No Forgiveness in This Life or the Next

Chloe's POV

When my daughter Julia's fever hit 103°F, my husband Lawrence finally picked up his phone.

"Vanessa's plane just landed." Rain crackled through the speaker. "I need to pick her up."

I gripped the phone tighter. "Julia's throwing up."

"Handle it."

"Lawrence, she keeps crying for daddy..."

"Chloe." He cut me off, airport announcements echoing behind him. "Don't use Julia to manipulate me. That doesn't work."

The line went dead.

I rushed Julia to the ER. When the nurse inserted the IV, her raw little voice kept choking out "Daddy" between sobs. I stared at the drip bag—one drop, two drops, three drops. For the first time since that night three years ago, I felt time slow to a crawl.

3 AM. I carried Julia home.

The living room lights were on.

Next to Lawrence's dress shoes sat a pair of unfamiliar women's heels, and beside them, tiny children's sneakers.

A child's laughter drifted from the guest room.

I pushed open the half-closed door.

Lawrence sat on the carpet, letting a little girl with butterfly hair clips ride on his shoulders. Vanessa leaned against the doorframe, watching me.

"You're back?" Her voice was sweet, almost syrupy. "Eva's still jet-lagged. Lawrence is keeping her company."

Julia stirred in my arms, mumbling, "Daddy..."

Lawrence didn't turn around.

He lifted the little girl higher. "Flying! Eva, you're just like I was as a kid—so adorable."

Vanessa laughed softly. "You remember what I was like as a child?"

"Of course." Lawrence finally looked at me, his eyes ice-cold. "Chloe, take Julia to her room. Don't just stand there."

My throat tightened. "She just broke her fever. She needs..."

"She needs quiet." He stood up, Eva clinging to his neck. "Vanessa and Eva are taking the master bedroom. You and Julia can sleep in the nursery."

"This is our home."

"Which is why I get to decide where guests stay." He paused beside me for a second. "Don't make this difficult."

Vanessa followed him out, whispering as she passed me, "Thank you for taking care of him these three years. Now I'm back."

The master bedroom door closed.

I stood in the hallway, listening to muffled laughter from inside. Julia's feverish little face pressed against my neck, her breathing shallow and labored.

At breakfast, Lawrence was peeling an egg for Eva.

"You have to eat the white too, or you won't grow tall." His patience looked like a real father's.

Vanessa pushed a glass of milk toward me. "Chloe, you have such dark circles. Did Julia keep you up all night?"

I stared at Lawrence. "She's still running a fever."

"Kids spike fevers constantly." He spooned egg yolk into Eva's mouth. "Vanessa told me Eva hit 104°F when she was two. She took her to three different hospitals. Alone."

"Really." I set down my chopsticks. "Where was her husband?"

The air froze.

Vanessa's eyes instantly welled up.

Lawrence slammed down his spoon. "Chloe, apologize."

"I'm sorry." I stood up. "I forgot—she's divorced. Domestic violence. How tragic."

He grabbed my wrist. "Say that again."

"I said..." I met his eyes. "Who's the real guest in this house?"

His fingers tightened until my wrist bone ached.

Julia suddenly started crying in the nursery.

I yanked free and rushed to her. As I picked her up, I glimpsed the nightstand—our family photo from when Julia was born, the one where I'd written a blessing on the back.

From the living room came Vanessa's muffled sobs.

Lawrence's voice dropped low and gentle. "Don't cry. I'm here. No one will hurt you again."

I pressed Julia's face against my shoulder.

That afternoon, a lawyer arrived.

Lawrence slid papers across to me. "Sign it."

"Custody Amendment Agreement?" I scanned the clauses quickly. "Should it be proven during the marriage that the child is not the biological offspring of the husband, the wife must unconditionally relinquish all custody rights and compensate the husband for emotional distress and child support costs?"

I looked up at him. The husband I'd lived with for three years was gone.

"Standard update." He twirled his pen. "Just sign it."

"Why now?"

"Vanessa reminded me the original agreement had loopholes." His pen tip tapped the signature line. "Sign."

"What if I don't?"

"Then you and Julia move out tonight." He leaned back in his chair. "Your choice."

I signed.

After the lawyer left, Vanessa came in with coffee. She was barefoot, padding across the plush carpet like a cat.

"Lawrence, you should take your afternoon nap." She set the coffee next to my signed papers, her fingertips grazing the cup.

It tipped over.

Brown liquid soaked through the documents.

"Oops." She covered her mouth. "Sorry, Chloe's signed papers..."

Lawrence pulled out the soaked document and crumpled it into the trash.

"We'll print another." He took Vanessa's hand. "Did it burn you?"

She shook her head, leaning against his shoulder.

He walked her out, pausing at the door. "Oh, I won't be home for dinner tonight. Taking Vanessa and Eva to that Italian place she loves."

"Julia's follow-up appointment..."

"You take her." He cut me off. "You're her mother."

The door closed again.

This time I heard Vanessa crying, soft and trembling. "I really didn't mean to spill the coffee. I hope Chloe isn't angry with me."

Lawrence's deep voice murmured comfort.

Then, silence.

Late that night, I carried sleeping Julia back to the master bedroom.

Lawrence wasn't there.

Warm yellow light seeped from under Vanessa's door. I crept closer and heard her voice, serious now: "Are you sure you want to see this? It might... destroy everything."

Lawrence's voice was ice-cold. "Give it to me."

The soft rustle of papers.

Then endless silence.

I gripped the door handle until my knuckles went white.

From inside, Vanessa whispered, "DNA tests don't lie, Lawrence. Julia isn't your daughter!"