Three months into my pregnancy, my husband got his brother's widow pregnant.

I demanded a divorce. He dropped to his knees and begged. "After my brother died, she cried every single day. She begged me to give her something to live for."

"I never agreed to it. But she went behind my back and stole my sample from the sperm bank..."

My heart felt like it had been ripped wide open, but for the sake of our baby, I chose to forgive him.

I never expected what would happen the day I went into labor. Every doctor, every nurse in the hospital vanished.

My mother-in-law, Naomi Young, blocked my doorway with a sneer. "Let me be honest with you. Vivian is carrying a boy. To make sure she delivers the Young family's firstborn son, every doctor in this hospital has been sent to administer her labor-inducing drugs."

"You couldn't produce a single egg in seven years. What makes you think you compare to Vivian, who got it right on the first try?"

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Then I heard my husband's voice, cold and businesslike, giving orders into his phone. "Clean it up. Make absolutely sure Phoebe Henson never finds out our marriage certificate is fake."

Benedict Young let out a bitter laugh at whoever was on the other end. "I don't have a choice. I already failed my brother. I can't fail Vivian too. If I want my child with Vivian registered first, Phoebe will just have to deal with it."

"Besides, Phoebe lost her family a long time ago. And she'd never leave me. That night Vivian and I got drunk and made a stupid mistake, I told Phoebe that Vivian stole my sperm sample, and she believed every word. Didn't she?"

——

So that was all I was to him. A fool.

I wanted to storm over and confront him, but a warm gush of blood soaked the sheets beneath me.

"Save my baby... please..."

Benedict came rushing toward me, but Naomi's voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "No! Vivian is only three centimeters dilated. She can't deliver before you get back!"

He froze where he stood.

Then he walked over and tried to soothe me. "Phoebe, the doctors are at a conference. Don't worry, they'll be here any minute."

My body went rigid. I felt like I'd been plunged into ice water.

The contractions tore through me, wave after wave of splitting agony.

My nails dug into the flesh of Benedict's palm. "Benedict, where are the doctors? There isn't a single doctor left? You promised me nothing would happen to our baby!"

All he did was squeeze my hand back, guilt written across his face. "The doctors are on their way. Just hold on a little longer, Phoebe. If it hurts, bite down on me."

On their way? Or were they too afraid to let me deliver before Vivian Chambers?

I swallowed the acid burning up my throat.

From the next room came Vivian's agonized screams. Naomi's head snapped toward the sound, and she barked at Benedict, "Relax, I'm here. She won't die. Now go check on Vivian! She's the one giving you a son. She's the one who matters."

Benedict hesitated, torn.

In the end, under my desperate gaze, he peeled my fingers off his hand, one by one. "Phoebe, I need to go check on Vivian."

I shook my head over and over, begging. "No. You can't leave me. I need a doctor. I need you."

He turned away, his expression pained. "I'm sorry, Phoebe. I promised Vivian I'd be there when her child was born."

I remembered the early days of my pregnancy, when Benedict had pressed his lips to my belly and whispered, "Phoebe, I promise. I'll be right beside you the whole time. I'll watch our baby come into this world with my own eyes."

Now he had pulled every doctor from every department and sent them to Vivian's room, leaving me to labor alone.

Eight hours passed.

I was so starved and depleted that my body gave out. I delivered a stillborn. When the doctors and nurses finally rushed in, their faces crumpled with pity. "We're so sorry. The baby suffocated. If Mr. Young had let us come even one minute sooner, we could have saved her."

From the room next door came the loud, healthy wail of a newborn. Naomi was overjoyed.

Benedict's voice drifted through the wall, warm and laughing as he cooed, "There you go. Say 'Daddy'!"

Vivian's voice drifted through the wall, coy and teasing. "He was just born. How could he possibly be talking?"

Benedict's tone was dripping with adoration. "He's our son. Of course he's smart. He'll pick it up in no time, won't you, Lawrence?"

I clutched my stillborn daughter, her body still warm, and collapsed forward, howling into the sheets. Benedict had promised me—if it was a boy, Lawrence. If it was a girl, Layla.

Now I couldn't even keep my child, and the name had been given to someone else.

A long time passed.

Benedict strolled in, smiling carelessly as he brushed the hair from my forehead. "You're awake? Sweetheart, you worked so hard, giving me such a beautiful daughter. Here—a little something for your trouble."

He pressed a small cash gift into my hand. I glanced past him and saw the baby in the bassinet beside the neighboring bed. That was when I realized—Benedict had it wrong. He thought the other woman's baby was mine.

"Benedict, don't you have anything to explain to me?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "Babe, I swear there's nothing between me and Vivian."

"I know you're still upset that she and I had a child together, but she went through labor for my sake. I have to take responsibility for her."

I opened my mouth to speak again, but a pained cry from Vivian's room pulled his attention away.

At the same moment, a nurse walked in carrying a small urn. She frowned, glancing between me and Benedict.

"This is—"

But before she could finish, Benedict was already gone, rushing to Vivian's side. He caught her in his arms and snapped, "Are you out of your mind?!"

"You just gave birth! You can't be getting out of bed by yourself!"

Vivian's eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm sorry, Benedict. I wanted to go apologize to Phoebe. I was so selfish. I just wanted so badly to have a child who looked like your brother, to keep me company..."

Benedict wiped her tears away with unbearable tenderness. "What are you crying for? You're not the other woman. Technically, you're the one on my marriage certificate. Phoebe's the mistress."

