Chapter 2

The words barely left my lips when Julian's mother, Martha, who had always been so cold towards me, suddenly lunged forward and slapped me across the face.

"Divorce? What right do *you*, woman, have to talk about divorce with my son!"

"If it weren't for marrying a barren hen like you, my son wouldn't be in his thirties without a child!"

"I had Seraphina's baby checked — it's a boy! Who knows what you even had in your belly; if it was a girl, what right would she have to compete with my grandson for the inheritance!"

Martha's questions came out like a machine gun, leaving me no room to defend myself.

In the past, when she bullied me like this, Julian would usually say a few words in my defense.

But this time, he just watched me cry with a cold, detached expression.

"Clara, you're becoming increasingly unreasonable. You even dare to talk about divorce."

"Why are you always so emotional? You never think about me."

"Seraphina is much more considerate than you are. She doesn't even ask for a title, only wants to help me with my worries, and she even offered to let you raise the baby after it's born, saying it wouldn't threaten your position."

His tone was so self-righteous, as if everything was my fault.

I stared in shock at the man I had loved for over a decade, feeling like he was impossibly distant and unfamiliar.

We met in college.

Back then, Julian Thorne was a poor student receiving scholarships, while I was the sole heiress of a renowned corporation.

From falling in love to getting married, I endured countless whispers and judgments.

I poured my money and effort into him, helping him complete his studies, then slowly building a company with him.

I grew Thorne Corporation from a small startup into a top-ten enterprise nationwide.

He once told me, tears in his eyes, that I had illuminated his once-struggling life, and that he wouldn't be who he was today without me.

When I first started IVF, Julian would accompany me, running around and taking care of me.

But after thirty-one consecutive failures, his patience for me dwindled.

I don't know if he was influenced by his mother's nagging.

He came to believe that the responsibility for not conceiving rested solely on me, and that I deserved all the suffering and pain that came with it.

During my thirty-second IVF attempt, the doctor saw my abdomen, covered in bruised needle marks, and couldn't help but tear up.

Lying on the operating table that day, I silently swore to myself that if I could successfully have a child, I'd willingly sacrifice ten years of my life.

But when I finally had the chance to be a mother, it was snatched away by the man I loved most.

I lay in a pool of blood, my voice hoarse as I whispered.

"Julian Thorne, that wasn't just *my* child, it was yours too."

"Don't you feel any pain abandoning this baby?"