Chapter 2

The drive home was a silent, suffocating nightmare. Andrew followed me in his own car, having left Molly and their new son with his mother. I needed answers, and I needed them in the house my father had bought for us, the place where I had grieved six children I never even got to hold.

I was standing in the middle of the living room when he walked in, closing the door softly behind him. He had the audacity to look weary, as if he were the victim.

"Gabi, let's just calm down and talk about this rationally."

"Rationally?" My voice was a raw, broken thing. "You're going to explain to me, rationally, how my daughter, who I thought was dead for eight years, is alive and calling your brother 'Dad'?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was a gesture he used when he was trying to be patient with me, and it sent a fresh wave of rage through my veins.

"Look, it was a complicated situation," he began, his voice low and placating. "Clark and his wife... they couldn't have kids. They were devastated. When the doctors said the baby was viable, that you just couldn't carry to term... I made a decision. A compassionate one."

"A compassionate decision?" I shrieked, the sound tearing from my throat. "You gave my baby away, Andrew! You let me believe she was dead! I grieved for her! I have a headstone with her name on it!"

"It was for the best!" he snapped, his charming facade finally cracking. "What was the alternative? You were a mess. Another miscarriage would have destroyed you. This way, she stayed in the family. She was loved, she was cared for. Clark and his wife got the child they always wanted."

He was twisting it, framing his monstrous betrayal as an act of mercy. He wasn't looking at my pain; he was looking past it, dismissing it as an inconvenient side effect.

"And what about me?" I sobbed, my knees feeling weak. "What about what I wanted? She's my daughter!"

"And we have a son now!" he shot back, his voice rising. "Molly gave us a son. We have our family, just like you wanted. Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to ruin everything now?"

The gaslighting was so profound, so complete, it left me breathless. He was making me the villain. My grief, my rage, my maternal instinct to reclaim my stolen child-he was painting it all as selfish hysteria.

"This is insane," I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. "You think a new baby with your ex-girlfriend replaces the daughter you stole from me?"

His face hardened, the insecurity I'd only glimpsed before now on full display.

"You don't understand my family, Gabi. You never have. You grew up with everything handed to you on a silver platter. My family, they clawed their way out of nothing. We owe each other. We protect each other. They saved me from a life of poverty and misery. I owed them this."

"You owed them my child?"

"Yes!" he yelled. "If that's what it took! You need to stop being so dramatic and think about the damage you'll cause. Do you want to rip Madisyn away from the only parents she's ever known? You'll destroy Clark's family. You'll destroy her."

He saw the flicker of hesitation in my eyes, the agony of that impossible choice, and he pounced on it.

"Be rational, Gabi. Let it go. We can move forward. We have Aiden."

He used the name. The name I had chosen for my first son, the one I lost in the second miscarriage. Aiden. It means "little fire." He had given my name to Molly's son.

The last thread of love, of hope, of any shared history between us, snapped.

"Get out," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.

"What?"

"Get out of my house. I want a divorce. And I am getting my daughter back."

His face contorted with fury. He saw he had lost control.

"You're being unstable, Gabrielle. Hysterical. The whole family sees it. Molly sees it. If you keep this melodrama up, I'm taking Aiden and moving in with her. Don't test me."

He thought it was a threat. He thought the idea of him leaving with that baby would break me.

He was wrong. It was a clarification.

The man I married was gone. In his place stood a stranger, a monster allied with his family and his mistress against me. The battle lines were drawn.

The moment he slammed the door behind him, I picked up my phone. I didn't call my parents. I didn't call a friend.

I called my family's lawyer. The most ruthless, high-powered attorney on the East Coast.

"Robert," I said, my voice steady and cold as ice. "I need you. I'm filing for divorce. And I'm starting a custody battle."