Part 1Silent Goodbye To My Billionaire Husband

Liam flew to Europe to accompany Serena on a business trip.

By the time he returned, our daughter was already five days old.

He carefully lifted Serenity from the NICU incubator, his eyes swimming with a guilt so thick it was almost suffocating. From that moment on, he became the blueprint of a "devoted" father. He spent his nights researching pediatricians, vetting high-end baby nurses, and obsessing over my postpartum recovery down to the smallest detail.

When Serenity cried in the middle of the night, he was always the first to bolt upright, swaying her gently in the dim light of the nursery.

But instead of drawing closer to him, I felt myself receding. I eventually used the baby’s erratic sleep schedule as an excuse to move into the guest room, creating a physical border between us.

My best friend, Gwen, came to visit one afternoon. She held a soft, sleeping Serenity in her arms and whispered, "That day you fell... I’ve never been so scared. You went into labor so early, and I called Liam a dozen times. He never picked up."

She glanced toward the door before looking back at me. "But honestly, seeing him now... at least he’s stepping up. He’s trying to be a good father."

I reached out and gently stroked Serenity’s cheek. "Yeah," I murmured. "But I think I could do a pretty good job raising her as a single mother, too."

Gwen’s expression shifted instantly. She reached over and squeezed my hand, her eyes darting past me.

I looked up. Liam was standing in the doorway, a warm baby bottle in his hand, his face masked in a dark, heavy shadow.

His jaw was set, a slight crease forming between his brows—his signature look when he was upset. In the past, I would have scanned his face like a weather map, trying to find a way to clear the clouds. I would have scrambled to soothe him.

Now, I just looked back down at my daughter, acting as if I hadn’t seen him at all.

He walked into the room, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. "I just finished warming the formula," he said, his voice low. He tested a drop on his wrist. "The temperature is perfect."

I took the bottle from him with a polite, distant smile. "Thank you."

He flinched slightly at the formality. "Audrey... we’re married. You don’t have to be so polite to me."

Ever since he brought Serenity and me home from the hospital, that politeness had been my armor. It was a glass wall—transparent, but impenetrable.

He stood there for a moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably. "Fine," he sighed. "I’ll leave you two to talk."

He turned and walked out. I focused on feeding Serenity; she took a few sips and her eyelids began to flutter shut. Gwen, clearly unsettled by the tension, didn't stay much longer. She offered some vague advice about not making impulsive decisions and then let herself out.

After the baby nurse took Serenity to her nursery for a nap, I went to the kitchen for the snack the housekeeper had prepared. Liam was already sitting at the dining table, waiting.

"Is nothing I do enough for you anymore?" he asked abruptly.

Since he’d returned from Europe, he had been a model of thoughtfulness. "No," I said, shaking my head. "You’re doing great. Really."

"But you’re avoiding me. It’s like you can’t stand to be in the same room."

The truth was too obvious to deny. I searched for a way to deflect, but he spoke again before I could find the words.

"I didn't forget your birthday on purpose, Audrey," he said softly. "And I don't hate our daughter. I never did."

I stared at my tea, the steam rising in lazy curls. I didn't know how to tell him that "not on purpose" and "not hating" were no longer enough to keep a heart beating.