A Heart Betrayed

Note:

Please accept my apologises. I have no idea what happened or how it happened but I skipped chapter one and went straight to posting chapter two and it took me a year to realize this. But fret not, below are the combined chapters of 1 and 2. So brace yourselves cause it is one hell of a long read...enjoy

🤗

Chapter One:

Divorce

The opulent room shimmered with anticipation, its white-and-gold décor reflecting Monique’s bright mood.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers. The plush carpet softened her pacing as she moved from one elegant piece of furniture to the next, unable to stay still.

Monique herself looked radiant. Her simple sundress did nothing to hide her natural grace or quiet beauty. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders, framing a face that rarely needed makeup. Her blue eyes-usually calm and steady-sparkled with excitement.Clinton was coming home.

The joy rushing through her felt almost overwhelming. Three months. Three long months since she had last seen him. Three months of late-night calls, stolen moments on video chats, and falling asleep clutching her phone.

His business trip had taken him from Central Asia to Greece, and though she had been proud of his success, his absence had left an ache she couldn’t shake.She missed everything-his presence, the way he filled a room, the warmth of his hand at her lower back, the sound of his laughter.

The thought of finally seeing him again made her heart race like it had when they first fell in love.Determined to make the reunion perfect, Monique threw herself into preparations. She checked her phone again, rereading Clinton’s message for what felt like the hundredth time.

Smiling, she called out, “Louise!”The door opened, and Louise, a plump elderly woman stepped inside.

Her kind eyes immediately softened at the sight of Monique’s glowing face.“Good news?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“My baby is coming home,” Monique said, barely able to contain her excitement.Louise smiled, then hesitated.

“For real this time?”Monique nodded. “He’s already in the country.”Relief washed over Louise’s face.

“Oh, thank goodness. What time will he be home? I should start dinner, maybe Andriettian food? Nothing beats a home-cooked meal.”

“There’s no need,” Monique said gently, reaching for her handbag.

“Can you watch Sahara for me? I’m going to the spa. And book me a week at the Courtyard.”

Louise raised an eyebrow at the mention of the city’s most exclusive hotel but said nothing as Monique hurried out.

She sighed fondly once the door closed.Young love-it was beautiful, even when it worried her.The spa did little to calm Monique’s nerves.

By evening, she stood inside the presidential suite at the Courtyard, heart racing. She faced the mirror and finally slowed her breathing.She looked stunning. Her hair fell in soft waves, her makeup subtle and flawless.

The sheer lingerie hugged her curves just right.“It was worth it,” she murmured.When the doorbell rang, her pulse jumped. She opened the door eagerly-then froze.Clinton stood there, impossibly familiar and yet suddenly distant.

His tailored suit hugged his broad shoulders, crisp and immaculate, as if he hadn’t just stayed away for three months. His cologne-that cologne-hit her instantly, stirring memories she wasn’t ready to confront.

For a heartbeat, she forgot everything else.Ten years. Ten years, and he still had the power to unravel her with a single look.“Babe…” she started, already stepping toward him, her arms lifting instinctively.But he didn’t move.He didn’t smile.

He didn’t reach for her.The warmth she expected never came.Instead, Clinton’s eyes flicked over her body-lingerie, bare skin, anticipation-and something unreadable hardened in his gaze. His jaw tightened. His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Maybe you should cover up,” he said, his voice oddly stiff, formal… wrong.The words landed like a slap.Monique froze, her arms dropping back to her sides. Heat rushed to her face, followed by a sharp, biting cold that crawled down her spine.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how exposed she was-not just physically, but emotionally.“I… I don’t understand,” she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me. I thought… after everything… after three months…”Clinton stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing far too loudly in the massive suite. But even as he entered, he kept his distance.

The space between them felt deliberate. Calculated.

“Monique,” he said heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “We need to talk.”

Her heart dropped straight into her stomach.“No,” she breathed, shaking her head. “No, don’t say that. Don’t say it like that.” She laughed weakly, desperately.

“Talk about what? Clinton, what’s going on?”He avoided her eyes, pacing once, then stopping beside the table. His movements were tense, restless-nothing like the man who used to pull her into his arms the moment he walked through a door.

Then she saw it. An envelope. White. Thick. Official.Her chest tightened painfully.

