Introduction

Our life in suburban Ohio looked perfect on the outside, a picture-perfect marriage that lasted five years.

But inside, I was suffocating, especially after losing our first baby.

When I finally got pregnant again, I believed hope was blooming.

Then I found my husband had bought baby supplies.

They weren't for us.

They were for his pregnant mistress, Bree.

He claimed she could give him the "heir" I couldn't.

He coldly stated it was "practical," about "legacy," accusing me of being a "faulty machine."

When I confronted them, his thuggish security shove, leading to another devastating miscarriage.

He shockingly called it "faking it."

Then, to punish me for wanting a divorce, he methodically shredded my grandmother's cherished quilt.

It was the only solace I had left.

My spirit was hollowed out.

I was left with nothing but the brutal memory of his words and actions.

How could someone claim to love you, then orchestrate such a calculated demise of your every hope and dream?

Then, a phone call from a fertility clinic, a call he received, made him believe I was still carrying his precious heir.

He came back, oozing fake repentance, painting a perfect future.

But the cold D&C report I held in my hand was the real legacy I had for him.

It was a testament to the life he' d destroyed.

This signaled the true turning point of our story.