In that moment, my heart split open like a wound torn with a dull blade. Tears fell from my eyes, heavy and fat, shattering against the floor.

The day he proposed, Benedict's eyes had held nothing but me.

"Phoebe, marrying you is the greatest blessing of my life. I will never, ever let you down."

Now he was calling me the mistress.

The day I was discharged, Benedict instinctively guided Vivian into the passenger seat.

When he saw me freeze, he offered an explanation. "Phoebe, Vivian's not feeling well, and she gets carsick, so..."

The sticker on the passenger-side window still read "Phoebe's Seat."

The irony was suffocating.

On the drive home, Benedict transferred me $131.40, as if afraid I might be angry. "Phoebe, our daughter's still in the incubator. If you need more money, just say the word. Your husband can afford it."

A metallic taste surged up the back of my throat.

I almost told him. The baby was gone.

But my gaze drifted past the screen of my phone and landed on Vivian in the passenger seat, picking up her own phone. She'd just accepted a transfer from Benedict.

$1,314,520.

In the silence of that car, an invisible handprint burned across my face.

Benedict brought Vivian back to our home without a shred of hesitation. "Phoebe, Vivian's still recovering from the delivery. She needs someone to look after her. Can you just be understanding about this? For me?"

If this had been before, I would have screamed. I would have torn the walls down.

But now, something in me simply... gave out.

"Fine."

Benedict looked stunned for a second, then slid a gold bracelet onto my wrist. "Good girl. I knew you'd be the bigger person."

But the bracelet—it was the same design Vivian had shown off on her social media.

I stood there and watched them empty our bedroom. Watched them move Vivian's things into the room that had been ours. Our home. Our bed.

My heart cooled, degree by degree.

Then my phone buzzed. A notification from a bargain-shopping app, linked through Naomi's profile page. I tapped through, scrolling idly.

And there it was. The exact same bracelet on my wrist. Listed at $9.99. Fake gold.

My skull hummed with a high-pitched ringing. Ten years. Ten years of love, and in Benedict's eyes, all I was worth was a $9.99 knockoff.

That night, grief over losing my child consumed me, and I spiked a high fever.

"Water... I need water..."

No one answered.

I forced myself up to pour a glass, but the bedroom door was wide open.

Vivian's cheeks were flushed. "Lawrence is full now, but my chest is so swollen it hurts... Benedict, could you..."

Benedict leaned down. "Sure."

The door closed. The sounds that followed seeped through the walls.

Like someone was carving a hole straight through my heart.

I thought of the first time Benedict kissed me, his face red with embarrassment. "Phoebe, can I kiss you?"

Now he was touching another woman.

Somewhere in my feverish haze, a large hand pressed against my forehead.

"Phoebe, you're burning up. Take this medicine."

Benedict stayed by my side the entire night. When I finally came to, he handed me a suitcase he'd already packed.

"Honey, I put together all the things you usually like. You should stay in the attic for a while, just so you don't pass whatever you have to Vivian and the baby."

He met my look of disbelief.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Phoebe, I know this isn't fair to you, but..."

"Don't bother explaining. I understand."

My daughter's ashes hadn't even been buried yet.

I glanced at my phone. Seven more days. After that, I would never endure this kind of humiliation again.

Ten years ago, we'd lived in an attic just like this one. Cramped, dusty, suffocating.

Cheap rent. Seven-dollar egg fried rice. And I'd been so happy I could burst.

Now he drove cars worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. He had a gentle, devoted wife. A son he adored.

And all I had were the salt of my own tears.

In the middle of the night, someone yanked me out of sleep. A palm cracked across my face, the sting white-hot.

"Phoebe Henson, a viper like you deserves to die! You couldn't hold on to your own child, so now you're trying to hurt Vivian's son!"

I stared at her, bewildered.

"Mom, what are you talking about? I didn't—"

Naomi's foot slammed into my lower abdomen, right where I'd had the surgery. The pain folded me in half, and I crumpled to the floor.

"Still lying! Who else would slip Lawrence sleeping pills? You're jealous that Vivian can give this family a son!"

"Someone get in here. Drag her outside and make her kneel! She can come back when she's ready to admit what she did!"

Benedict rushed in and stepped between us. "Mom, it's snowing outside. Phoebe just got through her postpartum recovery."

Naomi's lip curled. "You're still protecting this wretch? Keep it up and she'll drive Vivian to an early grave. How would you face your brother's spirit? How would you face our ancestors?"

There was a time when Naomi couldn't say a single harsh word about me before Benedict would push back. Now he just stood there.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. "Phoebe, just apologize to Vivian."

I laughed. Tears spilled down my cheeks. "If I told you I didn't do it, would you believe me?"

Benedict looked at me with something close to disappointment. "They found sleeping pills outside the attic, Phoebe. What am I supposed to believe?"

The servants forced me to my knees in the snow. The cold bit through to the bone, spreading from my kneecaps through every inch of my body. My lips went white. My abdomen cramped in waves, each one dragging me closer to blacking out. I dug my nails into my palms just to stay conscious.

Inside the house, the warm glow of a happy family. Benedict was bouncing the baby in his arms. "Lawrence, Daddy's gonna make you fly!"

Vivian watched from the couch, smiling. "That's enough, Benedict. You'll scare him."

Benedict grinned. "My son? No way. A Young man doesn't scare that easy."

Every word was a blade dipped in ice, plunging into my chest one after another, until there was nothing left but raw, bleeding ruin.