“What’s that?” she asked, already knowing she didn’t want the answer.Clinton exhaled slowly, as if bracing himself.

“Divorce papers.”The room tilted. Monique swayed slightly, her hand flying to the back of the chair to steady herself. Her ears rang, her lungs refusing to cooperate.

“What did you say?” she whispered.

“I’ve been seeing someone else,” he continued, his voice flat, detached, like he was reciting a report instead of detonating her life.

Her head shook on its own. “No… no, that’s not—” She laughed again, sharp and hysterical this time.

“You’re joking. This is a joke.”

“I’m sorry,” he added, almost absently.Sorry. The word burned.

“When… who… how long…?” The questions tumbled out of her mouth, fractured, desperate, her chest aching with every breath.

Clinton’s eyes finally met hers-and there was no remorse there. No hesitation.“Does it matter”

Her nails dug into her palms.“Who?” she demanded, her voice cracking under the weight of it.

“Lydia,” he replied. “She’s pregnant… it’s a boy… she’s due anytime.”

The world stopped. A sob tore from Monique’s chest before she could stop it. A baby.Not a mistake. Not a fling.

A child.This wasn’t sudden.

This wasn’t recent. This had been growing-hidden-while she waited, trusted, believed.She stared at him through blurred vision, her heart shattering piece by piece, every memory suddenly poisoned.

In that moment, surrounded by luxury that now felt empty, Monique understood.This wasn’t a reunion.It was an ending.She hadn’t been waiting for Clinton to come back.She had been waiting for him to leave.This wasn’t a careless mistake. This wasn’t a brief affair.

Whatever Clinton had been hiding had been going on for months—maybe even years. The realization sliced through her, sharp and merciless, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

“Why?” she whispered, lifting her face to his, desperate to find even a trace of the man she had loved for ten years.

She found nothing.No guilt. No regret.

Just silence.

Then Clinton’s phone rang.The sharp sound shattered the moment. He pulled it out immediately, his expression shifting the second he saw the name on the screen.

“Hey… Lydia,” he said softly, his voice suddenly warm, tender. A small smile touched his lips.Monique’s chest tightened as she watched him change right in front of her.“…I’m almost done here… What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” His brow furrowed, concern clear in his tone. “I’ll be there soon. Put Dr. Hilda on the line.”

He paced slightly, listening intently.“How far apart are the contractions?” A pause. “Three minutes?” He exhaled, nodding. “Hilda, please take care of them. I’m on my way. Please.”Another pause.“I love you too.”The call ended.

Monique stood frozen, her heart cracking open.She noticed the nervous energy in him—the urgency, the worry. It burned. He had never looked like that when she was in labor. He had missed the births of both their children, always too busy, always unavailable.

Now look at him.The irony was cruel.He glanced at her impatiently. “Let me know when you’re ready to go through the process and finalize everything.”The words were clinical.

Empty.Monique let out a bitter laugh through her tears, the sound hollow and broken.“If there’s anything you’re unhappy with or want added,” he continued calmly, “just tell me.”

Like they were negotiating a contract.Like this wasn’t the death of a marriage.Without another word, Clinton brushed past her and headed for the door.

Monique didn’t move.Tears slid down her face as she stared blankly ahead. The luxurious hotel room—once meant to be their place of reconnection—now felt like a cruel joke. Every polished surface reflected her loss.

The door clicked shut behind him.Final. Absolute.Her legs gave out. She sank to her knees, the thick carpet doing nothing to soften the collapse of her world.

On the table, the envelope sat in plain sight, heavy with meaning—proof that everything she believed in was over.

In just minutes, her life had been rewritten.The future she had imagined; growing old together, raising their children side by side had been torn away, leaving her standing at the edge of a life she never asked for and never saw coming.

꧁━꧂

The kitchen door opened, letting in a rush of cold autumn air. The chauffeur, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, stepped inside and shut the door quickly, rubbing his hands together.

“Ah, that’s better,” he muttered. “This cold… winter’s going to be harsh this year.”

Louise set a cup of steaming Malawian tea on the table and placed a plate of cinnamon rolls beside it. The smell of cinnamon filled the kitchen.

The chauffeur wrapped his hands around the cup, relief washing over his face as he took a careful sip. He reached for a roll just as soft laughter drifted in from the lounge.

