug, playing with a toy car, though the tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

Grace raised her head, her eyes shot through with red veins. She stared at me, her gaze cold enough to freeze water.

I kicked off my shoes, picked Nick up, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hey there, buddy. Still awake? Did you miss Daddy?"

Nick wrapped his arms around my neck, executing his role perfectly. "Daddy, can we get pizza tomorrow?"

"Of course! The biggest, most expensive pizza in town!"

Thomas’s face turned purple. He lunged forward, ready to swing. "Robert! You absolute piece of garbage! Your wife gave birth barely six months ago, and you bring your bastard into her home?!"

I sidestepped his fist, letting out a mockery of a laugh.

"Thomas, watch your mouth. What do you mean, bastard? This is the heir to my family name!"

"Besides, it's not my fault Grace's body couldn't even produce a son. I had to secure my legacy somehow, didn't I?"

Grace began to shake violently. She handed Emma to her brother and bolted toward the nursery.

A few seconds later, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the room.

She had seen the trash bags of baby clothes. She had seen the broken crib.

"Robert!!!"

She charged out of the room, throwing herself at me, her nails raking across my cheek.

A sharp sting flared across my face.

But that physical pain was a relief. It was a distraction from the agony inside.

I grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back.

Her back hit the entryway cabinet with a dull thud.

My heart stopped. My hand instinctively twitched, wanting to reach out and catch her, but I forced my arm to stay down. Instead, I pointed a finger at her and sneered.

"You crazy bitch! You dare touch me?"

"That slap just cost you every single penny of child support I was planning to throw your way!"

"If you're going to stay here, you learn your place!"

"You want a divorce? Fine! Go ahead and sue me! You'll leave this house with nothing, and the kid stays with me!"

Grace clutched her bruised shoulder, panting heavily. She raised a hand to stop her brother from lunging at me again, using the cabinet to support herself as she stood tall.

The wild, screaming rage in her eyes slowly hardened into a cold, unbreakable steel.

"Thomas, go home," she said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Grace! How can you stay here with this monster? Pack your things and come with me!"

"I'm not leaving." She stared directly into my eyes, speaking each word with deadly precision. "This is my home. I paid for half of this apartment. If I walk out now, I'm just clearing the way for this trash and his whore."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I am going to stay right here, and I am going to watch the universe tear you to pieces."

Thomas couldn't convince her. With a few final curses directed at me, he took his coat and left.

The moment the front door clicked shut, Grace took Emma from the stroller, walked into the guest room, and locked the door behind her.

Hearing the lock slide into place, my chest tightened.

She was staying.

For the sake of her daughter and her own pride, she had chosen to fight. And as long as she was willing to fight, she wouldn't try to die.

Late that night, I locked myself in the master bathroom, kneeling over the toilet bowl.

My stomach twisted in agonizing knots, the brutal reality of the chemotherapy and the cancer spreading through my abdomen.

I flushed away the crimson fluid, staring at the ghost looking back at me in the mirror. Sunken cheeks, dark hollows under my eyes. I looked like a corpse.

Through the thin wall, I could hear her muffled, suffocating sobs.

I pressed my forehead against the cold bathroom tiles, tapping my head against them until the skin broke and bled, desperate to let the physical pain drown out the screaming guilt in my mind.

Don't cry, Grace. Please, save your tears.

Hate me. Want to destroy me. That is the only way you'll have the strength to live.

The next morning, the living room was a disaster zone.

Nick’s expensive new toys were completely ruined, his plastic action figures smashed and piled high in the trash bin.

Grace sat at the table, quietly feeding Emma some formula. She didn't even look up when I walked in.

"I cleaned up some of the trash around here," she said, her tone light and conversational. "From now on, if I see any of that bastard's things in my sight, they go straight into the garbage."

I looked at her tired but stubborn face, a smile almost breaking through my mask.

Instead, I kicked the trash bin over, sending the broken toys scattering across the floor.

"Grace, do you have a death wish?" I barked. "Clearly, you have too much free time on your hands!"

"Since you love cleaning so much, you're the maid now. You do all the housework."

"And if my son isn't fed and cared for perfectly, you won't see a single cent of allowance!"

Grace finally looked up, her lips curving into a dry, mocking smile.

"Robert, you think you can control me with a few dollars?"

"Just wait."

Later that morning, Grace put on a tailored trench coat, applied a light layer of makeup, and walked out the door.

She was going to meet with a divorce lawyer, and she was looking for a job.

My Grace was finally baring her teeth to survive.

But finding a job after a long gap and during a transition period wasn't easy. It wasn't enough to turn her into iron.

I needed to add more fuel to the fire.

And that fuel’s name was Gwen.