Her Sunshine, My Storm

Three days before Christmas, the doorbell rang abruptly. I put down the knitting needles holding the scarf and stood up to open the door. Outside stood a woman in an off-white coat, holding a little boy of about three in her arms, her eyes and expression carrying a hint of deliberate fragility. "Hello, I'm Sana Woods," she said softly, yet with an undeniable presence. "I'm here to see James Downey." My heart sank sharply. That name—Sana Woods—my husband James had mentioned her once; she was the ex-girlfriend he'd loved for five years. James heard the voice and came out of the study; the surprise in his eyes when he saw Sana was impossible to hide. "Sana? Why are you here?" He hurried over, his eyes falling on the child. "This is..." "She's your daughter. Her name is Una." Sana lowered her gaze, her voice tinged with pain. "I only realized I was pregnant after I left back then. I've been raising her alone all this time, but I just can't keep going." James stiffened for a moment. He said nothing but stepped aside to let them into the house. I stood frozen, watching the three of them enter the living room like a family, feeling like a needless outsider. That night, lying beside James, I clearly heard him murmur in his sleep at three a.m., "Sana... don't leave me." My heart instantly sank to the bottom of a valley, a cold chill spreading through my entire body. I remembered three years ago, when I, as the princess of the Lincoln family, married into the Downey family to James. Back then, he hated me—hated the Lincoln family for tearing him and Sana apart—and after our marriage, he tormented me relentlessly. He would stay out all night, and when he drunkenly came home, he'd throw things at me, calling me vicious snake, slithering into his life where I don't belong. I endured it silently until six months later, when he suddenly suffered acute appendicitis, bled heavily during surgery, and the hospital's blood bank was in urgent need. My blood type matched his perfectly, and without hesitation, I donated blood to save his life. From that moment on, his attitude toward me began to soften. He started coming home on time, brought me breakfast, and even on our wedding anniversary last year, he held a grand celebration all over again, declaring in front of all the guests, "Celine Lincoln, for the rest of my life, I will only love you." I thought I'd finally seen the light at the end of the tunnel. But Sana's return was like a sharp knife, slicing through all our peace. Early the next morning, I came across James's post online. It was posted late at night, the title glaring: "Still unable to forget my old love, I've decided to divorce and then give her and the child a home." The post detailed his past with Sana, every word dripping with deep affection, yet not a single mention of me—as if our three years of marriage had been nothing more than an insignificant interlude.