Three months passed, and Yvette gave birth to a baby boy.
Caleb was over the moon. He doted on Yvette even more and granted her every wish. But with her still recovering and the baby
still too young to travel, there was no way he could leave. 1
And every time he so much as mentioned worrying about me, Yvette’s eyes would brim with tears, forcing him to push everything
else aside and stay with her.
It wasn’t until he heard from the nanny that I had also given birth—to a son—that he finally let out a breath of relief.
“Caleb, will you love Natalie’s child more than mine?” Yvette asked.
The question caught Caleb off guard. After all, wouldn’t any father love his own child? Although he had already decided to raise
Yvette’s son as his own, there was still a difference.
At the sight of his hesitation, Yvette’s face crumpled. The moment she started crying, the baby followed. Their tears made Caleb
flustered.
“I won’t. I love both of them. Yvie, don’t worry. I promised you before, and that won’t change your son is mine,” Caleb said.
By the time the words left his mouth, he had already forgotten the promise he had once made to me.
Days turned into weeks, then months. Yvette’s son was now six months old when Caleb brought up returning home again.
Yvette knew she couldn’t stall any longer. She had no choice but to call Patricia.
