On the day of my third miscarriage, my husband told me he was taking me to Callie’s coastal cottage to recover. He said the salt air and quiet tides of Havenport were perfect for healing. And like a fool, I believed him. When we arrived, Callie was waiting at the gate of her historic shingle-style cottage, a sleek black cat cradled in her arms. [She’s the one who took Mistress Callie’s place as Chester’s wife.] [Luckily, Mr. Chester cares about Mistress. He made her lose the baby on purpose.] [Watch me teach this woman a lesson for Mistress.] I froze in my tracks. But before I could process it, the cat lunged at me, its claws slicing across the back of my hand. I stared at the rising line of blood—realizing, with a jolt of pure shock, that I had just heard the cat’s thoughts. Callie quickly pulled the cat back into her chest. “Oh, Shadow, you little rascal. I just had your claws trimmed.” My husband took a few hurried steps forward, placing himself firmly at Callie’s side. “It was just an accident, Michelle. Are you seriously going to pick a fight with a cat over a miscarriage?” [Hmph. Mr. Chester loves my mistress the most.] So that was it. This quiet seaside sanctuary? I was done with it. … I wanted to leave right then and there. But it was only my third day out of the hospital, and my body was so weak I could barely stand on the gravel path. Chester caught my wrist with a single, iron-grip hand. “Michelle, don’t make a scene in public.” His fingers pressed directly over the fresh scratch on my skin. The sharp sting made my fingers twitch. Blood began to drip down the back of my hand. Yet, his immediate instinct was to wrap his other arm around Callie’s shoulders. “Did he scare you?” The black cat, Shadow, nestled comfortably in Callie’s arms, lazily licking his paw as if he hadn’t just attacked me. Callie shook her head, her eyes welling with tears at the perfect, delicate moment. “I’m fine. I’m just worried about Michelle. It must hurt.” She claimed to worry, but her arms tightened around the cat, shielding it as if she feared I would retaliate. Only then did Chester look at me. “Michelle, I get that you’re sensitive right after losing the baby, but don’t take your frustration out on Callie.” I kept my eyes on the thin trail of blood. “Her cat attacked me.” “He’s just an animal. What does a cat know?” Shadow rested his chin on Callie’s arm, blinking lazily. [I know plenty.] [Mistress tells me everything when she holds me.] [I even know how she got rid of the first two babies.] A sudden, icy dread washed over me. Later, I would realize that the cat wasn’t possessing human malice; it was merely reflecting Callie’s smug triumphs, parroting her voice. It couldn’t distinguish between holding the knife and holding the door open. It only knew that Chester always chose her. But in that moment, the blood in my veins ran entirely cold. An old woman pushing a flower cart walked by. Seeing Chester, she called out a greeting in the thick, warm accent of the locals. Callie’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. Chester’s expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before he replied in the same local cadence. The woman smiled knowingly, pushing her cart down the cobbled street. “What did she say?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Chester adjusted his cuffs, looking away. “Just asking if we wanted to buy some fresh lavender.” Shadow yawned. [Liar.] [She asked Mr. Chester if he was buying the seasonal lavender scones for his wife again this year.] [Mistress hates sweet pastries, but Mr. Chester never forgets.] The scent of fresh-baked lavender scones and rain-soaked earth drifted through the air. It was supposed to be the smell of spring, of renewal. But having just been wheeled out of the operating room, my mouth tasted of nothing but sterile iron and copper. When I woke up from my third miscarriage, I had begged for something sweet. Chester had stroked my hair, his voice gentle as he told me the doctor said no solid foods yet. It turned out his memory was impeccable. He just reserved his care for someone else. The cottage was historic, framed by weathered cedar shingles and overlooking the tidal river. As Chester pushed open the gate, he naturally stepped over the rotting wooden threshold and put his hand out to hold the heavy, warped screen door that always creaked. Callie smiled up at him. “You still remember how stubborn that door is?