Chapter 3

Ethan stared at Olivia, the word "pregnant" echoing in his ears.

Mark's child.

She said it so calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

His mind raced. When? How?

The "natural" conception she had secretly agreed to with Mark.

The late nights. The hushed phone calls. The "supporting Mark emotionally."

It all clicked into place. A horrifying, disgusting puzzle.

He felt like a fool. A complete, utter fool.

How could he have been so blind? So trusting?

The family' s joy was a sickening spectacle.

Eleanor was already talking about nurseries and baby names.

His own parents were congratulating Mark, patting him on the back.

No one looked at Ethan. No one seemed to care about his pain, his betrayal.

He was an inconvenient obstacle in their grand plan.

Olivia approached him later, when they were alone.

"Ethan, I know this is hard for you to understand," she began, her voice soft, persuasive.

"But this baby... this baby is a gift. A gift for Mark, for my mother, for Chloe's memory."

"And what about me, Olivia?" Ethan asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "What about our marriage?"

"We can get through this," she said, reaching for his hand. He pulled away.

"This was a one-time thing, Ethan. A desperate act. My heart is still yours. It always will be."

He looked at her, at the sincerity she was trying so hard to project.

He didn't believe a word of it.

"You expect me to stay?" he asked. "To raise my brother's child with you? To pretend this is normal?"

"For the sake of appearances," she pleaded. "For the family. I can't lose you, Ethan. Please."

He saw through her. The charade. The manipulation.

He felt a renewed pain, a fresh wave of heartbreak.

The sounds he'd heard from the bedroom that night... they weren't a one-time mistake.

They were a deliberate choice. A continued infidelity.

He started hearing them again, in his mind. The hushed whispers, the soft moans.

Tears welled in his eyes, tears of rage and despair.

He pushed past her, went to the guest room. He couldn't sleep in their bed anymore.

The next day, Olivia tried again.

She brought him breakfast in bed in the guest room. A pathetic attempt at normalcy.

"Ethan, we need to talk about this like adults," she said.

"There's nothing to discuss, Olivia," he said, pushing the tray away. "I want a divorce."

Her face crumpled. "No! You can't mean that!"

"I do," he said, his voice cold, final.

She started to cry, then her expression hardened.

"You're being selfish, Ethan! Can't you see how much this means to everyone?"

"Everyone except me, apparently," he retorted.

The family, of course, sided with Olivia.

Eleanor called him, her voice sharp. "You're abandoning Olivia when she needs you most? When she's carrying your brother's child? What kind of man are you?"

His parents were no better. "You need to support her, Ethan. It's your duty as her husband."

Husband? He felt like a prisoner.

A few days later, there was another "incident."

Mark was at their house, supposedly discussing baby plans with Olivia.

Ethan was in his study, trying to work, trying to ignore them.

Suddenly, he heard a crash from the living room, followed by Olivia's scream.

He rushed out.

Mark was on the floor, clutching his ankle, his face contorted in pain.

Olivia was kneeling beside him, her face etched with concern.

"Mark! What happened?" she cried.

"I think I twisted it," Mark groaned. "I tripped on the rug."

Ethan looked at the rug. It was perfectly flat.

Olivia was fussing over Mark, helping him to the sofa, her touch lingering a little too long.

"Oh, Mark, you poor thing," she cooed, stroking his hair.

The intimacy between them was palpable, sickening.

Ethan watched, his suspicion growing. This felt staged.

Then, Eleanor and his parents arrived, as if on cue.

They had been "in the neighborhood."

Eleanor immediately rushed to Mark's side.

"My poor boy! What happened?"

Olivia explained, her voice filled with worry.

And then, all eyes turned to Ethan.

"Ethan, were you in the room?" Eleanor asked, her tone accusatory.

"No, I was in my study," he said.

"Are you sure you didn't... argue with Mark? Maybe push him?" Susan Miller asked, her eyes narrowed.

Ethan was stunned. "What? Of course not! He said he tripped!"

"It's just that you've been so angry lately, Ethan," his father said.

They were actually suggesting he'd assaulted Mark.

The injustice was overwhelming. He was being framed.

He felt like he was in a madhouse.