Inside the house, the scene was one of pure harmony. The living room glowed warmly under the soft light of a massive Christmas tree, its branches laden with ornaments. Piles of wrapped gifts surrounded its base, completing the picture of festive joy. It was a tableau of love and belonging—a perfect match, as if nothing in the world could disrupt it.
Outside, the bitter wind stung Abigail’s face, but the ache in her chest burned far worse. Her grip on the cake faltered, and it fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.
The pain coursing through her was unbearable, as if a blade had carved through her heart. Every breath felt like a knife twisting deeper. She stood there, a silent, unseen figure—a ghost in the shadows, watching a happiness that was once hers.
Her gaze lingered on Sebastian as he bent down to pick out a gift for Gabriella, his focus entirely on the woman beside him. Abigail’s stomach churned. He’s my husband, she thought bitterly, yet the scene before her denied it.