Part 1No Return from Regret

To coax my feverish son, Leo, to take his medicine, I started humming a lullaby.

But halfway through, his little face scrunched up in disgust. He swatted the bowl from my hand.

"Mommy, you sing terribly," he whined. "I want Daddy to sing."

Shards of porcelain scraped the back of my hand, drawing pinpricks of blood. "Don't be difficult," I scolded gently, picking up the pieces. "Your dad? He doesn't know any lullabies."

Leo let out a sleepy yawn. "He does too!" he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut. "When he sings to Miss Nina while she rests her head on his lap, it sounds way better than this."

My hand froze.

* * *

I stayed that way for a long time. So long that Leo had already drifted off to sleep in his bed.

Finally, I moved, walking slowly to the balcony to stare into the night. It was Christmas Eve, and the world outside glittered with life, a tapestry of festive lights woven between the houses.

When I turned back, my own home felt cavernously cold and empty.

Just like every other night, Ethan wasn't home yet.

I hesitated for a moment before dialing his number. The ringtone droned on for what felt like an eternity, nearly forty seconds, before a clipped, impatient voice answered. "In a meeting. I'll be late."

He hung up before I could even reply.

But I'd heard it. The background noise wasn't the quiet hum of a boardroom. It was a cacophony of chatter and laughter, a woman’s giggle cutting through it all.

On an impulse I couldn't explain, I went downstairs, got in my car, and drove straight to Leo's preschool.

The square across the street was alive with holiday cheer. It took me less than a second to find him.

Ethan was dressed in a goofy Santa suit, striking ridiculous poses that made the woman sitting on the stone steps double over with laughter. He used the moment to slip a piece of candy into her hand, his voice warm. "Nina, Merry Christmas."

A sharp pain lanced through my chest.

Last Christmas, I'd been bored at home. I’d tugged on his sleeve, trying to be playful. "Come on, just spend a little time with me. Can't you leave work early?" I'd wheedled. "Just an hour? Half an hour? Even ten minutes would be enough!"

He’d merely shot me a cold look and pulled his arm away. "It's just one night, Chloe. Why are you being so childish?"

My vision blurred. Across the square, they were still laughing and teasing each other, looking for all the world like a couple lost in the throes of new love.

I knew her. Nina. Leo’s "Miss Nina."

At twenty, Ethan had fought our arranged marriage with everything he had. He’d knelt before his grandfather, begging to be punished, begging to marry her.

In the end, the old man’s fury had triggered a heart attack. His dying wish, written into his will, was that Ethan honor the engagement.

So Ethan had shut his mouth and locked away his heart. He cut off all contact with her and, as promised, he married me and we had a child.

But now, a decade later, it was thirty-year-old Ethan who couldn't forget Nina. Not me, his wife of ten years.

In that instant, ten years of marriage and fifteen years of my own secret, unrequited love felt like a pathetic joke. I forced a bitter smile.

If this marriage was something I had stolen, then it was time I gave it back.

Taking a deep breath, I turned and drove home.

The clock hands swept past midnight before Ethan finally walked through the door.

I hadn't turned on any lights. I was just a small shape curled up on the sofa in the dark.

He looked at me in silence for a moment, not noticing the paleness of my face as he sat down beside me.

"Can't sleep without me?" he chuckled, pulling a small jewelry box from his pocket. "It's the new piece from the holiday collection. Want to try it on?"

My lips tightened. "Christmas is over, Ethan," I told him, my voice flat. "And so is my love for you."

His expression darkened, the faint glimmer of amusement vanishing from his eyes. He tossed the box into the nearby trash can.

"Chloe, you're crossing a line."

As he turned to leave, the air he stirred carried a cloying, fruity sweetness that made my stomach turn. I stopped him as he headed for his study.

My voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

"Ethan, let's get a divorce."

That way, I'll never have to cross a line again.