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he frowned at the wind chimes hanging from the porch ceiling. “Why are these still up? They clatter in the night. You won’t sleep well.” Callie lowered her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. I stood behind them, the cold seeping deeper into my bones. This didn’t look like a place he had visited only a handful of times. He had lived a completely separate life here. My discharge papers, the records of my previous two miscarriages, and my current prescriptions were still shoved in my tote bag. Chester had insisted the coastal air would heal me. I hadn’t even had the strength to pack my own things before he swept me away to this house. The housekeeper brought out a first-aid kit. Chester finally knelt in front of me to clean the scratch. When he pressed the antiseptic cotton to my skin, his touch was as tender as it had been in our early days. “Hold still. You’ve always been so sensitive to pain.” A lump formed in my throat. But then, Callie cleared her throat softly. Instantly, Chester dropped the cotton ball into my hand, stood up to close the drafty window behind her, and gently draped a soft wool throw over her shoulders. Shadow flicked his tail. [Mr. Chester always does this.] [Give the woman a little sugar, and she’ll never find the strength to leave.] Dinner was served in the dining nook overlooking the river. Callie personally ladled a bowl of broth for me. “Michelle, the housekeeper simmered this herbal broth all afternoon. It’s highly restorative.” Chester slid the bowl toward me, his voice softening. “Callie went to a lot of trouble for this. Try to drink some.” I looked at him. “The doctor said I have to be extremely careful with supplements right now.” Chester’s brow furrowed as he turned to Callie. “What’s in it?” Callie’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Just a traditional chicken broth with a few mild, organic herbs. Chester, do you really think I would do anything to hurt Michelle?” Chester fell silent for a long moment before turning back to me. “Michelle, stop assuming the worst of everyone.” My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. Shadow sat under the table, staring up at the bowl. [Drink it.] [Mistress says the tincture from his mother is the most effective. It’s perfect for a woman who just lost a baby.] [After all, she drank it the first two times, didn’t she?] I picked up the bowl, my hand trembling violently. It slipped. The hot broth splashed all over my skirt. “Michelle!” Chester snapped, his patience fraying. I looked down, dabbing at the fabric. “My hand is sore. I couldn’t hold it.” I didn’t drink a drop of that broth. Instead, I quietly funneled the remainder into an insulated travel mug from my bag, tucking it away alongside the bloodied cotton swab. Later that night, I heard Chester out on the porch, his voice low as he spoke into his phone. “Mom, I know she just miscarried.” “But Callie is fragile too. We can’t risk anything happening to her baby.” “I’ll keep Michelle calm. I won’t let her cause a scene in front of Callie.” He caught sight of me in the doorway and instantly hung up. Shadow lay curled on the threshold, his eyes slitted. [Mistress is right.] [As long as the little heir in her belly is safe, Mr. Chester will make this woman sign the divorce papers sooner or later.] My fingers tightened around the glass I was holding until they shook. The coastal rain beat against the window, fine and sharp as needles. I had always thought Havenport was beautiful. Now I realized its quiet mist was perfect for hiding the stench of betrayal. The next day, the black cat pushed me into a bait bucket. We were walking near the old harbor wharf. Callie insisted on carrying Shadow, calling him her lucky charm, claiming she took him everywhere. Chester held the umbrella. He kept it angled over Callie, leaving my shoulder completely exposed to the drizzling rain. With every step, a dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen, cold sweat mixing with the damp air. Callie glanced back. “Michelle is getting wet, Chester.” Chester didn’t even look. “She’s tougher than she looks.” Suddenly, Shadow bolted from Callie’s arms, lunging directly at my ankles. Still weak from the hospital, I lost my footing on the slick wooden planks. My skirt dragged directly into a fisherman’s bucket of stagnant, bloody bait water. The stench of fish guts and murky water splashed up my legs. Chester’s immediate reaction was to pull Callie back. “Stay away. It’s filthy.” A few tourists on the boardwalk stopped to stare. I gripped the wooden railing to steady myself, the icy, putrid water soaking through my clothes to my knees. Shadow sat on a dry bench, his tail held high in the air. [Mistress said that drab white dress made her look like