Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

To give my husband, Jeremy, a baby, I put my body through hell with every medical treatment imaginable.

Then came the accidental discovery: Jeremy and his mother were scheming behind my back to pass off his mistress's baby as mine.

I turned around and filed for divorce. But when I told my own parents, my father hurled a glass ashtray at my head, tearing my ear open before kicking me out into the street.

Jeremy didn't show an ounce of remorse or care. Instead, he twisted my bleeding wound, demanding to know if I had another man.

In that very moment, it hit me: not a single person in that house was worth holding on to.

I was getting my divorce. And every single person who bruised and battered my life was going to pay.

Clara's POV

I honestly believed Jeremy loved me.

I swallowed bitter herbal tonics and nauseating hormone pills more than eight hundred times, all so we could have a baby together.

Yet here we were: the sixteenth time he threw a public tantrum in front of a crowd, fully expecting me to smooth things over afterward.

Only this time, the divorce papers were already sitting on our desk, waiting for him to come home.

It was an extended family dinner, over twenty relatives packed around a sprawling banquet table.

Jeremy reached for his glass, tipping it back toward his lips.

I stepped in, catching his arm, and pulled a thermos from my purse to pour warm tea into his empty glass.

"Please don't drink tonight."

The whole table burst out laughing. A couple of his uncles tapped their forks against their plates, joking that Jeremy was utterly whipped.

The smirk dropped from Jeremy's face. He shoved my hand aside with a sharp flick.

"I'm in a good mood tonight. What's wrong with a couple of drinks?"

I stood my ground, sliding the cup of tea closer to him.

The whole reason I kept him from drinking dated back six years. He'd landed in the ER with alcohol poisoning, and the day he was discharged, he gripped my hand tight. He swore that wherever I was, he wouldn't touch a single drop.

Those were his exact words. The relatives at the table hadn't heard him say it back then, but he was supposed to remember.

Jeremy's face darkened into an ugly scowl.

The dining room door swung open. A college-aged waitress in a company uniform walked in with a beverage menu, making the rounds to ask if anyone needed another bottle.

Jeremy raised a hand, waving her over, but his eyes were locked straight onto me.

He stood up, slinging his suit jacket over his arm. "I'm done drinking here. Tonight, I'm going elsewhere with her."

The room instantly erupted into an awkward murmur.

I stayed seated, my fingers resting motionless against the thermos lid.

"Jeremy."

He jerked his chin toward the girl, turning to leave. Right at the threshold, he tossed a single sentence over his shoulder: "If you can't live like this, we'll get a divorce."

The girl froze, hesitant, but he simply stepped aside to let her walk through first. From start to finish, he didn't lay a finger on her.

The moment the door snapped shut, the room broke into hushed gossip, all whispering about Jeremy's volatile temper.

Listening to them, I knew exactly what he was doing. He picked this setting on purpose. With every single relative watching, he wanted everyone to see who held the absolute power in our marriage.

I packed the thermos back into my bag, excused myself to the elders with an excuse about an urgent matter at home, and left.

I waited outside the restaurant entrance for ten minutes. All that came was his car pulling out. The college girl was sitting in the passenger seat, and he sped away without glancing back.

For those ten minutes, I was actually waiting for him to step out and offer a single word of apology. Now, I didn't have to wait anymore.

It was well past midnight when the front door finally clicked open. Jeremy stumbled inside reeking of cheap booze. Seeing me sitting in the pitch-black living room startled him, but he quickly softened, grabbing my hand and giving it a gentle shake.

"I was wrong, Clara. All the relatives were there, and I just lost my head and talked crazy."

The divorce papers lay wide open on the table.

I had this script memorized. It was the sixteenth time. He hadn't even bothered to change a single word.

His mother, Evelyn, wandered out in a robe, throwing a couple of mild scolds at Jeremy before sitting down beside me, patting the back of my hand.

"Men lose their minds when they're out entertaining clients. Once you two have a baby, everything will fall into place. A child settles a man's heart."

My fingertips curled slightly.

My struggle with infertility was a secret I had kept locked away from everyone. Over the past few years, I had quietly snuck into clinics, desperate for the day I could finally put an end to that kind of talk.

Evelyn's casual comment struck the most vulnerable wound in my chest.

To be fair, Evelyn hadn't treated me badly over the years. She knitted me sweaters when the weather turned cold and cooked for me whenever my appetite was off.

I told myself that in this house, at least one person cared about me.

I tucked the divorce agreement into the very bottom drawer.

After that night, Jeremy acted as if he had genuinely learned his lesson. Whenever he went out to entertain, he brought the thermos himself. Whether he drank or not, he snapped a photo and texted it to me.

I never opened a single one. Opening them meant having to believe him all over again, and I was done making excuses for him.

It was also around that time that Evelyn started complaining about severe chest pain every single night, begging me to sleep in her bedroom to watch over her.

I packed up my pillow and moved into her room. Sitting by her bedside through the dark hours, I even thought to myself: at least there was one thing in this family that only I could do.

Whether Jeremy came home at night or not, I had no way of knowing.

On the fifty-sixth night, the doorbell rang at two in the morning.

Standing on the porch was that very same college girl, one hand resting protectively over her lower stomach.

"I'm Chloe. I'm pregnant with Jeremy's baby."

"Got it," I said, and shut the door right in her face.

It took me less than a second to recognize her. She was the one he walked out with that night.

I spent the rest of that night back in Evelyn's bedroom, facing the wall, pretending to be fast asleep.

Just before dawn, Jeremy slipped through the front door. Evelyn crept out quietly, and their hushed voices drifted through the hallway.

"Be quiet, she's still asleep in the room."

"Don't worry. How's Chloe doing?"

"She's doing great. I have meals cooked and sent over to her every day. Once the baby is born, we'll put it under Clara's name and tell everyone we adopted it. She can't have kids anyway. With a baby tying her down, she won't be able to leave for the rest of her life, and I can keep playing sick."

The chest pains were fake.

Those fifty-six nights I spent keeping vigil were nothing more than acting as their watchdog, giving him free rein to slip out into the night without suspicion.

Evelyn's hand-knitted sweaters and homemade soups were the currency she used to buy those fifty-six nights.

They wanted to shove an illegitimate child into my arms, sealing off every single escape route before I even knew I needed one.

Before the sun fully rose, my mind was made up: nobody in this house wanted me to have a good life. I was done waiting for anyone to look back.

The second the sun came up, I called a lawyer to file for divorce.

Right after, I set up a meeting with Chloe. Sitting across from her in a quiet coffee shop, staring at her slightly rounded stomach, my opening line was simple: "I'm leaving. You can have Jeremy."

Chloe looked up at me, surprised.

"I have only one condition. When the court summons arrives at the house, find a way to get Jeremy to sign it without him realizing what it is."

Chloe stared at me for a few long seconds, then smirked. She agreed.

Within a few days, the papers arrived.

The day a photo of his signature landed on my phone, I visited my regular fertility clinic.

The doctor smiled warmly, telling me that with just this final round of treatment, we'd have good news very soon.

I had endured over eight hundred doses of agonizing medications over the years. I had waited an eternity for this final step.

I kept my voice quiet. "No need. I won't be coming back."

The doctor tried to persuade me, but I had already grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

Those eight hundred rounds of medication were taken for that family—a family waiting for my womb to fail so they could shackle me with a mistress's baby.

I wasn't waiting around anymore.