My Husband Killed My Eight Children For My Best Friend Chapter 02
I locked myself in the bathroom.
I sat on the floor, thinking through every moment of the past three years with Adrian, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
When I finally stood up, my phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor.
I bent down to pick it up — and that was when I noticed a box tucked beneath the cabinet under the sink.
It was wrapped in expensive silk, pushed far back, kept hidden with obvious care.
I opened it.
Inside was a thick photo album.
Every photo was of Sophie Lane.
From the time she was fifteen, all the way to now — twenty-eight.
I recognized the cover.
I had seen this album once before, in Adrian’s office.
Adrian loved photography.
He was Ethan’s uncle, but only a few years older than the rest of us. When we were kids, he always stood off to one side, watching Ethan and me and the others carry on. He rarely joined in. He looked like he thought we were childish.
The year I turned fifteen, Sophie came up to me on her own and said she wanted to be friends.
She always seemed to be alone, so I introduced her to Ethan. And to Adrian.
It was around then, I think, that Adrian started coming out with us. It was around then that he picked up a camera.
At the time, I thought he was just growing up. Willing to hang around with us at last.
Now I understood. He had simply met the person he wanted.
Only a small handful of the photos in the album were ones I had ever seen.
Most of them captured moments I had never even noticed.
Sophie laughing. Sophie angry. Sophie tucking her hair back. Sophie staring out a window, lost in thought. Adrian had photographed her in every mood, every posture.
He had preserved every expression she had ever worn.
After we got married, Adrian never picked up a camera again.
Once, I asked him to take a maternity photo of me.
He said he had lost the camera.
Then he referred me to a well-known photographer.
The camera had never been lost.
His lens simply refused to point at anyone but the woman he loved.
My eyes were dry and burning. I couldn’t cry anymore.
I put the album back exactly where I had found it.
Then I opened my phone, booked a flight to France, and drafted a divorce agreement.
If he loved Sophie that much, then I would step aside.
The next morning, my eyes were badly swollen.
Adrian saw them and looked stricken.
He made breakfast himself. He boiled eggs, peeled them, and gently pressed them against my eyelids.
His movements were careful. His expression was tender.
For a moment, I almost wondered if I had imagined everything the night before.
But the emptiness in my belly reminded me. All of it was real.
I couldn’t eat a bite.
Adrian sighed.
“Emily, we lost our baby. I know you’re hurting. I am too.”
“But you have to take care of yourself. You’ve miscarried too many times these past few years. Your body’s in no shape to keep starving itself. Eat something. Don’t make me worry. Okay?”
I lifted my eyes to his.
“Where is he? I want to see him.”
Three months.
By now our baby would have had a shape. A form.
But he would never come into this world.
Adrian’s answer was exactly the same as the previous seven times.
“I’ve already had him properly buried. You’re not yourself right now. I was afraid seeing him would only break your heart more.”
He paused, then added, “My parents heard about the miscarriage. They’re upset too. Let’s go over to the Blackwood estate for dinner tonight. We should look in on them.”
I didn’t refuse.
The moment we arrived at the Blackwood estate, I saw Sophie sitting in the drawing room, her arm looped through Margaret’s, cooing sweetly at her.
The instant she saw me, she made a point of pushing her six-month belly forward.
“Oh, Emily’s here. It’s been a while. Come sit down. I heard you lost another one — you really shouldn’t tire yourself.”
Ever since the wedding, my relationship with Ethan and Sophie had been beyond repair.
Whenever I came to the estate, I did what I could to avoid them.
I hadn’t expected them to be here tonight.
I looked at Sophie’s belly.
Inside it was Adrian’s child.
And Adrian had never allowed a child of mine to live past three months.
The moment Margaret laid eyes on me, her face darkened.
“Useless. Can’t even hold on to a baby. How many is it now? And you have the nerve to look tired?”
“How did my son end up marrying someone like you?”
Margaret was Adrian’s mother by blood, but only Ethan’s step-grandmother. She was only fifty.
For years, she had wanted Adrian to take over Blackwood Group.
But now, thanks to the baby in Sophie’s belly, Ethan was on the verge of securing that inheritance for himself.
Of course she was bitter.
In the past, Adrian would have said something on my behalf.
But tonight, his eyes were fixed on Sophie.
His gaze was full of longing — a feeling he couldn’t seem to keep down.
He didn’t even hear Margaret’s insult.
Sophie put on her helpful voice. “Margaret, don’t be angry. Emily just doesn’t have the luck to be a mother. Losing so many babies — she didn’t want that either.”
Margaret gave a cold laugh.
“She’s a curse. Nothing but a burden to my son.”
Sophie made a show of wanting to console me. She stood up, meaning to come pull me into a chair beside her.
The moment she rose, her body swayed.
She steadied herself almost at once.
But Adrian had already pushed past me and rushed forward to catch her.
In front of everyone in the room, he gathered Sophie into his arms.
“Sophie, are you alright? What are you doing out on your own in your condition? Where’s Ethan?”
Sophie smiled sweetly.
“Ethan’s away on business in New York. He’s about to take over the group. He’s been so busy.”
She glanced at me. Her eyes were pure provocation.
Then she softened her voice again, addressing Adrian. “Adrian, I think I twisted my ankle. It really hurts.”
Adrian didn’t hesitate.
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her upstairs to a bedroom.
From beginning to end, he didn’t look at me once.
Margaret’s voice was ice.
“Can’t produce a child. Can’t even hold on to your own husband.”
“If Ethan hadn’t married Sophie first, you think my son would ever have given you a second look?”
“What are you still standing there for? Go upstairs. The sight of you kills my appetite.”
I had always known Margaret didn’t like me.
To her, I was the woman Ethan had thrown away — the one who had turned around and married Adrian, dragging his name down with her.
Every miscarriage after that only deepened her contempt.
I had endured it, because she was Adrian’s mother.
And because I had genuinely believed I was the one who couldn’t keep our babies alive. The guilt was mine to carry.
And, occasionally, Adrian would speak up for me.
But now, Adrian was too busy tending to Sophie.
How could he possibly spare a thought for me?
For a split second, I wanted to tell her the truth.
In the end, I held my tongue.
I had already decided to leave.
There was no point wasting the breath.