“Sahara’s awake,” he said quietly. Then his expression changed. “How’s Monique?”Louise let out a long, heavy sigh.

The night before had shaken the entire house. Monique was supposed to be away for a week with her husband, a trip meant to reconnect them. Instead, she had come back alone.

Her eyes were red and swollen, her face drained of life. For a terrifying moment, Louise had feared something had happened to Clinton.But the truth was worse.

Clinton wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t missing. He was at the hospital—by another woman’s side, welcoming a son that wasn’t Monique’s.Louise glanced toward the dining area.

Monique sat stiffly at the table, staring at the plate in front of her without touching it. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes dull, like someone who hadn’t slept at all.

.“Poor girl,” Louise whispered, shaking her head.The sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the quiet.Louise wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the door. When she opened it, Clinton stood there, polished as ever.

Suit crisp. Hair neat. No sign that he’d torn his family apart.

“Mr. Beaumont,” Louise said carefully.

“Mmm,” he replied, already moving past her.He stopped in the lounge, his eyes landing on Monique.

She didn’t look up. She nudged her food around with her fork as if he wasn’t even there.Before he could say anything, Sahara’s laughter grew louder.

The little girl came running in, curls bouncing, her face lighting up the moment she saw him.

“Daddy!” she squealed, throwing herself into his arms.

“Hey, princess,” Clinton said softly, catching her. His voice warmed instantly.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you more!” Sahara said, hugging him tightly.

Then she pulled back, her face suddenly serious. “Daddy… why didn’t you come home last night? Mommy was crying.”

The room froze.Louise felt her heart drop.Monique finally looked up, pain flashing across her face.

Clinton swallowed. “Sweetheart,” he said carefully, “Daddy had work to take care of. Important work. But I’m here now, see?”

Monique pushed her chair back and stood. “Sahara, baby,” she said, forcing calm into her voice, “go upstairs and get dressed. Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.”

“But I wanna stay with daddy,'' Sahara pouted, resting her head on his shoulder and tightening her small arms around his neck.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Clinton said, setting her down. “I’ll still be here when you come back. Promise.”

Sahara reluctantly climbed the stairs, casting curious glances over her shoulder, the tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.

Louise busied herself in the kitchen, close enough to intervene if needed but trying to give the couple some semblance of privacy.

The painful memory of Clinton as he rushed out, prioritizing his new family flashed through Monique's mind. The full weight of her new reality, threatening to crush her.Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low and filled with barely contained fury.

''How dare you walk in here like nothing's happened? How dare you act like everything's normal in front of our daughter?"

Clinton's face hardened. "What did you expect me to do, Monique? Tell our five-year-old that Daddy's leaving because he has another family now?"

The words hung in the air like a slap. Monique recoiled as if physically struck, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "Another family," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is that what we are now? Your 'other' family?"

"I just came to pick up my clothes and some documentation.,'' he said, his demeanor cold and detached.He moved to head upstairs, but Monique's quiet voice stopped him in his tracks.

With her back to him, fists tightly clenched, she asked, "So this is it? Is this the end of us? Of our dreams? Our family?"

Clinton sighed exasperatedly. "Can we not do this?"The dismissive tone in his voice was the last straw.

Monique whirled around to face him, her eyes burning with rage.

Through gritted teeth, she confronted him. "You have no right to take that tone with me. I'm the one who got cheated on here. I'm the one whose dreams and family got destroyed by your cheating. The least I deserve is answers!"

Clinton ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. "What do you want me to say? I fell out of love, okay? Love is not set in stone and blood."

Monique laughed bitterly, her heart crashing with his self-righteous words. "And Sahara?" she pressed, thinking of their innocent daughter upstairs."What about her?"

Clinton asked, his tone bordering on indifference.Monique couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Did you ever think about her as you destroyed this family with your selfishness?"

Clinton's jaw tightened. "I will explain it to her... she will understand someday.''

''Your selfishness truly knows no bounds," Monique spat, disgust evident in her voice.Neither of them spoke, but the tension was impossible to ignore.

Monique stood there, a mixture of fury and heartbreak etched on her face, while Clinton's expression remained impassive, almost bored.

