The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

She Left With His Baby The Billionaire’s Secret Scandal 321

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Angela POV

The London cemetery was veiled in a gentle mist when we arrived, the pale blue sky occasionally peeking through clouds that drifted like lost thoughts.

I carried a bouquet of white lilies-Christopher's favorite, as I'd learned from David

at the funeral last year. Their fragrance filled the air around us, sweet and melancholy all at once.

The gravel crunched beneath our feet as we wound our way through rows of headstones, some ancient and weathered, others like Christopher's-still new, the wound of loss fresh in the earth.

When we reached his grave, I paused, taking in the sight of the polished black granite that gleamed even in the subdued light, his name and dates etched in gold. Someone-his grandfather, perhaps had left fresh roses recently, their crimson petals stark against the stone's darkness.

I knelt down, my knees pressing into the damp grass, and placed my bouquet beside the existing arrangement. A robin landed on a nearby headstone, tilting its head as if curious about our presence in this quiet place.

"Hello, Christopher," I said softly, my voice carrying in the stillness.

Sean stood a few paces behind me, head bowed, giving me the space to speak the words that had gathered in my heart during our journey here. The robin chirped once, then flew away.

"Everyone's lives are moving forward," I continued, smoothing a wrinkle from the edge of a lily petal. "David actually opened that surf shop he talked about. It's on the California coast-the 'Blake Wave Rider,' he named it. He sent us a picture of himself with his first student, both soaking wet and laughing. You'd smile if you could see it."

I pulled my cardigan tighter against the chill, my wedding ring catching a brief glint of sunlight that had broken through the clouds

to be when she grows up. Now she wants to be a violinist. Last month it was a pilot, and before that, veterinarian. She practices her violin every day after school, and I have to admit, the screeching sounds are... challenging. But Sean sits through every practice session, wearing headphones but pretending he's

softly behind me at this

like the stars he loves to watch. That telescope you gave him has become his most treasured possession. Some nights, I find him asleep by his

feeling each curve and line, as if somehow I could reach through

in a place filled with so many niemories-good ones, despite

tear slipped down my cheek, landing on the

time now, preserved in our memories exactly as you were. Sometimes it seems unfair, how the living get

my eyes with

in one hand and two small glasses in the other. He sat down beside me on the grass, the leather of his jacket

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headstone, twisting the cap off the

one to me. "Remember. when we used to play together back in played hockey

with

past glory days and the teammates who

the ground beside the grave. The amber liquid darkened the earth, a libation for the dead practiced

to the same final checkout counter, aren't we? Some just get

me, his green eyes reflecting flecks of golden sunlight. Christopher got there before us, but he made his journey count. What

my hand moving to rest on my slightly rounded belly, feeling the subtle movements of the life

for my hand, our fingers intertwining, wedding

we're trying to replace you-no one could. But because we want to honor what you gave

petals from the lilies across the stone. A butterfly-bright blue and unexpected-landed briefly on the headstone