Chapter 1

The federal prison gate clanged shut behind me.

Ten years.

A decade of my life, gone.

I clutched the cheap duffel bag with my few belongings.

The air outside felt strange, too open.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Mark.

He promised he' d be here.

He promised we' d rebuild.

Bishop Developments, our dream.

My architectural designs were the foundation.

His name was on the door.

When the fraud scandal hit, the embezzlement, the fake permits for that big city project, he swore it was the only way.

"Ava, you have to," Mark had pleaded, his eyes wide with a fear I mistook for concern for us.

"The Bishop legacy, my parents... I can't have a record. The company will fold. Our future, gone."

His parents, Harold and Eleanor, echoed him. "For the family, Ava. For Mark."

So, I signed the papers. I stood before the judge. I took the fall.

He was already seeing Tiffany Hayes then, I knew that now.

But standing there, blinking in the too-bright sun, I still held onto a sliver of hope.

Queenie Jackson, my rock inside, got out yesterday.

"Be careful, Ava," she' d warned, her eyes sharp. "Men change. Time changes them more."

I waved away her concern. Mark was different.

I took a cab. The address was the one Mark had given me in his last letter, a few years back. "Our new home," he' d called it. "Waiting for you."

The cab pulled up to a sprawling mansion, much grander than anything we' d owned.

My stomach twisted. This wasn't just new; it was a different life.

I paid the driver, my hand shaking.

I walked up the stone pathway.

Before I could ring the bell, the front door opened.

Mark stood there.

Older, a little heavier, but still Mark.

My breath caught. "Mark?"

He looked surprised, then something else. Annoyance?

"Ava. You' re out."

No hug. No smile of relief.

Then a woman appeared behind him. Younger than me, blonde, holding a toddler.

Tiffany Hayes.

My mind went blank.

"Mark, who is this?" she asked, her voice sweet, possessive.

"This is Ava," he said, his tone flat. "My... wife."

Tiffany' s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up.

Then, children.

One by one, they spilled out from behind her.

A boy, maybe nine or ten, with Mark' s eyes.

Then a girl, then another boy.

More kept coming.

Small faces, curious, staring at me.

"How many?" I whispered, the words catching in my throat.

"Six," Tiffany said, a smug little smile playing on her lips. "MJ here is the oldest. He just turned ten."

Ten.

Conceived right around the time I went inside.

The world tilted.

The hope I' d carried for a decade shattered into a million pieces on that pristine stone pathway.