Seven Years, A Secret Family

I took a bullet for my husband, Colt, a decorated Delta Force operator. The injury left me barren, but he swore I was all he ever needed.

Seven years later, I found him in a restaurant with another woman and a six-year-old boy who looked just like him. The boy called him "Dada."

My world shattered when I learned his family, his friends, and even my own father knew about his secret life. They all watched as he paraded his mistress, Chelsey, and their son, Jemal, in front of me. He even admitted I was just a "means to an end" for his family's legacy.

When Jemal went missing, Chelsey accused me of kidnapping him. Colt believed her. He locked me in our cellar for three days, a punishment for a crime I didn't commit. "He's not a bastard!" Colt roared when I questioned if the boy was even his. "He's my son! My blood!"

But his eyes darted away, filled with uncertainty.

As I stumbled out of the cellar, bruised and broken, my best friend arrived. "The divorce papers are filed, Em," she whispered fiercely. "It's done." I looked back at Colt, standing stunned on the porch. His empire of lies was crumbling, and I was finally free.

Chapter 1

Emerson POV:

The world went silent around me the moment I saw him. Not the Colt I knew, the one who kissed me goodbye just a few days ago, his uniform sharp, his eyes full of promises. This Colt was different. He was laughing, a deep, easy laugh I hadn't heard in years, as he hoisted a small boy onto his shoulders.

The boy, no older than six, giggled, his hands tangled in Colt's perfectly styled hair. He looked just like Colt. Same unruly dark hair, same mischievous sparkle in his eyes. My stomach churned.

"Dada, faster!" the boy squealed, bouncing on Colt's shoulders.

Dada.

The word ripped through me, a dull, heavy blow to the chest. It echoed in the elegant restaurant, though I knew no one else heard it but me. My husband, Captain Colt Patrick, decorated Delta Force operator, holding another woman's child, a child who called him "Dada."

My vision blurred. I watched them, a perfect, cozy tableau. Colt, effortlessly charming, leaned down to kiss the boy's forehead. A woman, slender and pretty, sat across from them, her hand resting casually on Colt's arm. It was a familiar gesture, one I used to make.

She smiled at him, a possessive, intimate smile. His eyes met hers, and in that fleeting glance, I saw a tenderness that had slowly faded from our own interactions. My breath caught in my throat.

The boy shifted, looking right at me. His eyes, Colt's eyes, were wide and curious. He tilted his head, a mirror image of the man who was supposed to be my husband, my life.

For six years. He' d kept this secret for six years. Each annual "training exercise" was a lie. Each heartfelt call, each declaration of love, a performance. I felt a cold wave of nausea wash over me.

Six years ago, I lay in a hospital bed, the sterile white sheets a stark contrast to the dust and blood of Afghanistan. I' d taken a bullet for Colt, shielded him with my own body during a botched extraction. The doctors saved me, but they couldn't save my ability to carry a child. My womb, once a symbol of future hope, was a barren wasteland.

"My Emerson," he' d whispered, his voice thick with tears, kneeling by my bedside. "My brave, beautiful Emerson. You are all I need. Always." He swore he didn' t care about heirs, about legacy. He only cared about me.

Those words, so sweet then, now tasted like ash. They were a bitter, cruel joke.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. My head throbbed. I felt dizzy, the fancy restaurant spinning around me. I needed air. I needed to escape.

I stumbled out of the restaurant, the cold night air doing little to clear my head. My legs felt like jelly, each step a monumental effort. I just needed to get away, anywhere.

Then I crashed right into her.

"Emerson! Goodness, watch where you' re going!" Bernice' s voice, sharp and familiar, cut through the fog.

My best friend since childhood, Bernice Holloway, stood before me, her fiery red hair a beacon in the dim streetlights. Her eyes, usually full of warmth, narrowed with concern as she took in my appearance.

"Em, what' s wrong? You look like you' ve seen a ghost." She reached out, her hand gently touching my arm. Her touch was a lifeline.

My throat was too tight to speak. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down my face. I shook my head, unable to form words.

"Talk to me, Em. What happened?" Her voice was softer now, laced with genuine worry.

I choked back a sob. "Colt... he has a son, Bernice. A little boy. He' s six." The words tore through me, ragged and raw.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Colt. A picture of him, smiling, against a generic military backdrop, with a text: "Thinking of my beautiful wife. Miss you, love. Almost done here. Be home soon."

I stared at the screen, the image mocking me. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the pavement. A fresh wave of tears, fueled by a searing rage, washed over me.

"He's been lying to me, Bernice. All this time. Every 'training exercise.' Every 'miss you' message." The words were a whisper, laced with venom.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall, slow and heavy, just like the tears blurring my vision. The sky cracked open, unleashing a torrential downpour, mirroring the storm raging inside me. The world was crying with me.

