Chapter 1

Tags: Postpartum recovery, Secret second family, Caught on TikTok, Pure revenge.

On the very first day after I gave birth, my husband told me to just order my own takeout.

I thought he was swamped with work, so I let it slide.

I texted his mother, Eleanor, asking if she could drop off a home-cooked meal.

She claimed she was busy too. She never had anything going on—why was she suddenly busy today?

I didn't press. I just ordered a bland soup on DoorDash.

While eating, I scrolled through my local TikTok feed.

A video popped up: a woman had just given birth. Her husband and his mother were fawning over her, spoon-feeding her soup, waiting on her hand and foot.

My eyes stung. I went to share the video with my husband, Ethan.

Right as my finger hit send, I saw their faces clearly.

It was my husband. And my mother-in-law.

It was too late to unsend.

The screen flashed: Sent.

The chat showed the word Read.

I stared at those letters, waiting.

No reply came.

I blinked and replayed the video.

The woman's face was puffy from labor, but she couldn't hide her smug smile.

Eleanor was spoon-feeding her warm soup. Ethan stood beside her, holding a lavish bouquet of roses.

The caption read: Hubby and mom stayed by my side the entire delivery. Spoiled rotten on day one. So blessed.

I knew those two faces better than anyone.

Her mother-in-law was Eleanor.

Her husband was Ethan.

I placed the phone face down on the bed and turned to look at my sleeping newborn daughter.

Her tiny face was squished, lips twitching in a dream.

My phone buzzed.

Not a text, but an incoming call.

The screen displayed Ethan's name.

I picked it up.

Silence on the other end.

Nobody spoke for a long time.

I broke the silence, my voice hoarse: "Read and ignored. Took you that long to cook up an excuse?"

He finally spoke, his throat sounding like it was clogged with gravel as he squeezed out:

"That's... a relative. You don't know her."

I let out a dry laugh that pulled at my C-section stitches. Pain shot through me.

"A relative?"

I asked.

"Then how do you explain the caption calling you 'hubby' and her 'mom'?"

He fell silent again.

I could hear his shallow, panicked breathing.

"She's just family," he pleaded. "Don't overthink this."

I stayed silent.

He babbled on, claiming she was a distant cousin from out of state and Eleanor was just helping out out of family duty.

His voice grew frantic.

I closed my eyes. The image of him holding those flowers burned behind my eyelids.

He hadn't bought me flowers in years.

The last time was when he proposed—a dozen red roses at an Italian restaurant, down on one knee, asking if I would spend my life with him.

I had said yes.

Looking back, I said yes way too easily.

A woman's voice cut through the background, clear and sharp:

"Why are you wasting your breath? Just tell her straight!"

It was Eleanor.

She must have snatched the phone. Her harsh, impatient tone came through loud and clear:

"Let me handle this."

I gripped the phone tighter.

Eleanor snapped:

"Chloe, let's cut the crap. You're lazy. You sit around all day doing nothing, and I've been sick of you for years."

I didn't reply. She kept going, faster and louder.

"And what did you give us? A worthless girl. We have a family name to pass down, and you broke our line. I told Ethan a hundred times he should have divorced you ages ago."

She didn't even pause for breath.

"Pack your bags and get out. Stop leeching off my son."

Ethan's muffled voice came from afar, trying to stop her: "Mom, shut up!"

Eleanor yelled louder: "Why should I? Am I lying?"

"Look at how she acts! You hand over your paycheck every month—where does it go? Who pays for the groceries? Me!"