I Designed His Dream House, He Built a Secret Family

Chapter 2

Word Count: 756 | Released on: 23/12/2025

The director's voice was warm on the other end of the line. "But you unde

t was exactly what I need

d for you," he promised. "Just

mething like hope cutting through th

drove straight

ugs on the counter. A framed photo of us on our wedding day on the mantelpiece, his arm wrapped tightly around

evulsion wa

bottom of the bag. The photo frame followed, the glass cracking. I tore every picture of us from its frame, ripped them into tiny pi

ragged them to the curb, a cleansi

rything that was mine. I arranged for a shipping company to pick them up a

't come hom

is briefcase and pulled me into an embrace, his arms wrapping around m

ent of a different woman's perfume on his shirt. Naus

"What's wrong, Ar

I said, my

re you sick? Let's go to the docto

," I said. "I

ries of gift-wrapped boxes from his briefc

bottle of perfume I would never wear. Ea

redness in my eyes. "What

eye, my voice hard. "I want a

n a mask of weary patience. "We've talked

right time for y

tiative. I'm under a lot of pressure

ready turning away. "I have to go." A lie. He kissed my forehead, a gesture t

he claimed was "for international business," lying on the coffee tab

fever is back. He keep

t was so intense it was a physical sensation, but it was overshadowed by a sudden, violent cramp in my s

g thought began t

ight. The next morning, I

the ultrasound screen. "Congratulations, Mrs. Thorne," she said, her

Chapter End

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I Designed His Dream House, He Built a Secret Family

Xi Jin Short stories

“I was in a high-end mall, browsing a toy store for my friend's daughter's birthday, when my world tilted on its axis. Through the polished glass storefront, I saw him. My husband, Julian. He was in the café opposite, seated beside the sprawling indoor children's play area. He wasn't alone. A woman, Seraphina Vance-a social media influencer whose perfectly curated life I'd occasionally scrolled past-was laughing, her head tilted just so. And between them, a little boy of about four, gleefully mashing a piece of cake into his own dark hair. Julian's hair. They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. An icy dread washed over me. I remembered Julian refusing to have a baby with me, citing the immense pressure of his work. All his business trips, the late nights... were they spent with them? I recalled a night six months ago when Noah had supposedly been sick. Julian had stayed out all night, his voice strained over the phone, telling me a "critical client had a medical emergency." The lie was so easy for him. I must have stared too long. The little boy, Noah, noticed me. He picked up a toy water pistol from their table, aimed it directly at me through the café's open front, and squeezed the trigger. A jet of cold water hit my silk skirt, leaving a dark, spreading stain. Seraphina Vance turned, her eyes meeting mine. There was no surprise, only a flicker of amusement. She offered a saccharine smile. "Oh, dear. He's just playing with you," she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. My heart hammered against my ribs. I turned and walked away, my legs unsteady. I needed to leave, to breathe, to think. In the underground parking garage, I fumbled for my keys, my hands shaking. As I passed Julian's sleek sedan, something on the passenger seat caught my eye. A heavy, cream-colored card with embossed lettering. "You are joyfully invited to the Christening of Noah Thorne." It was real. More real than a fleeting email. A physical invitation to a life I never knew existed. How could I have been so blind? My phone felt heavy in my hand. I didn't call my best friend. I didn't call a lawyer. I called the director of the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him, for us. "I'd like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."”