The Patricks. Colt' s old-money family. They always wanted an heir, a continuation of their prestigious name. I had heard the whispers, the veiled questions about children. But Colt always dismissed them, shielded me from their expectations. Or so I thought. Was this his way of appeasing them?

I remembered our childhood, running through the fields behind his family estate, his hand always finding mine. He was my protector, my confidant. He swore he' d never let anyone hurt me.

When his family all but disowned him for choosing me, a general' s daughter but not old money, he fought for us. He stood up to his formidable mother, threatened to resign his commission, to cut ties completely. He chose me. Everyone saw it. Our wedding was a testament to his fierce love, a victory against all odds.

All of it a lie. A cruel, elaborate lie. My heart was not just broken; it was annihilated.

My phone rang again. Colt' s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it, a mixture of dread and cold fury swirling inside me.

I picked it up, forcing my voice to be steady. "Hello?"

"Emerson? Baby, what' s wrong? You sound... distant. Is everything okay?" His voice, usually so comforting, now grated on my nerves. It was laced with feigned concern.

"Just... a bit under the weather," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "Caught a chill, maybe."

"A chill? Damn it, I told you to stay warm. Are you alone? I can be there in a few hours, just need to wrap things up here." The concern in his voice was so convincing, so practiced. It made my stomach clench.

"No, no, don' t bother," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Bernice is here. She' s taking care of me."

There was a moment of silence on his end. Then, a soft chuckle. "Good. Tell Bernice I said thanks. I' ll call you later, love. Get some rest."

"You too," I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

Just as I was about to hang up, I heard a faint, high-pitched voice in the background. "Who was that, Daddy?"

And then, Colt' s hushed reply, so tender it punched the air out of my lungs: "Just... a colleague, sweet pea. Go back to sleep."

The line went dead.

My hand started trembling uncontrollably, the phone suddenly too heavy to hold. I felt a cold dread seep into my bones, colder than the rain. Colleagues? Sweet pea? The words replayed in my mind, each one a hammer blow. My colleague? My sweet pea?

I refused to think about it. I couldn't. I smashed the phone against the wall, the plastic casing shattering into pieces.

Then I screamed, a raw, primal sound ripped from the deepest part of my soul. I crumpled to the wet pavement, my body racked with sobs. It wasn' t just a secret; it was a chosen life. He hadn't been forced; he' d compartmentalized, enjoyed both.

Bernice was by my side in an instant, pulling me into a fierce hug. "Oh, Em. My poor, poor Em." Her voice was laced with an anger that mirrored my own. "He' s a monster. You deserve so much more."

Through my tears, a single thought solidified in my mind. This wasn't just heartbreak. This was war. And I was going to win.

Emerson POV:

I hadn' t slept. The first streaks of dawn crept through Bernice' s living room curtains, painting the edges of the furniture in a pale, unforgiving light. Every muscle in my body ached, but it wasn' t just fatigue. It was the residue of a night spent wrestling with a betrayal so profound it felt like I' d been flayed alive. But with the morning light came a clarity, a steel resolve I hadn' t known I possessed.

There was no going back. Not from this. Some things, once broken, could never be whole again. And Colt, my perfect Colt, had shattered me beyond repair. My love was not meant to be a consolation prize, a second-best option for a man who couldn't stomach disappointing his family.

I was Emerson Wiley. I had survived a war zone, faced down death, and come out fighting. I wouldn't be destroyed by a liar and his secret family.

"I need to talk to Uncle Ardell," I said, my voice hoarse from crying but steady.

Bernice, who had been dozing fitfully on the sofa opposite me, stirred. Her eyes blinked open, instantly alert. "Ardell? Now?"

I nodded, pushing myself up. My body protested, but my will was stronger. "Yes. I need to go home, pack some things. Get out of here."

She frowned. "You want to leave Fort Bragg? Em, where would you go?"

"Just... away," I said vaguely. "A short trip. To clear my head. Tell Colt I' m visiting my father for a few days. That I needed a change of scenery."

Bernice' s gaze was sharp. "He' ll know something' s up. You never just 'visit' your father in Seattle without planning it for months."

"He' s not exactly going to question me right now, is he?" I retorted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "If he did, he' d expose himself."

She sighed, knowing I was right. "Okay. I' ll call him. He' ll understand."

My throat tightened. I knew Ardell, my father, General Richardson, would not understand. Not yet. He adored Colt, saw him as the son he never had. Breaking this news to him would be another brutal blow, but this time, it would be to my father' s heart. I couldn't jeopardize his standing, not when I needed his connections, his influence. Not yet.

Bernice reluctantly agreed to call my father, fabricating a story about a sudden urge for a girls' trip to Seattle. Ardell, ever the dutiful father, expressed concern but ultimately consented.

