Chapter 3 - THE WIFE WHO HAD STOPPED WAITING
Catherine did not run into Victor's arms.
She didn't forgive him.
She didn't even invite him inside.
Instead, she knelt in front of Annie.
“Where did you go?”
Annie looked down.
“I wanted to bring you dinner.”
Catherine's expression changed.
“What?”
The little girl reached into her pocket.
A crushed piece of sweet bread.
“I found this.”
Catherine stared.
Then pulled Annie into her arms.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Her voice broke.
“You must never take food from the garbage.”
Annie began crying.
“But you didn't eat yesterday.”
Victor turned away.
The guilt was unbearable.
Catherine looked up at him.
Her eyes were red.
“Did you know?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Did you know we were living like this?”
“No.”
She stared.
“Then where were you?”
Victor swallowed.
“I thought you were gone.”
Catherine laughed bitterly.
“Gone?”
She stood.
“Victor, I went to your office six times.”
He stared.
“I wrote letters.”
His eyes filled.
“I called your hotel.”
He shook his head.
“Catherine—”
“I even went to your mother's house with Annie.”
Her voice trembled.
“She had security remove us.”
Victor closed his eyes.
Catherine continued.
“And after that, I stopped.”
Silence.
She looked down at Annie.
“Because I couldn't keep letting our daughter watch me beg.”
Victor felt something inside him break.
He wanted to tell her he'd been deceived.
That he'd sent money.
That he'd never stopped loving them.
But Catherine had spent three years surviving.
Explanations would not undo that.
So he said the only thing he could.
“I'm sorry.”
Catherine stared.
Then whispered:
“Sorry doesn't give Annie those years back.”
“I know.”
“Sorry doesn't put food on our table.”
“I know.”
“Sorry doesn't make her stop asking why her daddy doesn't want her.”
Victor's eyes filled.
“I know.”
Catherine looked away.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Annie tugged her sleeve.
“Mom?”
Catherine knelt.
“Yes, baby?”
“Can Dad come home?”
The question hung between them.
Catherine looked at Victor.
He looked back.
Neither knew how to answer.
Finally, Catherine said gently:
“Sweetheart, grown-ups have things to talk about.”
Annie frowned.
“But he came.”
Catherine's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
She kissed Annie's forehead.
“He came.”
Victor took a breath.
“Catherine, Annie needs medical care.”
Her expression hardened.
“I know.”
“I can arrange it.”
She looked at him.
“I don't need charity.”
“It's not charity.”
His voice broke.
“She's my daughter.”
Catherine stared.
Then looked at Annie.
The little girl was leaning against her, exhausted.
After a long silence, Catherine nodded.
“Medical care.”
Victor exhaled.
“And food.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded again.
“But don't mistake that for forgiveness.”
Victor looked at her.
“I won't.”
That night, they took Annie to a private pediatric clinic.
The doctor examined her carefully.
He ordered tests.
Recommended nutritional support.
And told both parents that Annie needed regular meals, rest, and follow-up care.
Victor listened to every word.
Catherine held Annie's hand.
For the first time in three years, they sat beside their daughter together.
But when Annie fell asleep, Catherine looked at Victor.
And asked the question he had been dreading.
“Why did you believe your mother instead of me?”
Victor stared.
He had no answer that could make him innocent.
Only the truth.
“Because I trusted the wrong person.”
Catherine looked away.
May you like
Then whispered:
“And I paid for it.”
