At my mother's funeral, Tristram Stephens strolled in late with his secretary on his arm. He handed me a divorce agreement.

“You know how the Stephens family works. Only children born in wedlock get registered on the family records.”

“Lois is carrying my child. I can't let that kid grow up without a father.”

Lois Swanson clung to his side in a red dress, her smile dripping with false sweetness：

“Claudia Simmons, you love him so much. Surely you wouldn't want him to go his whole life without an heir?”

Tristram reached over and stroked my hair：

“Don't worry. It's just a formality.”

“Once Lois and I get the marriage certificate and the baby's registered under the Stephens name,”

“I'll divorce her and remarry you.”

“You'll still be Mrs. Stephens when it's all over.”

The funeral dirge swelled, and my arm, still wearing the mourning band, trembled violently.

Five years of marriage. Tristram had told me he didn't want children, and he'd made me terminate two pregnancies.

During the second procedure, something went wrong. They removed my uterus. I would never be a mother……

And now he stood here telling me he couldn't let another woman's child grow up without a father.

I watched Lois thrust her belly forward in a deliberate taunt, and my fingers curled tight.

In my mind, a divorce was a divorce. There was no such thing as a fake one.

……

When he saw me frozen in place, Tristram reached out and wiped the tears from my face：

“Motherhood without the pain. Aren't you happy?”

I wrenched his hand away and stared at him, my voice cold：

“If we're getting divorced, there's no need to remarry.”

Something flickered across Tristram's face, but it vanished behind that trademark smile of his. He gripped my chin and tilted it upward, one brow arched：

“A barren waste of a woman. Who else would ever want you besides me?”

The words hit me like a fist to the chest. The air around me seemed to solidify.

Then he turned and pointed at my mother's memorial portrait：

“Mom would be thrilled. After all, the one thing she wanted most was to see us have a child.”

“Now she can rest in peace.”

His words were a blade, carving me apart one slow cut at a time.

While she was alive, my mother had always dreamed of becoming a grandmother.

The first time I got pregnant, I rushed to tell her, but Tristram stopped me.

He stroked my hair, his voice doting：

“Claudia, pregnancy is so hard on the body. I can't stand to see you suffer. And you know what my childhood was like. I'm not ready to be a father yet. Let's not keep this one.”

“Give it a few more years. Once we've had enough time just the two of us, it won't be too late.”

I believed him. I never told my mother I was pregnant. I had the abortion in secret.

Two years later, I was pregnant again.

The moment I held the test results, I called Tristram, overjoyed. He pulled out that same gentle tone：

“Claudia, my career is really taking off right now. A baby would hold me back.”

“We're still young. We have plenty of time. Just go get it taken care of, okay?”

I was crushed, but I didn't want to be a burden to him. So I agreed.

That was the procedure that went wrong. The doctor made an error, and I hemorrhaged.

The only way to save my life was to remove my uterus entirely.

I was unconscious for three days. Tristram stayed at the hospital the entire time, never sleeping, never leaving my side.

When I finally opened my eyes, he cradled my hand in his, tears brimming：

“Claudia, I promise you. For the rest of our lives, I'll be right here beside you. I will never leave.”

Those vows still echoed in my ears. And yet here he was, with another woman carrying his child.

Looking back, I was the punchline of my own story, falling for his honeyed lies again and again.

My mother died without ever knowing I could never have children again.

I stared at her memorial portrait, my eyes burning red, and before I could stop myself my hand flew across Tristram's face：

“You don't get to say her name.”

Tristram cupped his cheek and let out a quiet laugh, then lifted his head to look at me with undisguised contempt：

“Claudia, you and your mother have been eating my food, living under my roof for years. I'm the one who covered every last cent of her hospital bills.”

“Your mother gave me a few hot meals. What I gave back was enough to feed you both for a lifetime.”

I stared at him, my face flushed with disbelief, but I couldn't form a single word.

Everything my mother had done for him, all those years of kindness, and he'd just waved it away as a few hot meals.

When I said nothing, he reached into his bag, pulled out the divorce papers, and flung them at me：

“Besides, I already told you, it's just a formality. You can't have kids, so I found someone to do it for you. Shouldn't you be saying thank you?”

“Sign when you're ready. Lois has a prenatal appointment and we're running late. I'm leaving.”

He took Lois's hand and walked out without a backward glance.

After he left, I collapsed to the floor and wept.

Once I'd taken care of my mother's arrangements, I held her memorial portrait against my chest and took a cab back to the villa.

The moment I stepped out of the car, it started to rain.

I stood at the entrance, watching the raindrops fall through the porch light, and for one breath it was fifteen years ago.

It had been raining that day too. My mother and I were walking home arm in arm when we spotted a small boy crouched beside a dumpster.

He wore a filthy T-shirt and was hunched over, digging through the trash.

He'd finally fished out a piece of moldy bread and was about to shove it into his mouth when he slipped and fell. The bread tumbled from his hand, carried by the rainwater straight into the storm drain.