she was attending a funeral anyway. Glad it’s ruined.] Callie rushed over to scoop up the cat. “Oh, Shadow is just so playful. Michelle, please don’t be mad at him.” Chester glanced at my ruined hem. “There’s a boutique down the alley past the harbor master’s office. The seamstress there is quick.” I looked up at him. “How do you know that?” He hesitated. “I… I passed by on a business trip.” Always a business trip. The alleyway was narrow and paved with uneven cobblestones. When we reached a particularly sunken stone, Chester instinctively warned Callie, “Step to the left.” Callie let out a soft laugh. “You still remember that?” Shadow trotted at her heels. [Of course he remembers.] [Mistress twisted her ankle here last autumn, and Mr. Chester carried her all the way back.] Last autumn. My second miscarriage. Chester had claimed an urgent merger required him to stay out of town for three days. I had called him from my hospital bed, weeping, and he had only said: “Michelle, sweetheart, just let me finish up this work.” It turned out he was busy carrying another woman through the misty streets of Havenport. The boutique was decorated with vintage lace curtains. The elderly shopkeeper smiled warmly the moment Chester walked in. “Mr. Ward! Back so soon? Miss Callie’s ivory silk dress is ready. We let the waist out another half-inch so it won’t press against the baby.” The shop went dead quiet. Callie’s face drained of color. The shopkeeper realized her mistake and stammered, “Oh, goodness, my mind must be playing tricks on me.” I ran my fingers over my wet, ruined skirt. “Does Miss Callie come here often?” Callie bit her lip. “Michelle, I live nearby. It’s only natural I have my clothes tailored here.” “I didn’t ask you,” I said, keeping my eyes on my husband. “I asked him.” Chester’s expression darkened. “Michelle, do you really have to interrogate me in public?” Shadow answered for him. [Of course he comes here.] [He loves sitting in that wicker chair by the back door, watching Mistress try on beautiful dresses.] [He said when she wears white, it feels like they’re finally getting married.] The shopkeeper hastily pulled a few ready-to-wear items from the rack. Chester took a plain, slate-blue cotton dress and handed it to me. “Change into this for now.” Then, he turned back to the shopkeeper. “Bring out the ivory one too.” “Chester, no, it’s fine,” Callie pleaded softly. “You’ve been talking about it for days,” he murmured, his voice laced with tenderness. I clutched the cheap cotton dress and stepped into the fitting room. Through the thin curtain, Callie’s muffled whimpers drifted in. “Michelle is your wife. What does that make me?” Chester let out a heavy sigh. “Just give me a little more time.” “You’ve kept me waiting for three years.” “Callie, please don’t push me. You’re pregnant. Stress isn’t good for the baby.” Her crying softened into a fragile whimper. “But every time you go back to her, she cries, and you soften. I’m afraid.” A long silence followed. “I didn’t want to discard her,” Chester said quietly. The words felt like a cold needle piercing my chest, making it hard to draw breath. But then he added, “But now that there’s a child involved, I have to make things right for both of you.” Shadow curled up near the bottom of the fitting room curtain. [Mr. Chester plays both sides.] [Soothes his wife at home, pampers his mistress here. He doesn’t want to let go of either.] My hands shook as I pulled the blue cotton dress over my head. He might still feel some lingering obligation to me, but it was nothing compared to the phantom child Callie claimed to carry. When I stepped out, Callie was already wearing the ivory silk dress. The empire waist was soft, the neckline lined with delicate pearls, the hem embroidered with blooming lilies. Chester was leaning down to fasten the top button at her neck, his touch impossibly light. In that ivory dress, she looked like a bride kept in secret. In my slate-blue cotton, I looked like a discarded piece of furniture. I suddenly remembered my own wedding dress. The collar had been scratchy, the lace stiff, and Chester had shrugged and said, “It’s only for one day, Michelle. Just bear with it.” I had borne with it. And for years, I kept bearing it. I pulled out my phone. I took a photo of the boutique’s sign, then of the receipt left open on the counter. The receipt read: “Mr. Ward. Ivory maternity dress. Balance paid in full.” In the corner, a hand-written note: “RUSH order. Paid by Mr. Ward personally.” Shadow sat on the floor, triumphantly flicking his tail. [Take all the pictures you want.] [Mistress says Mr. Chester