It was as if the man she had loved for a decade had been replaced by a stranger, someone who cared nothing for the pain he was causing.Louise, who had been trying to give them privacy, couldn't help but overhear.

Her heart ached for Monique and young Sahara. She wondered how a man who had once seemed so devoted to his family could change so drastically.The sound of small footsteps on the stairs broke the silence, reminding them that Sahara was still in the house.

The little girl's innocent voice called out, "Mommy? Daddy? Why are you shouting?"

Monique and Clinton looked at each other, panic flashing in their eyes as they realized their daughter might have heard part of their argument.

The reality of their situation - the difficult and painful process of separating their lives-hit them again.

Sometime later..

Seated on the sofa, clutching a white, fluffy teddy bear, Sahara's bright blue eyes, filled with worry darted towards the stairs.Though young, she sensed something big was happening, leaving her nervous and unsettled.

She was accustomed to her father's absences due to business trips, but this time felt different. The tense atmosphere that accompanied his return was new and frightening.

A short while later, Clinton descended the stairs with a suitcase.

Sahara jumped down from her seat, hope and fear warring in her young heart."Daddy?''

"Honey," Clinton acknowledged, his voice strained."Are you leaving again? Didn't you promise on your last trip that you wouldn't be gone for long again?"

Her voice quivered with confusion and hurt.From her position at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, Monique scoffed. She remembered that conversation all too well.

They had been happy then, or so she thought.Now, with bitter hindsight, she realized Clinton had likely made that promise knowing his mistress was about to give birth.

Clinton shot Monique an irritated look before taking Sahara's hand and leading her back to the sofa.

"Honey... there's something daddy must tell you," he began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Daddy won't be living here anymore."

Sahara stared at him, bewildered.Clinton continued, "Even though mommy and daddy won't be staying together, I will always love you, okay?"

"Where are you going? I don't want you to go... please stay," Sahara pleaded, her voice small and frightened.

"Honey..."

"Mommy misses you so much... I miss you..." she said quietly, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Honey..." Clinton tried again, clearly uncomfortable.

"I don't want you to go... I want you to stay with mommy," Sahara insisted, her young mind unable to comprehend the complexity of the situation.

Desperate to change the subject, Clinton reached for his phone. "You can come visit anytime you want... Look," he showed her a picture. "That's your brother. You can visit and come play with him, okay?"Sahara shook her head vehemently.

"Please don't go..."Just then, Clinton's phone rang. He answered it, a smile spreading across his face. "Lydia... yeah, I'm done. I'll be there soon.''

He stood up and grabbed his suitcase. Sahara rushed to him, clinging to his leg.

"Please don't go..." she mumbled through her tears."Honey, be a good girl. Daddy has something important to do..." His voice held a note of impatience now.

The little girl shook her head, crying harder and refusing to let go. Clinton looked around desperately, his eyes landing on Louise, who pretended to be busy.

Finally, his gaze settled on Monique, who returned his look with mocking disdain. He grunted in irritation.

"Be sensible, okay?" he said, prying Sahara's fingers from his leg with barely concealed frustration.

The scene unfolding before her made Monique's blood boil. How dare he treat their daughter so callously! How could he be so eager to leave behind the family he once cherished for his new life?

Louise, unable to bear the sight of Sahara's distress any longer, finally stepped forward. "Come here, sweetheart," she said gently, reaching for the sobbing child.

As Louise gathered Sahara into her arms, Clinton seized the opportunity to make his exit. He cast one last look at the scene behind him – his tearful daughter, his stone-faced soon-to-be ex-wife, the disapproving housekeeper – before walking out the door without another word.

The sound of the door closing behind Clinton seemed to echo through the house, a final punctuation to the end of their family as they knew it.

Monique remained at the bar, her knuckles white around her glass, torn between her own pain and the desperate need to comfort her daughter.Sahara's heart-wracking sobs filled the air. She twisted violently in Louise’s arms, her small body turning into a flurry of frantic motion.

Even though Louise held her tight, the little girl’s desperation gave her a momentary, wild strength. She shoved her tiny palms against Louise’s shoulders, pushing away with a force that nearly sent them both to the floor.

''No! Daddy! Come back!" she screamed, her voice jagged and thin.She scrambled out of the housekeeper's grasp and lunged toward the door.

