Unraveling Secrets on Our Wedding Night
On our wedding night, my husband Scott wanted to get intimate, but I turned him down, saying I was too tired. He understood, kissed me goodnight, and we drifted off to sleep. However, just after midnight, I felt the bed shake and turned to see something that left me frozen in place.
I had hesitated earlier, suggesting we talk instead of diving into intimacy. Scott, though frustrated, agreed to my need for conversation and rest. He masked his disappointment with a gentle kiss, and we eventually fell asleep. But in the middle of the night, the tranquility of our suite was shattered when I awoke to the bed shaking.
I turned, expecting to see Scott sleeping, but instead, he was kneeling by the bed, holding a baby. “Scott?” I asked, confusion and concern in my voice. “What’s going on?” He looked at me with a nervous expression and finally whispered, “Everly, this is Ella,” he gulped before continuing. “She’s my orphaned niece. My stepsister, Maya, passed away recently, and I found out about her just a few weeks ago.”
Dumbfounded, I struggled to understand how this baby had appeared in our room on our wedding night. “A few weeks ago?” I repeated, frowning as I tried to process the situation. “Scott, how could you keep this from me? How can we start our life together with secrets and lies?” I asked, feeling betrayed. But I took a deep breath and asked, “What’s the plan here? Are we going to adopt Ella?”
Scott sighed, admitting he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He just needed to take care of her for now, and we postponed the discussion. But I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that lingered as I tried to sleep.
The next day, we returned home to Scott’s estate with Ella, settling into a life with her as if something had been decided the night before. I felt powerless, unsure how to change the situation. As I held Ella one evening, I sought answers about Scott’s past and his stepsister, Maya. “Scott, if you and your family cut ties with your stepsister, why insist on raising her baby?” I wondered.
Scott’s reluctance to answer made me angry. “But she’s Ella’s mother, right? What else do you know about her?” I pressed, my voice sharper. “Everly, it’s not about Maya anymore. It’s about Ella. She’s innocent in all this, and she has no one but us,” Scott finally said. I inquired about Ella’s father, but he cut me off, refusing to say more.
A couple of weeks later, curiosity got the better of me, and I snooped around Scott’s study while he was away. I discovered a photograph on his desk that contradicted everything he had told me. It was a picture of Scott, seemingly happy and close with a pregnant woman, potentially Maya.
When Scott returned home that evening, his smile faded as he noticed my stern expression. “Everly, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. I held up the photo, my voice steady but cold. “Explain this, Scott. And I want the truth this time. You told me you and your sister were estranged, but this picture tells me otherwise.”
Scott tried to dismiss the photo, but his evasiveness only fueled my frustration. “No more lies, Scott! This photo shows you with a pregnant woman, smiling and happy. How can you claim estrangement?” I demanded. He sighed, finally admitting, “Yes, that’s Maya, Ella’s mother. Although my family cut ties with her, I used to meet her secretly and help her.”
“Why hide it? Why did you lie to me?” I asked, feeling hurt and betrayed. “I was afraid you’d leave if you knew the truth. I wanted you to love Ella, to see her as our future without getting caught up in the complications of her origins,” Scott explained.
Angered and heartbroken, I demanded honesty about Maya and their past. Scott revealed more about his relationship with Ella’s mother, who wasn’t his stepsister, and his desperation to provide Ella with a stable life. “You’ve not only betrayed me,” I said, tears streaming down my face, “but you’ve also betrayed your daughter by starting our marriage like this.”
I cried for days, contemplating what to do. I had grown to love Ella dearly but didn’t know if I could remain married to a liar. After a few days, I faced Scott again. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore,” I declared, having already packed my things. Scott rushed to grab my arm. “Please, Everly, think about Ella. She needs you,” he begged, but my resolve was firm. “Ella is your daughter, Scott. Not mine,” I clarified. The words were hurtful but necessary, and Scott dropped his hold on me, letting me go.
The silence of my small apartment downtown was a stark contrast to the life I had left behind. Immersing myself in my work as a fashion designer, I sought solace in the familiarity of fabrics and designs, yet the void Ella’s absence left was profound.
Despite the hurt, I found myself missing Ella’s laughter. Scott’s attempts at reconciliation were relentless, but the thought of facing him, of rebuilding from the ashes of our marriage, seemed insurmountable. I ignored his texts and calls, but he persisted. One morning, Scott knocked on my door, standing there with Ella. Her giggles were a bittersweet melody that softened the walls I had built around my heart.
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