has already ordered the baby’s first hand-knitted booties.] [Even if this woman knows, she has no choice but to swallow her pride.] My heart sank into a dark, quiet place. A maternity dress. Baby booties. He had mapped out an entire future for this other woman and a child that hadn’t even been born. Yet, he had never once asked if my body still ached after losing three of our own. At the Spring Harbor Festival, an old vendor selling red-and-gold braided “blessing threads” recognized Chester immediately. She pulled a pair of finely woven matching bracelets from her box. She smiled and spoke in the local dialect. Chester’s face paled. Before he could stop her, the old woman offered in broken English: “Mr. Ward buy this last year too. Couple’s fertility charm. Very powerful.” Callie’s hand trembled. Chester said coldly, “You have the wrong person.” The vendor blinked, confused. I looked at the braided red cords. “If they’re so powerful, why aren’t you wearing them?” Tears instantly spilled over Callie’s lashes. “If it makes Michelle uncomfortable, I don’t need to wear it.” Chester shot me a sharp look. “Michelle, do you have to humiliate her at every turn?” The old woman had made the slip, but Callie was the one playing the victim. Chester picked up one of the red threads and gently tied it around Callie’s wrist. His movements were precise, tying a perfect, neat knot. Callie looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Chester…” “Don’t cry,” he said softly. “It’s bad for the baby.” The word “baby” slipped past his lips so naturally, with such reverence. Shadow, draped over Callie’s shoulder, flicked his tail. [Mistress told everyone to refer to him as the little heir.] [Though honestly, I don’t smell any baby scent on her at all.] I held a plain red cord in my hand. But the scratch on my skin was raw, and my fingers lacked the strength to tie it. Chester saw me struggling. He definitely saw. But as a crowd of tourists pressed past us, he only said dryly, “Don’t block the walkway.” I was jostled to the side. Chester kept his arm firmly around Callie, shielding her so perfectly that not a single fold of her dress was disturbed. Shadow slitted his eyes. [Mistress has the matching soulmate cord. All she has is a worthless piece of string no one wants.] The local chapel was crowded with visitors lighting candles. Callie suddenly handed me three small white taper candles. “Michelle, you should say a prayer. A woman needs a child to truly anchor her family.” Several nearby churchgoers turned to look. She lowered her voice, making it sound sweet and sympathetic. “I know you’ve lost three, but don’t lose heart. If you pray sincerely, it will happen.” Whispers rippled through the pews. “Three miscarriages?” “Her body must be spent.” “The young one next to her looks much healthier.” The color drained from my face. Chester muttered, “Callie, that’s enough.” But Callie only wept harder. “I only want the best for Michelle.” Chester looked at me. “She’s just trying to be kind.” My throat tightened. “So I should thank her?” His patience finally snapped. “Michelle, can you stop using your miscarriages to guilt-trip everyone?” The ambient sounds of the chapel seemed to fade into a ringing silence. I stood there in the heavy scent of burning wax, those words drilling into my skull. They were “my” babies. Three lives that never got the chance to breathe. To him, they had become nothing more than a convenient excuse for my bad attitude, a wet blanket to ruin his holiday, a weapon used to bully Callie. Shadow shifted in Callie’s arms. [Mistress coached him well last night.] [Mr. Chester said exactly what she wanted. This woman hates being a burden more than anything.] So even the words he used to humiliate me had been scripted by Callie. And he had delivered them flawlessly. As we left the festival, Callie stopped by a stall selling hand-knitted baby booties. The vendor smiled. “For the little one on the way?” Callie blushed, lowering her gaze. Chester pulled out his wallet. I stared at the tiny booties and asked quietly, “What about my babies?” Chester’s hand froze. I said, “For all three of them, did you ever buy a single thing?” Callie panicked. “Michelle…” “Do you have to bring up such depressing things today?” Chester snapped. Depressing. My children didn’t even deserve to be remembered. Only the phantom “little heir” Callie claimed to carry was worthy of his protection. On the walk back, my untied red thread fell into the mud, trampled by the passing crowd. I bent down to pick it up. Chester, guiding Callie carefully over the wet ground, had already walked far ahead. Shadow looked back. [Why bother picking it up?] [Mistress’s thread from last year is kept right under Mr. Chester’s pillow.] [Though Mistress was crying last night.] [She said she can’t let Mr. Chester see her medical records. If he finds out she isn’t pregnant, the game is over.] My hand froze. Not pregnant? Before I could react, Callie hurried away with the cat. I shoved the broken, muddy string into my bag. Red string was supposed to bring completeness. In my hands, it was broken and soiled, just like the three children who never made it into the world. But now, the puzzle pieces were falling into place. The truth was far more rotten than I had imagined. