The Diary Of An Unloved Wife Chapter 03
He grabbed my wrist tightly, his face darkening. “Explain yourself.”
I let out a scoff.
“Shouldn’t Harlow’s pregnancy be explained clearly too, then?”
As soon as I said it, his grip on my wrist vanished.
I took a deep breath and left the room.
When I went downstairs, Harlow was directing the workers to pad the sharp corners of the furniture in the house.
My footsteps halted.
Maggie was the first to step in front of her daughter. “Iris, Harlow is…”
Harlow’s eyes flickered, and then she lifted her chin and said.
“Beckett agreed to this. If you have a problem with it, you can talk to him.”
I scanned this house that had already been altered beyond recognition.
I felt nothing anymore.
“Wrap them. Pad every corner well. After all, this is his first child that will actually make it to birth.”
After I spoke, the footsteps behind me suddenly stopped, and I could feel a burning, complicated gaze on me.
But I didn’t look back and walked straight out.
After getting into the car, I leaned back into the seat as if drained of all strength, my hands unconsciously resting on my flat stomach.
There used to be a child there, too.
It was during the first year of our marriage, after Beckett came home drunk one day, that it happened.
The day I found out I was pregnant, I was weeping tears of joy while holding the pregnancy test with two lines, when Beckett returned.
His gaze moved from the object in my hand to my red, swollen eyes.
Then he let out a mocking laugh.
“Does this child disgust you that much? Get rid of it, Iris. It disgusts me just as much.”
I froze in place.
All my joy dissipated in an instant.
“You don’t want it?”
He turned around and answered his phone. It was a call from a model at the time. “I’ll be right there.”
After saying that, he turned and left without even looking at me.
I couldn’t even remember how I got to the hospital.
All I remembered was that after he said those words, the emotional shock became too much. I miscarried and passed out.
I also remembered how cold Boston was that day—even colder than when my dad passed away.
A honking horn snapped me out of my memories.
I let out a long sigh and realized the light had turned green. I didn’t have to be trapped in place anymore.
I went to the art gallery.
Today was the opening day of my art exhibition.
It was also my final exhibition before heading to New York for further studies.
For this, I had spent a whole year preparing, often staying awake all night.
All because my mother was also a painter, and she passed away in a car crash on the way to her solo exhibition.
So, I wanted to fulfill her unfulfilled dream for her.
As I thought about this, I looked down and touched the necklace around my neck.
“Mom, you’ll be able to see it today. The wish has come true.”
I blinked hard to force my tears back before walking toward the gallery.
However, the poster in front of the door made my whole body stiffen. I stared at it in disbelief, over and over again.
The name ‘Iris’ where the artist’s signature should have been was replaced with ‘Harlow’.
My breathing stopped.
I instantly rushed into the gallery.
I looked around blankly, a buzzing sound ringing in my ears.
Every single piece of work that I had poured my heart and soul into had become Harlow’s!
“What is going on…”
I grabbed the gallery director, my voice trembling. “My paintings—who gave you permission to just change the name on them!”
Everyone’s attention was drawn over.
The director looked conflicted.
“I’m sorry, Iris. This isn’t something we could decide.”
I was shaking with anger.
“Whose decision was it! This is theft! It’s copyright infringement! I have the right to sue you!”
“Tell me! Who was it!”
“Me.”
A familiar voice struck my ears from behind, and my back stiffened severely.
I slowly turned around.
And saw Beckett holding Harlow’s hand.
When our eyes met, he repeated it. “It was me. But Iris, these were Harlow’s paintings to begin with.”
“What did you say?”
He pulled up a transfer agreement and a copyright registration receipt on his phone and showed them to me.
“It’s in black and white. These paintings belong to Harlow.”
My rigid gaze landed on his phone.
And I suddenly understood.
“It was you. You had them forge my signature and transfer my paintings under her name, didn’t you?”
“Beckett!” I lost control a little. “You know exactly what this means to me!”
He took two steps forward.
Wearing that same mocking expression, he lowered his voice.
“I did it.”
“Iris, what’s making you angry isn’t the paintings, it’s that person, right?”
“Me? Aren’t you just someone who sleeps around—”
Smack!
A crisp slap echoed through the hall.
His head turned to the side, a flash of shock in his eyes.
Harlow shoved me hard. “Are you crazy! How could you hit him!”
My body tensed.
I gave him a deep look, turned around, and left.Â