Just as I swallowed my cries, helpless and aching, Sabrina sent me a video. In it, Ethan held her tightly, bodies tangled passionately.
Hearing Ethan’s breathless voice,
“Sabrina, you’re incredible! I’ve missed you all these years.”
“Ugh, isn’t your old hag enough? Look at you, starving!”
“Her? Too stiff. Nothing like you—you send me to heaven.”
As they spoke, they embraced again, mouths locked, rolling across the bed.
Seeing their burning, intimate pose, my heart felt chewed by countless ants, and tears streamed again.
The video shifted scenes—from home to the car, from the countryside to the office.
Below was Sabrina’s smug voice message:
“Hannah, do you think Ethan was just drunk and confused?”
“Ethan said my child with him is the best, the only one worthy to be the Graham heir. You’re just a pitiful, unwanted stray.”
“He’s with our son and me right now, inseparable. Want to come and get pointers?”
I calmly dialed Ethan’s number. After rough breathing on the other end, I heard his flustered voice:
“Wife, the chicken soup is almost done. Twenty more minutes. Wait for me a little longer, I’ll be right there.”