My Husband Killed Our Daughter For His Mistress

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband came home with a sheepish grin, saying he’d had to work late. But I had stumbled upon him celebrating the birthday of his illegitimate son, a ten-year-old boy who was his spitting image.

"Dad, you're late. Mom's upset; you should make her smile," the boy said as he blew out the candles on his honey spice cake and closed his eyes to make a wish. "I wish for Mom and Dad to always be together."

My husband pulled the boy and a woman with flowing hair into a warm embrace. "We'll always be together as a family," he promised them.

In that moment, I realized my marriage was a complete lie. For ten years, my husband had been the perfect partner to someone else.

Sitting in the darkness, I blew out the candles on our anniversary cake and made a wish of my own. "I want to make him pay for this betrayal."

A noise outside startled me, and the lights flicked on. "Honey, why are you sitting in the dark?"

Ford had returned, the faint smell of alcohol lingering on him. "I thought you were working late. Why do you reek of alcohol?"

I picked up a knife and slowly sliced into our "Happy Tenth Anniversary" cake, the red strawberry leaving a bright stain on the cream.

He bent over, dipped his finger into the cream, and tasted it, trying to placate me. "This cake you made is incredible! Too bad I already ate at the office. We celebrated a colleague's big win with a grand dinner, and I accidentally drank some champagne."

"Oh really? What did you have?" I asked, my voice cold and distant.

"Italian food," he replied, removing his jacket and struggling with his tie. He gave me a pleading look, and I stepped forward to help. He leaned in to kiss me.

"While some have mommy issues, I rely on you. I’m not sure what I'd do without you," he said.

After we got married, I became a housewife, centering my life around Ford and attending to his every need. I tied his tie in the morning and untied it in the evening, protecting him like a man-child who couldn't fend for himself.

"If you had Italian, why is there cake on your tie?" I teased, brushing my pinky against it and sniffing.

"This isn't my cake," I observed, tasting the cream with my tongue, my gaze fixed on his. "It's a birthday cake for a kid, way too sweet and sugary."

"Oh, right, now I remember, my colleague's kid came to the office. It was his birthday, so we had some cake."

His expression didn't waver, his lies so smooth. If I hadn't seen him from the restaurant, habit might have made me believe him.

I gathered up his discarded socks and straightened his shoes, ready to ask the question that had been gnawing at me.

"We've been married for ten years with no children. Do you ever regret it?"

Sensing my mood, Ford hugged me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Kids don’t matter; you’ve given me everything. Marrying you was my greatest fortune."

"Don’t overthink. Being a DINK couple is perfect—just the two of us, right?" He smiled, "Happy anniversary, I love you, Val."

From the start, he loved to nuzzle into my shoulder and play coy. Even after marriage, he treated me like we were still honeymooners.

In return, I had always been unconditionally accommodating, even willing to sacrifice everything for him. As long as he loved me and stayed faithful, being the only father of our lost child.

The shower switched on and then off. He poked his head out. "Hey, darling, let's do our dinner tomorrow since I’m home late tonight, okay?"

To everyone else, he was the perfect husband, successful at work, providing stability and a sense of security.

I once thought if he were to pass away before me, I’d follow him without hesitation. After all, we had no children, just our marriage and each other.

He sang loudly in the shower as usual. In the living room, his phone buzzed with a message.

"Dad, thanks for celebrating my birthday with us tonight! Mom and I really love you!"

I woke up at five, as always, putting on makeup and preparing breakfast to be ready by half-past six.

When he woke up, breakfast would be at the perfect temperature, and I’d look presentable, no morning mess in sight.

"Darling, your cooking is amazing! Thanks for making breakfast every day for ten years."

While he ate, I organized his briefcase, slipping in a discreet GPS recorder.

With practiced hands, I tied his tie, held the elevator door, and handed him his bag. "Thanks, darling. I'll come home early for dinner tonight."

After he left, I turned on my phone, examining the photos I’d secretly taken last night. Was that child really my husband’s son?

With trembling fingers, I zoomed in on the photos; his small face was undeniably a miniature version of Ford, especially the droopy eyes, a trademark of the Robinsons.

I remembered the day in the maternity ward when my mother-in-law cradled our newborn, bursting with pride.

"Oh, my dear grandson looks just like his daddy and granddaddy with those distinctive Robinson eyes!"

Thinking about this, I unthinkingly jabbed at the boy's eyes in the photo. Wait! Who was the woman clinging to his arm? Why did she seem so familiar?

Frantically, I increased my phone's brightness. The woman had long, flowing hair, her style glamorous and unlike mine. Her eyes and brows struck a chord.

"Darling, I have to work late again tonight. Don't wait up, okay?"

Suddenly, Ford texted, standing me up again just like the previous evening.

I stormed into the kitchen and dumped the lovingly prepared anniversary dinner.

The night before, feeling let down, I had driven to another part of the city, only to spot my husband through the large restaurant windows.

I’d wanted to say hi, but a little boy suddenly hugged his waist. Ford lifted the boy up, grinning and kissing the woman beside him.

The boy called Ford "Dad," and the stunning woman "Mom."

The cake said "Happy Tenth Birthday!" What a picture-perfect family they made.

Ford, we’ve been married for ten years, and you have a ten-year-old son?!

Disguised in a mask and sunglasses, I took a cab to his location. It wasn’t his office; he stood outside a toy store, leaning against a pillar, smoking, waiting for someone.

"Daddy!"

A small boy ran over, and Ford immediately stubbed out his barely lit cigarette, tenderly ruffling the child’s hair.

"Ezra, slow down, careful not to trip!"

The woman behind them playfully scolded the boy, sauntering up and entwining her arms with Ford’s.

"Sorry, Ezra wouldn’t eat unless he saw you," she said with a flirtatious smile, exuding both maternal warmth and undeniable allure.

Up close, her face brought back memories—Jolie Adams, a junior from our university days!

On the drive home, my heart pounded as I ran red light after red light, an urgent need driving me onward. A ten-year-old kid, a junior who left school amid rumors of pregnancy.

My heart raced as I delved into the storage room, rifling through boxes for my university yearbook, finally finding the familiar face in a club photo. Though her hairstyle had changed, it was definitely Jolie Adams!

To confirm, I called my good friend Cameron, now a divorce lawyer.

"Valentina? Finally remember the friend you ditched for love?" she joked.

"I want to catch up. Do you recall Jolie from the university club?"

"Of course! Didn’t she leave school amid a scandal with a teacher?"

That was the story back then, both Jolie and the teacher getting expelled. But why did the child look so much like my husband?

"Cameron, hypothetically speaking, if my husband had been cheating for years, what should I do?"

"Don’t tip him off. Quietly gather proof of his infidelity," Cameron advised, echoing my thoughts.

I got a part-time job at Ezra's school as a cooking teacher. With my Le Cordon Bleu certification in French cuisine, securing the position was easy; I recalled the principal's astonished look.

"A Le Cordon Bleu chef? You’re okay teaching part-time at an elementary school?"

Absolutely.

To prepare delightful meals for my husband, I...