Page 40 of Fake Wife for Dr. Secret Daddy

When his eyes eventually settle on me, I am glad that the bile is partially out of my mouth and that the frustration in his eyes has transformed into something warm and genuine.

“We cannot go there now, Winnie. I don't think we can get them now,” he says, a hand in his pocket, the other in his hair.

I love it when he stands like this: confident and arrogant, with a stance that tells you he can do what he wants and get away with it. This stance endeared him to me on my birthday, and this same stance made me wish for him to be my first after I had blown out the candles on my cake.

“Why do you say so?”

The bile is back in my mouth, and I try my best to stifle the tears that threaten to explode through my lips, biting them instead in the fight for self-control.

“We'll need to make an appointment, Winnie. Remember, we didn't have enough proof when we called.”

I stare into his eyes and wonder if my children–our children—will look anything like him if they have his eyes or at least share his arrogant stance.

“How soon can we make the appointment? Oh, Ted, I can't bear the thought of losing them again!”

When his hands circle me, I give in to the endearing of my subconscious, bursting into tears and letting the sobs rack me from head to toe.

My breath comes in short bursts, and I hold onto him for comfort and dear life, wishing this same comfort had been there months ago when I had laid unconscious on that hospital bed.

“We're not losing them again, Winnie. This time, I am here; I assure you, we are not losing them.”

I bury my nose in the nape of his neck and breathe in his musky scent, resisting the urge to bite him. I let the tears run down my cheeks, the droplets falling onto his tux. For a fleeting moment, I wished I could remain there forever.

But why would I remain there forever when he had not been there when I needed him the most?

How could I choose to stay in his arms when his arms were nowhere to be found when I had laid on that hospital bed for months, wondering if I should end it all because my “precious little darlings” were gone, and what I lived for had slipped through my fingers like water running from a faucet, escaping my grasp no matter how hard I tried to clinch it.

My head spinning, I steady myself on his tall frame, letting the rage fill my body as I continue crying, not knowing what the tears signified anymore.

Fear because I was scared to lose them again. Anger because I was in the arms of the same man who was yet to fulfill his fatherly responsibilities, clinging to him for dear life?

I breathe hard and wrestle out of his embrace, letting the rage continue.

“Winnie.”

I like my name on his tongue, how it caresses it, like a fragile egg on a spoon, like a priceless possession he doesn't want to let go of.

But I am not fazed. My head is pounding now, and I stare at him, brows knitted in anger.

“Do not call me, Ted. Why do you pretend you have never heard about this? How do I know you didn't know about our children being taken from us all along?”

The shock on his face is pure bliss. I have let my rage run its course, and I swallow because I know what is coming next.

“What are you trying to say, Winnie? That I joined my father in planning to take our children away? How can you say that? How can you–”

“I don't know what to believe anymore, Ted! I reckon you've been doing well all these years, and suddenly, you come into my life again, carrying with you all the problems you created when we first met. I don't know what to believe anymore.”

The blood is rushing in my veins, and I feel I have no strength left. I continue crying even though I know I will be a mess by the time we finally get to the orphanage.

“You will believe what I say, Winnie! I had no prior knowledge about my father's plans, and that's it. What I feel for you is genuine, and I will never compromise that. I would never think of you the same way my father thinks of you. I love you, and I love our kids, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

“Kids that you do not know of. Where were you when I needed you, huh? Where were you when my babies were taken from me? Where were–”

“Come here.”

I am in his arms again before I know it. This time, I do not wrestle from his embrace and sob quietly.

I burrow more into his chest, letting his strong arms hold my frail frame.

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