Her small socks slipped on the polished floor as she tried to gain traction, her eyes fixed on the wood that now stood between her and her father. She reached out, her fingers clawing at the air as if she could still catch the hem of his coat.

The room began to spin.

The heat of her crying made the air feel thick and impossible to swallow. Her frantic gasps for air became shorter and shallower until they turned into a high, wheezing sound.

Just as her hand slapped against the cold surface of the door, her legs turned to water. The world went grey at the edges and then turned completely black. Her small frame went limp, hitting the rug in a silent, heavy heap before the adults could even reach her.

Chapter 2...Sahara lay unconscious by the door.

Monique, frantic with worry, screamed and shook her in a futile attempt to wake her.

Mr. Daniels, calmly picked up the unconscious girl and laid her on the sofa while his wife, a plump and rotund woman in her mid fifties, grabbed the phone off its cradle and punched in the doctor's number.

When the doctor arrived, ten minutes later, Monique's sobs echoed through the grand mansion, a stark contrast to its opulent surroundings.

He examined Sahara and declared, "Don't worry, it was just a breath-holding spell. She will be fine, but I would suggest not agitating her emotions."

Relieved but still anxious, the misty eyed Monique held Sahara's hand as the little girl slowly regained consciousness.

Sahara's eyes welled up with tears as she sat up abruptly, and her small voice quivered, "Daddy!"

Monique hugged her tightly, tears in her eyes, "Oh, baby, don't ever scare me like that."

"I want Daddy. Where is Daddy? I want to go to Daddy. Take me to him," Sahara pleaded, her innocent eyes searching for her father.

Monique's heart sank as she struggled to find the words. "Honey... your daddy, he left us. He's never coming back. He no longer belongs to us..."

"I want Daddy... I want Daddy..." Sahara's cries filled the room as Monique looked on, hopelessly overwhelmed by her daughter's pain.

"I am sorry I couldn't keep your father... I am such a useless mother. I am sorry..."

The wails of the mother and daughter echoed off the walls of the grand mansion, a testament to the shattered dreams and broken promises that had led to this moment.

❦

A chill wind whipped through the city streets, gnawing at exposed skin and nipping at the heels of hurried office workers.

Mornings and evenings brought cooler temperatures, prompting office workers to clutch styrofoam cups of steaming coffee as they rushed to their destinations.

Amidst the bundled-up crowd, a woman in beige track shorts and a tee shirt, seemingly impervious to the cold, emerged from a 2000 Atlantic blue Mustang convertible.

Her long, usually intricately braided hair, was flung back in a messy bun, revealing puffy eyes and mascara tracks that painted her face with raccoon like stripes.

Ignoring the curious glances, she headed to the elevator and ascended to the seventh floor’s mother and child wing VIP.

She stopped in front of room 409.

Pushing the door open, she entered a spacious and luxuriously decorated room, resembling a deluxe hotel room.

A petite blonde woman lay on the bed, with her eyes closed.

Her delicate features serene in the soft light. Beside her, nestled in an Ivy Rose crib, a tiny baby, barely three days old, bundled up in blue,slept peacefully, his tiny fists curled into miniature fists.

The visitor stood, observing for a while, then reached in to gently stroked the baby's face.

The infant stirred, grunting in his sleep. Tears welled up as the woman continued to caress the baby's cheek.

Unable to resist, she picked up the three-day-old baby and held him close to her; his warmth a stark contrast to the icy storm raging within her.

The baby, startled by the sudden movement, squirmed and cried.

The woman, her voice choked with a cocktail of grief and rage, crooned a lullaby, her fingers gently stroking his cheek.

The blonde woman's eyes flew open, then widened with fear as they landed on the woman holding her son.

She sat up, her heart thumping wildly.

"Monique!’’ she whispered fearfully, her eyes locked on the baby in the arms of the other woman.

Monique paid her no heed, coaxing the baby back to sleep.

‘’Monique, please…’’

Lydia’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Monique stared coldly.

‘’Monique, please," Lydia begged, desperation creeping into her voice. "Put the baby down. He has nothing to do with this."

Monique finally looked up, her eyes glacial. "Is that what you tell yourself to ease the guilt?" she spat, her voice laced with venom.

Lydia's face paled. "Monique," she pleaded again, her voice thick with tears. "Put Alex down, please. He's just a baby."