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one living in a lie. But which side Chester would choose—I already knew the answer to that. As we boarded a small riverboat for a sunset tour, the boatman’s wife held out a polished brass padlock. The face of the lock was engraved with intertwining vines. She smiled and handed it to Callie. “Mr. Ward ordered this last month. ‘Chester & Callie, Forever.’ Beautiful work, isn’t it?” Those words, catching the sunset glint off the water, cut into my eyes like shards of glass. Chester’s face went rigid. Callie scrambled to hide the lock. “Michelle, I didn’t know she was going to bring this out.” Shadow lounged by the cabin door. [Of course she knew.] [She wanted this woman to see exactly who holds Mr. Chester’s heart.] I didn’t say a word. Because I had noticed the small date engraved on the back of the lock. “August 15th.” That was the day of my second dilation and curettage procedure. While I lay alone in that sterile hospital room, calling Chester seventeen times, he had told me he was locked in a board meeting. In reality, he had driven out to this coastal town to engrave a promise of forever to another woman. Shadow licked his paw. [It was so romantic that day.] [Mr. Chester’s sleeves still smelled of hospital disinfectant. Mistress said it felt like a forbidden wedding.] Suddenly, the pain went entirely numb. I couldn’t feel it anymore. The evening on the river was lively. Lanterns lit up the docks, and the gentle lapping of the water reflected the town’s twinkling lights. But all I could see was that brass lock. At our first stop, he had wiped a drop of cider from Callie’s lip, murmuring that she shouldn’t drink in her condition. At the third bridge, fireworks suddenly erupted from the shoreline. The sudden boom sent a wave that rocked our small boat. Losing my footing, I stumbled toward the low wooden railing. Chester was standing right next to me. His hand instinctively reached out. But then Callie let out a soft gasp. “Chester, my stomach…” His hand pivoted mid-air, wrapping securely around her waist to pull her close. In that split second, the terror on his face was real. He truly believed Callie was carrying his child. And without a single thought, he let me fall. My hip slammed hard against the wooden gunwale. The sharp pain turned the world momentarily black. The boatman’s wife rushed over to help me. “Oh, dear! Are you alright?” Only then did Chester turn to look at me. “Why are you always so clumsy, Michelle?” I looked at his hand, still clamped protectively over Callie’s lower back. A man’s instincts require no explanation. When we docked, I walked over to the water’s edge where paper wishing lanterns were being sold. Chester caught up to me, his face tight with anger. “Michelle, haven’t you made enough of a scene?” I kept my head down, writing on the paper lantern. “Callie isn’t feeling well. I don’t have the energy to keep coddling your tantrums.” I set the lantern onto the dark water. The words I had written floated in the flickering candlelight: “May you lose everything.” Chester’s eyes widened as he read it. “What is that supposed to mean?” I didn’t answer. I reached into my bag, pulled out a copy of my second miscarriage discharge papers, and folded them tightly, wedging them directly into the shackle of the brass “Forever” lock. The music from the docks sang of eternal love. But locked inside their token was the cold medical record of my scrape surgery. The red lantern light illuminated the engraving of their names, alongside the bold printed words: “Post-Operative Hemorrhage.” Chester grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. “Michelle, what the hell are you doing?” I looked him dead in the eye. “This lock was missing its witness.” My voice was quiet, steady, and cold. “On the very day you carved your forever, my baby was scraped out of me.” “Have a happy eternity.”
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