Emily
It was a cold morning, and I latched onto my bed like glue, refusing to get up even though the clock had long passed ten. The weight of last night still sat heavily on my chest. My body ached—not from fatigue, but from the emotional bruise I carried beneath my skin.
I finally sat up, rubbing my temples slowly, my eyes trailing lazily to the foot of the bed where my red robe lay crumpled on the floor. The second I saw it, a fresh wave of humiliation surged through me. I grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it—not loudly, but deeply, like I was trying to muffle the pain so no one, not even the walls, could hear.
Tudor had never acted like that before. In fact, we'd never really spent the night together before marriage—not properly. Our relationship was built around late-night conversations in my office, romantic dinners, long strolls, and surprise visits that ended with sweet forehead kisses and his fingers brushing mine. That one time I had come over to his place with an overnight bag, he'd suddenly said something came up and had to leave.
At first, I thought maybe he wasn't ready. But then he opened up about his Christian values, how he didn't believe in premarital sex. I'd actually respected that. Admired it. It was rare to find a man like him—one who had such restraint and devotion. And in some twisted way, it made me fall even harder. I told myself he was the kind of man who would never cheat. Never betray. A man of principle.
So what happened last night?
I told myself it was stress. The pressure of stepping into the CEO position right after we got married had been enormous. I'd seen it in his eyes—the tension, the weight of expectations. Maybe sharing a bed was just too much stimulation for him. Some people were like that. Sensitive sleepers. I should've known. I should've asked instead of assuming.
After my shower, I slipped into a cozy sweater dress and tied my hair into a loose bun. I rehearsed my apology as I descended the stairs, determined to keep the peace. But just as I opened our bedroom door, I paused.
Tudor was across the hall, on the phone, laughing—genuinely laughing. A soft, relaxed sound I hadn't heard in since he left for his business trip, two weeks ago. The moment his eyes landed on me, his expression changed. He ended the call quickly.
I brushed it off.
"Babe," I called softly, not wanting to trigger any lingering frustration from the night before.
He turned toward me, walked closer, and exhaled like he'd been holding his breath. "I'm sorry I lashed out last night," he said. "I didn't mean it."
He pressed his fingers to his temples and sighed. "It's just been… a lot lately. I'm stressed."
I closed the distance and placed my hand gently on his chest. "I know. I should've been more understanding. Taking on the CEO role so suddenly… that's a lot to carry. I'm sorry for adding to the pressure."
"You don't need to apologize," he said, cupping my hand against his cheek.
"I want to. I love you," I whispered, brushing my thumb along his jawline. "And I want us to be okay."
We stood there in silence, his breath mixing with mine. I leaned forward, my eyes fluttering shut, ready to kiss him when he stopped me.
"About the sleeping arrangement," he began, his voice tight, hesitant. "The reason I didn't want us in the same bed last night… it's not just about sleep. It's more complicated."
I felt the tension in his shoulders before I saw it in his eyes. Whatever he wanted to say, it was clearly heavy.
"You don't have to explain," I said quickly. "A lot of couples sleep separately. Maybe we can start that way—separate rooms—but promise to end each night together, even if we part after. No pressure."
He looked at me with relief, like I'd just saved him from drowning. "Thank you," he said, and leaned in to kiss me.
This time, I let myself melt into it.
He was soft. Gentle. The kind of gentle that made you feel cherished instead of devoured. A stark contrast to George, my ex-husband, who was all fire and wild hands. Tudor was water—calming, patient, a balm to my chaos.
I deepened the kiss, placing his hand on my waist, then guiding it down to my hips. He didn't resist. But he also didn't squeeze. Just held me lightly, respectfully.
Still, it was enough. Just having him near was enough.
The moment was perfect.
Until our phones started buzzing.
First one. Then the other. Then both again.
We ignored it at first—until the incessant buzzing made it impossible.
I reached for it confusion of whom intends to ruin this moment for me and my husband, turning slowly into unease.
Ten missed calls.
Sixteen messages.
I froze.
My heart thudded against my ribs as I opened the first one—Jenna, my assistant, in all caps.
CALL ME. NOW. URGENT.
The next was from Tami, my best friend.
"Jesus, Millie.. is it true?"
I didn't know what they were talking about. But my stomach twisted into knots.
Hands trembling, I tapped open Twitter.
There it was.
#MillieBrownLutherExposed
#AbandonedHerBaby
#LiarWife
#WhoIsTheFather
I blinked at the screen, convinced I was hallucinating.
I clicked the first trending link. It took me to a blog post already viewed by over two million people. There, in glaring headlines:
"Famed PR Strategist Millie Brown Luther Abandoned Her Child At 18 — Sources Confirm She Doesn't Even Know Who the Father Is."
I dropped the phone.
Literally.
It hit the tiled floor of my living room with a loud clack, and I just stood there, staring at it like it might bite me.
No. No. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not after everything I had done to outrun the past. I had buried that part of my life. Locked it up. Burned the key.
My legs went weak, and I sank onto the edge of the chair. The air around me thickened, closing in like a vice.
The perfect life I had built—my job, my marriage, my spotless reputation—was unraveling before my eyes. My lungs refused to expand.
I needed to breathe.
But how do you breathe when your world starts falling apart… and you don't even know who lit the match
Tudor was already with his phone. The look in his eyes when he turned to me—it gutted me.
He didn't say a word. He just stared, as if trying to piece together whether the woman he married was even real.
"Tudor, I—"
"Is it true?" His voice was low, calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes before something breaks.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to reach for a lie, something clean and pretty that would make the truth go away. But I couldn't.
I nodded.
And just like that, something in him shattered.
"What else are you hiding from me Millie?!," he said, backing away from me as if I were made of fire. "You told me you'd never been married. That you'd never had children."
"I was trying to protect myself," I said, tears burning hot down my cheeks. "I didn't think the past would follow me here."
He laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. "Well, it did. And it just blew up everything."
"I didn't even know who the father was, Tudor. I was young. It was one mistake. One night. My father had just died, my life was falling apart—"
"And so you abandoned a child?" he spat. "Then built a perfect little life and never looked back?"
I had no defense. Nothing I could say would make it okay. The shame wrapped itself around me like chains.
"I didn't think anyone would ever find out," I whispered.
"Well, they did," he said. "And now everyone knows who you really are."
He walked away.
I stood there, frozen, unable to move. My body trembled, my heart cracked, and I knew something irreversible had happened. The man who once held me like I was the most precious thing in the world now looked at me like a stranger.
But the nightmare wasn't over.