Chapter 1

The smell of fresh paint and new carpet filled the house, our house. I stood in the middle of what was supposed to be the living room, a space Andrew and I had spent months planning on blueprints. This was it, the American dream I had worked for, the one I had built with my college sweetheart for five years.

The doorbell rang, a sharp, unexpected sound in the quiet suburb. I figured it was the pizza I ordered. Andrew was supposed to be here an hour ago, but he texted saying he was tied up at the firm.

I opened the door, and my smile froze.

It wasn't the pizza delivery boy. It was a woman, heavily pregnant, her belly straining against a stylish maternity dress. I recognized her from Andrew' s office Christmas party. Maria Chavez, a junior architect he was mentoring.

"Hi," she said, her voice a little too sweet. "Is Andrew here? We need to go over the baby shower plans."

The words didn't compute. I just stared at her belly, then back at her smiling face.

"Baby shower?" I repeated, my voice sounding distant.

Andrew' s car pulled into the driveway right then. He got out, saw us at the door, and his charming smile faltered for just a second.

"Gabby, honey. Maria. What's going on?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

I looked from him to Maria, the question hanging in the air between us.

"Andrew," Maria said, placing a hand on her stomach. "I was just telling your fiancée about the baby shower."

I turned to Andrew, my heart starting to pound in my chest. "Andrew, what is she talking about?"

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He put on his most patient, logical expression, the one he used when he was explaining something complicated to me.

"Gabby, let's all go inside. There' s a simple explanation."

He led us into the empty living room. The air suddenly felt suffocating.

"Look," he started, turning to me. "Maria is a single mother by choice. She wanted a baby, and I helped her. I was a private sperm donor. That's it. We're just platonic friends, and I'm being supportive."

I stared at him, trying to process the absurdity. A platonic friend? A sperm donor who discusses baby showers at his fiancée's new house?

"You were a sperm donor?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Yes. It's a progressive, modern arrangement, Gabby. I did a good thing for a friend in need. I've done nothing wrong."

He said it so calmly, so reasonably, as if he were explaining a zoning law. But Maria was looking at me, a flicker of triumph in her eyes, and I knew, with a sickening certainty, that this was not a simple, platonic arrangement. This was a declaration of war.