Monique flinched. "Alex?" she asked, a flicker of pain crossing her features. "You named him Alexander?"

Lydia nodded, her eyes downcast.

"Who chose that name?" Monique asked, her voice barely a whisper, a tremor of fear laced with a deeper hurt.

In the next second, a brittle laugh escaped Monique's lips, a hollow sound that echoed in the opulent room.

"Clinton," she mumbled, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "You are truly cruel."

The baby, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, started to cry again. Monique, as if suddenly scalded, placed him back in his crib.

Lydia, her fear momentarily forgotten, rushed to her son, cradling him close, her eyes never leaving Monique's face.

Tears blurred the world around Monique.

Lydia rushed forward, scooped him up and held him close to her with a heavy sigh of relief while eyeing Monique warily.

"Alex," Monique mumbled, misty eyes fixated on the mother and son. Her gaze, cold and hostile, sent shivers down Lydia's spine.

"I think you better leave," Lydia said, forcing the words out.

"Alex, who named him?"

Silence. Lydia's apologetic eyes told her everything.

Another bitter laugh escaped Monique's lips. "Doesn't matter, does it? You both did this on purpose."

Lydia frowned. "Monique..."

Monique's body trembled, fury, a coiled viper within. "Shut up!" she hissed. "Don't even dare."

Tears glistened on her cheeks as her shoulders slumped. She turned to leave, her purpose for the visit forgotten.

"I'm sorry," Lydia called from behind, a faint echo as Monique reached the door."I just thought it was a suitable name..."

Monique turned back, covering the distance in big strides. The ferocious look on Monique's face sent unadulterated fear down her spine.

Before Lydia could react, her cheek stung from pain. Staggering back, her other cheek felt a backhand.

"I told you to shut up!" Monique bit out the words.

Lydia gasped in shock, unable to utter a word, just as the baby started crying.

Monique turned to leave as the door opened. The gay mood of the new arrivals, a stark contrast to the dark and turbulent emotions of the room's occupants.

Clinton walked in with an elegant elderly woman, pushing a suitcase and carrying a bouquet of wine-red roses.

The smiles on their faces dropped.

"Monique?" the woman called out in shock.

Clinton dropped the bouquet and rushed to Lydia's side.

Tears slipped down her swollen cheeks. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, pulling her into his protective embrace.

Monique watched them from the corner of eyes, her heart a cauldron of resentment. The world she'd known, the future she'd envisioned, lay in ashes around her. And amidst the smoke, a name hung heavy in the air – a name that had ignited the inferno.

Silence stretched, holding them hostage, thick and stifling.

After a while , Monique turned to live. Her footsteps were like ice cracks on a frozen lake, each one echoing the growing tension.

''Monique!" Clinton boomed, his voice cracking with a mix of authority and sorrow. "Explain yourself. Now!"

Monique ignored him and walked out with her head held high. She walked past the woman like she was air.

The woman sighed heavily.

''Monique, who allowed you to leave? Don't you need to explain yourself?"

All he got was the thunderous thud of the door.

Clinton clenched his fist, burning a hole at the door with his glare. His knuckles were white from the barely concealed fury.

''Calm down," Constance said, walking towards them. She scooped up the crying baby, her touch magically silencing the baby's cries. As she settled into the rocking chair, her gaze met the tear-streaked face of Lydia and the haunted look in her eyes.

"You have wronged her in so many ways," Constance said, her voice low but cutting. "You should have expected this storm, Clinton. I warned you, you can't have your cake and eat it."

Clinton flinched at the accusation, but Lydia guiltily looked down, then rubbed her face, the memory of the stinging slap fresh on her cheeks.

''That doesn't give her the right to lay her hands on anyone.'' Clinton hissed.

''No, but she is well within her rights.''

''Mom!''

''If you had listened to me, we wouldn't be in this situation. Now, there are two children involved and a very angry scorned woman. And I can promise you, this is not the end of it.''

Constance Beaumont sighed.''Lydia get a nurse to put a cold compression on your cheeks.''

''Yes, mother,'' Lydia answered meekly.

''You should go after her.''

''Mom!'' Clinton choked out, his protest strangled by a knot of anger and disbelief.

Constance cut him off. ''No matter what, she's still the mother to your daughter.''