Hidden Desires - Family Secrets-Chapter 183 Did you tell her the time? Part2

"After you consider whether you can truly adopt this attitude, it might be best not to let Michael come home if you can’t," Luna said, her words casting a sudden silence over the room.

Now, it all boiled down to my attitude.

Could I really muster a smile for Michael?

For anyone else, the answer would be a resounding no.

How could I greet with a smile a man who had betrayed me not once, but twice?

Yet, thinking of his situation and of Laura, I reluctantly nodded.

Seeing my nod, Luna sighed softly, her gaze then shifting to Betty.

The ease with which she had spoken to me was gone, replaced by a hesitance, as if she was on the verge of saying more.

At that moment, Betty looked like she was under immense strain...

Observing Luna and Betty, I sensed they had secrets that were hard to voice.

Perhaps these weren’t dark secrets, but with me there, Luna was cautious, unsure if her words might wound me.

So, she held back.

Witnessing this, I stood up and slowly walked towards the door.

Betty, seeing me leave, quickly got up to join me.

"You two talk; I’ll get some fresh air. Come find me when you’re done," I said, turning away from Luna and Betty.

With those words, I stepped out of the room.

Betty’s footsteps didn’t follow.

I walked into the garden of Luna’s villa, breathing in the air heavy with the scent of flowers.

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My mind was far from calm.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if my decision was the right one.

Was I just inviting trouble by letting Michael come home?

Could this lead to more chaos?

Curiosity about what Luna might say to Betty gnawed at me, but for everything to proceed smoothly, I had to suppress my curiosity and desire for knowledge.

I sat on a garden bench, lost in thought, until I heard footsteps behind me.

Betty and Luna approached.

Luna was calm as ever, while Betty seemed unable to meet my eyes, her head bowed and her expression troubled.

"When do you plan to let Michael come home?" Luna asked as she reached my side.

I had pondered this question earlier.

Was I really ready to let Michael come home temporarily?

"Wait for my call," I replied, nodding to Luna.

Then, with Betty in tow, I left Luna’s villa.

After bidding Betty goodbye, I hailed a cab to the office, while Betty returned to school.

Back at the office, my mind was still in turmoil.

I worried about the upheaval Michael’s return might cause, especially given Betty’s fragile state.

But Michael needed treatment, and it couldn’t be delayed any longer.

I called Luna to tell her I’d bring Michael back in two days.

Hanging up, I felt no relief, only increased worry and pressure.

In my office, there were two computers: one for general office use and my personal laptop, which I used for confidential work.

In the two months since returning to the office, I had rarely opened my laptop, haunted as it was by too many painful memories.

Yet, thinking of Betty’s emotional state, a strong desire to know more surged within me.

For two months, I had not checked on the situation at home, nor had I seen what Betty was like when she was alone.

With hours still left before the end of the workday, I wondered if I should check the surveillance footage to see if Betty had been acting unusually while home alone.

Driven by curiosity, I fired up the home security system and set the timeline to two months ago, right after I had decided to forgive Betty and told her to return to work.

On the screen, after I left, Betty collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her cries were a mix of relief and joy, but also a palpable sense of helplessness, the reasons for which were elusive.

In the days that followed, Betty prepared dinner every evening with apparent zeal and care.

Sometimes, while cooking, tears would unexpectedly streak down her cheeks.

I couldn’t tell if they were for me or for something else...

I fast-forwarded through the daytime hours since we were both at work and the house remained empty, speeding through the footage until a particular weekend caught my attention.

Betty, working at a school, had the weekends off, unlike me, who often had to work overtime.

Half a month later, on a day Betty was home and I was not, she began cleaning the house.

On previous weekends, she had occasionally tidied up, but she always deliberately skipped Michael’s room, even though she cleaned every other nook and cranny.

Was she avoiding it?

This time was no different.

After cleaning every other room, she paused at the closed door of the guest bedroom, which had remained shut for weeks.

It was as if it were forbidden territory; neither of us had opened that door since there was no need—nothing of ours was inside.

After finishing with the rest of the house, Betty, still holding her cleaning supplies, hesitated before Michael’s room.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The moment the door swung open, a musty smell hit her, causing Betty to cough uncontrollably.

She slowly stepped inside.

The room was unchanged, frozen in time.

Michael’s neatly folded clothes were piled in the corner of the bed, his study desk by the bed with his books, his shoes in the corner, and his clothes hanging on the wall.

Everything was painfully familiar.

Betty walked around the room, forgetting her initial purpose.

Each familiar item she saw held her gaze for a long time, her eyes clouding with confusion.

When her eyes landed on a photo of Michael on the desk, she couldn’t look away.

Tears began to stream down her face.

With a loud clatter, the broom slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.

Betty didn’t bother to pick it up.

Instead, she slowly walked over to the desk and picked up the photo.

It was a picture of Michael and Betty together, taken during a trip to an amusement park.

They had framed the photo afterward, and Michael had kept it on his desk.

The photo was perfectly ordinary; I was there when it was taken but wasn’t in the picture.

At that time, Betty and Michael’s relationship was still normal.

Holding the photo, tears rolled down Betty’s cheeks like pearls, each one reflecting a mix of nostalgia and sorrow.