I gathered some essentials, pulling a small suitcase from the back of the closet. My hands moved mechanically, my mind a whirlwind of pain and burgeoning determination. I glanced in the mirror. My eyes were swollen, my face pale and drawn. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to erase the evidence of my silent war.

Later that morning, Bernice' s son, Leo, a bright-eyed five-year-old, scampered into the kitchen. "Auntie Em, are you feeling better?" he asked, his voice full of innocent concern. He handed me a crayon drawing of a lopsided flower.

A pang shot through me. This boy, so full of life, so loved. A child I could never have. The raw wound of my infertility, a consequence of saving Colt, flared with fresh agony. My own children, the ones I dreamed of, would never exist.

I knelt, pulling Leo into a hug. "Much better, sweetie. Thank you." I forced a smile. His small arms around my neck were a balm, a glimpse of the innocence I was fighting to protect.

As I stepped out of Bernice' s apartment, the morning air felt heavy, damp with residual rain. I just needed to leave.

And then I saw him.

Colt. Standing by my car, leaning against the fender, his uniform still crisp despite the early hour. He looked tired, lines etched around his eyes, but his stance was resolute, determined. My heart lurched, a sickening mix of dread and a flicker of the old affection. What was he doing here?

He pushed off the car, his eyes fixed on me. His expression was a storm of worry and impatience. He rushed towards me, his long strides closing the distance quickly.

"Emerson! What' s wrong? Bernice called. She said you were sick." He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. His scent, usually my comfort, now felt cloying, suffocating.

I stiffened, my body revolting against his touch. Every fiber of my being screamed in protest. The warmth of his body, the familiar pressure of his arms, once a safe harbor, now felt like a cage. It was repulsive.

He pulled back, his brow furrowed. "You' re freezing. And pale. What happened?"

My mind raced. I couldn' t tell him. Not yet. My plan was still unformed, fragile. "Just a bad night. The flu, I think. Bernice insisted I needed a change of pace. I called Dad; he said I could stay with him for a few days." I tried to sound casual, but my voice wavered.

Colt looked relieved, a flicker of something I couldn' t quite decipher in his eyes. "Okay, good. I was worried. I cut my training short. I heard your voice last night, it sounded off. Couldn't focus." He touched my cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn' t realized was falling.

I flinched almost imperceptibly. "You came back for me?" The words were hollow, mocking.

"Of course, I came back for you," he said, his voice husky. "You' re my wife, Emerson. You' re everything to me." He paused, looking genuinely conflicted. "I just... had to make a quick stop before coming here. Something urgent came up."

Urgent. My heart constricted. Was she here too?

"I' m fine, Colt. Really," I said, pulling away from his touch. I needed space.

He regarded me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But promise me you' ll rest. And call me every day."

"I will," I lied again, the words tasting like poison.

He leaned in, kissing my forehead. "I love you, Em. More than anything."

As he turned to leave, a wave of nausea hit me. I closed my eyes, trying to compose myself. He was about to get into his car when I saw her. Chelsey. Standing a few yards away, near the car Colt had just gotten out of. She was watching us, her expression unreadable.

Colt saw her too. He hesitated, then gave her a curt nod. "I' ll be right there, Chelsey."

Chelsey. The name echoed in my ears, confirming my worst fears. My blood ran cold. He had been with her all this time. He just left her to come see me.

I forced myself to breathe, to stay still. Don't react. Not now. I needed to know more. I needed to be calm.

He turned back to me, his smile forced. "Duty calls. Take care, Em." He gave my hand a quick squeeze, then walked towards Chelsey.

She smiled at him, a knowing, triumphant smile. She didn' t even bother to hide it. As he opened the car door for her, I heard her voice, low and seductive. "Everything okay with... your wife?"

My blood boiled. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but I held it in. This wasn't the time, not in public. Not when I was barely holding myself together.

Colt mumbled something I couldn't quite hear, and they both got into the car. As they drove past me, Chelsey glanced my way. Her eyes, filled with cold amusement, met mine. She gave me a small, mocking wave.

Then her window rolled down. "Hello, Emerson. Chelsey Collier. I just wanted to introduce myself properly. I' m Jemal' s mother. And Colt' s... well, you know." She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "He' s been so busy with you, he barely has time for his real family. But don' t worry, now that you' re leaving, we' ll take good care of him."

My jaw dropped. The audacity. The sheer, brazen cruelty. I felt a cold surge of adrenaline, sharpening my senses. My head stopped throbbing. The fog lifted.

"What did you say?" I demanded, my voice shaking with a fury I barely recognized.

She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Oh, darling. It' s exactly what it sounds like. We' re not going anywhere. This is our home now." The car sped away, leaving me standing in the deserted street, the rain starting to fall again.

My world, already shattered, splintered into a million irreparable pieces. This was not a misunderstanding. This was a direct declaration of war.

