Chapter 2

The woman I had once felt pity for, the woman I had thanked for saving my husband, was the architect of my personal hell.

The thought was so absurdly, grotesquely comical that a hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. I laughed until I cried, then cried until I was empty.

Finally, I pushed myself up from the floor. The grief was a physical weight, but beneath it, something new and hard was forming. Resolve.

I walked to the living room window. Outside, on the perfectly manicured lawn, Christian was teaching Jace how to throw a football. Kassidy sat on a blanket nearby, watching them with a soft, proprietary smile. They looked like the perfect family. A family built on my stolen child and my shattered heart.

I pressed my hand against the cold glass, forcing the rage down. Not yet. I had to be smart.

Christian came inside a few minutes later, his face flushed with a healthy glow. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, nuzzling my neck.

"Hey, beautiful. You missed a great throw. Jace has a real arm on him."

His touch made my skin crawl. "I was just thinking about that," I said, my voice carefully neutral. "About Jace."

I turned to face him, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Christian, what's my blood type?"

He blinked, thrown by the random question. "O-negative. Same as me. Why?"

"And what's Jace's?"

He didn't hesitate. "O-negative, of course. He's our son."

The lie was so smooth, so practiced. He had no idea. He genuinely thought I was just being scattered.

"Carmen, are you feeling okay?" he asked, his brow furrowed with fake concern. "You seem a little... off today."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw his handsome, lying face. Instead, I forced a small, wobbly smile. "Just tired."

Tears pricked my eyes, and I turned away before he could see them. My mind replayed the nurse's words. A-positive. The truth was a constant, screaming presence in my head.

If it hadn't been for that fall on the playground, for that one casual comment, I might have gone the rest of my life without ever knowing. The thought was terrifying.

"I have to run an errand," I said, grabbing my purse.

"I can drive you," he offered.

"No," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "I need some air. I'll go to the gallery."

He had built me a private art studio, a grand, empty gesture to support the career I had abandoned for him. Another part of the perfect-husband facade.

I didn't go to the gallery. I went straight to Britt's office.

She was waiting for me, her expression grim. "Carmen."

We hugged, and for a moment, I let myself lean on her strength.

"I'm divorcing him," I said, my voice flat.

Britt didn't look surprised. She just nodded. "I figured. Cheating is one thing, but this..." She trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. "What is the reason?"

"He has a son," I said, the words tasting like poison. "With Kassidy."

Britt's jaw dropped. "Kassidy? The nanny? But I thought Christian was the perfect husband. The man who celebrates your dog's adoption day with more fanfare than your own anniversary."

It was true. He had built this flawless public image, the doting husband, the loving father. It was all a performance.

Britt walked over to a locked filing cabinet and pulled out a thick folder. "Good thing I'm paranoid."

She laid the papers on the desk. It was our prenuptial agreement. And there, on the last page, was Christian' s confident, flowing signature right below the infidelity and gross misconduct clause. A clause that made him the at-fault party.

"Thank you, Britt," I whispered, my fingers tracing his name.

I drove home in a daze. When I walked through the door, my senses were assaulted by the smell of vanilla and sugar. The dining room was filled with balloons. A banner read "Happy Gotcha Day, Apollo!"

Christian stood by the table, beaming, next to a multi-tiered cake that looked like it belonged at a wedding. He had, once again, gone completely over the top for our dog's adoption anniversary.

"Surprise!" he said, his eyes sparkling. "I know how much you love matcha, so I had the baker make a special one just for you."

He cut a large slice and held it out to me, the perfect, loving husband performing his part.

I took the plate, my hand steady, and forced a smile that didn't reach my eyes.