There were tiny suits, T-shirts, hats, and miniature shoes.
Each step he took felt heavy, as if he were walking with a weight tied around his feet.
His dark eyes flickered with bitterness as his fingers brushed against the tiny clothes.
In his mind, he saw a small, innocent face looking up at him with hope: “Daddy, when are you coming back to see me and Mommy?” I’ve been so good, and I take my medication every day.”
He had stared coldly at the boy, his eyes sharp and distant, filled with an emotion he didn’t fully comprehend: a combination of resentment and pain.
“I’m not your father,” he had stated.
Jayden felt a surge of emotion rise in his throat as he pressed the tiny suit against his chest, as if trying to calm his racing heart. He turned towards his section of the closet, where his neatly arranged black-and-white clothes hung.
He remembered how, before they married, Victoria had pointed to his wardrobe, chin lifted proudly, her face glowing with admiration: “You look great in anything, but I especially like it when you wear grey shirts. You look particularly handsome in them!”
She had said it so boldly, without any hint of embarrassment, that for a brief moment, her words had softened his deep hatred.
But at the time, he didn’t let it show; instead, he gave her a cold stare and said, “Don’t touch my clothes again!After that, he threw out all of his grey shirts.
What did her face look like then?
Jayden couldn’t bring himself to think about it, so he turned away, grabbed a random outfit, and quickly changed before leaving the closet.
A half-finished drawing on the desk in the child’s room appeared to be homework.
His fingers lifted the sketch, revealing the finished drawing underneath.
The image depicted a small boy walking hand in hand with his parents in a park.
It was clearly Wyatt, Victoria, and him.
At the bottom, the signature read “Jayden Lewis.”
Victoria wrote in her own handwriting.
She had perfectly mimicked his signature, with each stroke precisely matching his, but he could tell right away.
Those once-familiar letters now appeared foreign, as if a dark force had swallowed him whole.
Jayden clutched the desk for support, his eyes filled with grief.
This child was exactly like Nora, but without her luck.
Jayden sat down on Wyatt’s small bed, his fingers gently tracing the angel-patterned sheets, Victoria’s favourite design and colour.
“You said I was your angel,” Victoria’s voice echoed in his mind. “But I hope one day, our child will be the angel for both of us.” He lay back on the bed, trying to feel closer to her, as if lying there could somehow bridge their distance.
Then he noticed a black edge sticking out from beneath the pillow.
That was her notebook.
Jayden reached for it almost instinctively.
For a moment, he simply stared at it; a voice in his head warned him not to open it, but his hands moved on their own, flipping the notebook open.
“This was Wyatt’s first day of school. My little boy is growing up. He is starting preschool. Time moves so quickly. It’s been three years, and every day I wish he’d grow up sooner. But now that he’s grown, I feel strangely empty.
After dropping him off, I remained in his room, proud of him. While the other children were crying and refusing to enter, my son held his teacher’s hand and walked right into the school. He said, ‘Mommy, I’m a man now. This will help me mature faster. When I grow up, I will protect you!’
Tears welled in my eyes. I fought back, giving him a fist bump. ‘You’re the best. Mommy cannot wait to see you grow up! “Wyatt, Mommy loves you.””
Jayden continued reading, each word hitting him harder than the last.
“It was midnight when Wyatt suddenly spiked a high fever. It was pouring rain outside, and I was driving alone, barely able to see through the storm. I almost crashed several times, but I didn’t care; all I wanted was to get him to the hospital as soon as possible to relieve his pain.
He held my hand and whimpered, ‘Mommy, I don’t feel well.’
Each word felt like a knife to my heart; tears blurred my vision; I wished I had someone with me; Jayden, where were you? When we finally got home, I looked at his pale face and hated myself; why did I bring him into this world if I couldn’t take away his pain? But he reassured me that it no longer hurt.
I was about to cry, but I couldn’t because I didn’t want to make him feel any worse.
As he slept, I examined his face, which was now pink with health.
He is Jayden’s son, but his features do not resemble him at all.
Jayden doesn’t believe Wyatt is his child; even the DNA test said so. I don’t understand why; I’ve never been with anyone else in my life. How could Wyatt not be his?”
Tears had blurred the ink on the page, leaving smudged letters that appeared to drag Jayden deeper into an emotional whirlpool.
He was unable to feel anything. His mind was racing, his breath catching, but all he could focus on were the words:
“I’ve never been with anyone else.”
This was her diary.
If he hadn’t returned here, no one would have discovered it. Surprisingly, Jayden believed every word.
She’d never lied. Victoria had only ever stayed with him.
He felt a surge of emotion well up inside him, causing him to cry uncontrollably.
But how could she have become pregnant?
He underwent a vasectomy after they married. Could it have failed?
His hands trembled as he turned to the final page.