Emerson POV:

I watched the car disappear around the corner, my mind reeling. Chelsey Collier. Jemal' s mother. Colt' s... "well, you know." The words replayed like a broken record, each beat a fresh stab to my chest.

Bernice rushed over, her face a mask of concern. "Emerson! What was that? Who was that woman?"

I couldn' t speak. The shock had rendered me mute. My entire body felt numb, yet every nerve ending was screaming. I stumbled back into Bernice' s apartment, clutching my chest.

"I need a minute," I gasped, pushing past her. I darted into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. I leaned against the cold tiles, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to ground myself, to control the storm raging inside.

I pressed my forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink, trying to block out the image of Colt with that woman and child. That child. Jemal. He had been so pale, so small.

He looked sick.

A flicker of concern, quickly extinguished by the fire of betrayal. My empathy was a luxury I couldn' t afford right now.

I heard Bernice' s muffled voice from the hallway. "Emerson, are you okay? What happened? Who was that woman?"

I couldn' t answer. Not yet. I splashed cold water on my face, again and again, trying to wash away the memory, the shame, the searing pain.

A knock came at the door. Not Bernice. A hesitant, almost timid knock.

"Emerson? It' s Colt' s mother." Her voice was tight, strained. "I heard... I heard what happened. Are you alright, dear?"

My blood ran cold. Colt' s mother? Here? Had she known all along? How many people were in on this elaborate charade? My rage intensified.

"I' m fine," I called out, my voice falsely calm. "Just feeling a little unwell."

"Oh, darling. I understand. Such a stressful situation. I' m so sorry you had to find out this way." Her words were laced with a saccharine sympathy that made me want to vomit.

Find out this way? So she did know. They all knew. And they let me live a lie for six years. The collective betrayal was a crushing weight.

"I need some privacy, Mrs. Patrick," I said, my voice sharp, leaving no room for argument.

There was a moment of silence, then a sigh. "Of course, dear. We' ll be downstairs. Colt is... very worried about you."

Worried. The word was a mockery. He wasn' t worried about me. He was worried about his perfectly constructed lie unraveling.

I heard their footsteps retreat. I listened for a moment longer, then emerged. Bernice was there, her eyes wide.

"What was that about?" she whispered.

I just shook my head. "I need to pack. Get out of here." My voice was flat, emotionless.

Bernice led me to the guest room. I started pulling clothes from the dresser, shoving them haphazardly into a duffel bag. My hands felt clumsy, detached from my body. Every item I touched brought back a memory, a shred of the life I thought I had.

Then I saw it. On the bedside table, a small, velvet box. My wedding ring. I had taken it off last night, a desperate attempt to sever the ties, even symbolically.

I picked it up, the cool metal a heavy weight in my palm. It used to symbolize eternal love, an unbreakable bond. Now, it felt like a shackle.

"Bernice," I said, holding out the ring. "Can you... take this? And get me a ride to the airport?"

She gasped, her eyes widening. "Em! What are you doing?"

"I' m leaving," I stated plainly. "And I' m not coming back until this is over. Whatever 'this' is."

Bernice' s face softened. She took the ring from my hand, her fingers brushing mine. "Are you sure about this, Em?"

"I' ve never been more sure of anything in my life," I replied, my voice hard as stone.

I walked over to the window, staring out at the rain-lashed street. The world outside looked as bleak as my heart felt. I had always been so strong, so resilient. But this... this felt like too much.

My phone, miraculously, was still working, though cracked. I opened a message from Colt, sent just moments ago. "Still thinking of you, my love. Hope you're resting. I' ll call you later tonight."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He was lying. Still lying. Even now.

The rain beat against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm against the chaotic drum of my heart. I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my chest, a physical ache that mirrored the emotional agony. I was drowning.

A low growl rumbled in my throat. Colt' s mother' s words, Chelsey' s smug face, Colt' s tender voice to his "sweet pea." It was all a tapestry of deceit, woven with threads of my trust and loyalty.

I closed my eyes, picturing our wedding day. The vows, the promises. "Until death do us part." How ironic. Our love, my trust, it was already dead.

A sudden knock on the door startled me. Bernice. "Em, your dad just called. He said Colt' s mother told him you were going to stay with me for a few days before heading to Seattle. He sounded confused. He wants to know what' s going on."

My father. I had to protect him from this mess, if only for a little while longer. "Tell him I' ll call him tonight," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Tell him I just needed some time with you, my best friend."

Bernice nodded, her face grim. She knew I was buying time.

I turned back to the window. The rain had subsided into a steady drizzle. My reflection stared back at me, a ghost of my former self. But in my eyes, something new had ignited. Not despair. But a cold, calculating fire.

I wouldn't just leave. I would make him regret every single lie.