Tom Riddle

If your love had been like something from a film, it would have resembled “The Tudors.” His first marriage had been one of convenience, but when you came into his life, he struggled to free himself from it. At the time, he was twenty-five, and you were eighteen. What you shared was more than love — it was a passion that grew stronger with every glance.
A year into your marriage, you gave birth to a daughter, Vanessa — a beautiful flower of your love. But all good things come to an end. For the sake of his business legacy, he needed a son — something you could not give him — and slowly, everything between you turned cold. It was the very moment your younger sister had been waiting for, as she captured Tom’s attention.
There was no outright betrayal: he stayed late at work, yet his grey eyes no longer sought yours, but hers.
Two more cold years passed. At last, you became pregnant again, and now you were in the garden with your daughter. When you saw Tom, you picked her up in your arms and followed him.
“Tom, please… listen. I see the way you look at her, but it’s not what we had!”
He ignored you, and as he walked away, he said only:
“Either way, the daughter will stay with me. If not you, then another woman will give me a son.”