Chapter 122
After all, everyone had seen Jonathan carrying Niamh out in his arms with their own eyes.
But because of Jonathan’s relationship with Marina, they’d all assumed Niamh was just the “other woman.”
What if those wedding photos going viral online were real, though?
“There’s no way those are real!” Jayne exclaimed, taking up Marina’s defense in the office that afternoon. “Anyone can tell they’re photoshopped. Niamh’s got no shame. Marina’s been living with Mr. Thomas for ages now.”
Jayne wasn’t entirely wrong.
Still, if Niamh had been Jonathan’s wife from the very beginning, the tangled mess between Jonathan, Niamh, and Marina would still make sense–just with the roles
reversed.
The only real difference would be who the “other woman” actually was.
Out in the hallway, Marina ran into two colleagues from another department. Their glances had changed, sharp with judgment and speculation.
She’d endured these looks all day, and Marina knew exactly what had caused it–the trending topic online.
Arriving at the executive office, she paused to smooth her hair and straighten her skirt. By the time she pushed open the door, her usual sweet smile was firmly in place.
“Jonathan, I sliced some fruit for you–your favorite, honeydew melon.”
Balancing the tray, Marina caught a glimpse of the shredder out of the corner of her eye as she approached Jonathan.
Even though the papers were already in ribbons, the bold heading was still visible.
Divorce Agreement.
“What’s wrong? You look/pale.” Jonathan speared a piece of melon with a fork and held it up to her lips.
Marina turned her head away.
Jonathan’s hand paused in midair, surprised.
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Jonathan… I… I can’t do this anymore…”
Tears welled up in Marina’s eyes in an instant, red–rimmed and glistening.
She looked so heartbreakingly vulnerable that it was impossible not to feel something.
For once, Jonathan gently took her hand and pulled her close.
“What happened? Who’s hurt you?”
Marina shook her head.
“No one’s hurt me… It’s just… Everyone at the office is whispering behind my back, calling me a homewrecker, and I…”
She took the chance to bury herself in Jonathan’s arms, tears soaking through his shirt.
Jonathan quietly dabbed her cheeks with a tissue, his touch tender.
“So what do you want me to do?”
At the coffee shop, Niamh lingered until nearly school pick–up time for the kindergarteners.
Through the window, she watched parents stream in and out, each one greeted by a delighted child, every family wrapped in their own little bubble of happiness.
If only the child she and Jonathan were supposed to have had survived…
She realized her hand had wandered again to her now–empty belly, and her eyes stung with tears.
They say time heals all wounds.
Maybe she was the exception.
Peering outside, Niamh saw no sign of reporters lurking nearby.
She picked up her phone and called Jonathan.
“What is it?”
His voice was as cold and impatient as ever.
Still, that curt “what is it” was oddly jarring.
“Of course it’s something. City hall’s closing soon. If you leave now, you can make it
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in time. The reporters are gone.”
“So you’ve been keeping watch out there this whole time?”
Jonathan’s voice was tinged with a mocking edge.
Niamh bristled at the implication. “Not all of us have a chauffeur and a fancy car.”
“If you ever want a ride, just let me know next time.”
Was he trying to change the subject? Niamh cut him off, direct and to the point. “Jonathan, I’m waiting for you. Let’s get the divorce papers signed.”
In his office, Jonathan glanced at the three copies of the divorce agreement lying shredded in the bin, his eyes unreadable.
The silence on the line stretched so long that Niamh almost thought he’d hung up.
At last, Jonathan’s voice returned, flat as ever-
“I’m not getting divorced.”
