On our wedding night, Scott wanted to be intimate, but I turned him down, exhausted. He kissed me goodnight, though disappointment lingered in his eyes.
At midnight, I woke up to our bed shaking. Confused, I turned—and froze. Scott was kneeling beside the bed, cradling a baby.
“Scott?” I gasped. “What’s going on?”
His face tensed. “Everly, this is Ella,” he said, voice shaky. “She’s my orphaned niece. My stepsister, Maya, passed away. I found out weeks ago.”
Shock rooted me. “Weeks ago? And you never told me?”
Scott sighed. “I was scared you’d leave.”
The next day, we brought Ella home, though I felt powerless. Days later, I asked, “If you were estranged from Maya, why take in her baby?”
Scott dodged my questions. Suspicion grew.
One evening, I found a photo of Scott with a pregnant Maya, smiling.
When he came home, I held it up. “Explain this, Scott.”
His face paled.
“You lied,” I accused. “No more secrets. Tell me the truth.”