He sat there on the ground while the rain beat against his face, biting his lip so hard it looked like it might bleed, refusing to let himself cry out loud.

My mother couldn't bear the sight of him. She took his hand and led him home.

He was a foster child. His adoptive mother was a gambler, his adoptive father a drunk. They beat him whenever they felt like it and often didn't bother to feed him at all.

When my mother learned what his life was like, she told him to come eat at our house whenever he was hungry.

From that day on, Tristram Stephens walked into my world.

We were the same age, so we walked to school together, walked home together.

Whenever I had something good to eat, I always split it with him.

Bit by bit, we went from shy glances to something more, and by the time we graduated college, he got down on one knee and proposed.

At our wedding, he knelt before my mother：

“Mom, thank you. You and Claudia gave me warmth when I had nothing and no one. I swear I'll take care of you both for the rest of my life. I won't let either of you suffer.”

“If I ever break this vow, may God strike me down.”

A coy whine from inside the house pulled me back to the present：

“Hey, stop it! The doctor said we have to wait until three months before we can……you know.”

“Be good, babe. Just hold on a little longer?”

Tristram's low voice followed：

“You little tease. How am I supposed to keep my hands off you?”

“One more week and it'll be three months. Our wedding night. You just wait and see what I do to you.”

My arms tightened around my mother's portrait.

I drew a long breath and stepped inside.

On the couch, Lois was straddling Tristram's lap with the front of her nightgown slipping open. It was my nightgown.

Neither of them showed a shred of shame when I walked in.

Lois shot me a look, deliberate and taunting, then tugged the neckline down another inch.

Tristram gave her a rough squeeze, then turned to me with that same look of disdain：

“Made up your mind already?”

I didn't say a word. I just nodded, then handed him the divorce agreement.

Tristram took it and stared at my signature on the consent line. For a moment, he looked stunned.

He hadn't expected me to agree so easily. Something unnamed tightened in his chest.

“Don't worry. I already talked it over with Lois. Once the baby's on the birth certificate, she and I will divorce.”

“Then you and I can remarry.”

“Whatever you say.”

My voice was flat. I held my mother's memorial portrait against my chest and turned toward the bedroom.

“Wait.”

Tristram stopped me. I paused and looked back, confused.

“Lois is in that room now.”

“What?”

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Tristram frowned, visibly annoyed：

“That room gets the best sunlight and the best airflow. Lois is pregnant, Claudia. You should have enough sense to figure this out on your own.”

I glanced at Lois. She let out a soft laugh：

“Oh, I told him it wasn't necessary, but Mr. Stephens insisted I move in there.”

“But I suppose there's no helping it. After all, I am carrying his first child. One has to be careful, wouldn't you agree, Claudia?”

Even though I was already done with Tristram, Lois's words cut straight through me.

My hand drifted to my hollow stomach. My eyes burned.

“Oh, and the housekeeper's been on leave. Since you already have experience taking care of your mother, I figured there was no need to hire anyone new. You can handle Lois's daily needs while you're here.”

Tristram said this as he stood, one arm around Lois's waist.

Lois stroked her belly, smiling with undisguised satisfaction：

“I'll be counting on you, then. Sorry for the trouble, Claudia.”

I lowered my gaze and drew a long, slow breath.

It was fine. I just had to get through this. Once it was over, everything would be over. I repeated it to myself like a prayer.

“Fine.”

I forced the corners of my mouth upward and agreed.

Tristram looked at me with a flicker of surprise, but it vanished quickly, replaced by that polished smile of his.

“Claudia, you're smarter than I gave you credit for. You know I'm the only one you have left, so you do as you're told.”

He was so confident that my obedience came from having no one else to turn to.

He had no idea I already had plans of my own.

I didn't argue. I just turned and walked toward the guest room.

Tristram watched me go, and something hollow settled in his chest that he couldn't quite name.

He wanted to ask if I'd eaten. The words never made it past his lips.

He yanked at his tie, irritated. Beside him, Lois pressed close and pouted：

“Honey, once I have the baby, you really won't want me anymore?”

Tristram looked at her, all heavy-lidded eyes and soft provocation, and pulled her in by the waist：

“Don't be ridiculous. She's a woman who can't even bear children. How could she ever compare to you, you little temptress?”

“I only keep her around because I owe her mother. Think of it as getting you a free maid. Doesn't that make you happy?”

A flash of jealousy cut through Lois's eyes, but she buried it fast and slipped back into that coy, flirtatious mask：

“Of course I'm happy. I always knew my husband was the best.”

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

That was all it took. Tristram swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom.

That night, I lay in the guest room listening to the sounds seeping through the wall, and I pulled the blanket tight around myself.

But those sounds had a way of cutting through fabric, through walls, straight into my chest.

I couldn't breathe. I threw the blanket off, grabbed my phone, and sent a message to a number saved without a name：

“How much longer?”

The reply came almost immediately：

“One week.”

I stared at the message. A moment later, a low, heavy groan came from Tristram's room next door, and the sounds finally stopped.