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.

I lay staring at the ceiling, but sleep never came.

The next morning, I was wiping the dust from my mother's memorial portrait when a sharp, impatient knock broke the silence.

The moment I opened the door, Lois was standing there, chin lifted, looking down at me：

“Oh, Claudia, do you have any idea what time it is? Shouldn't you be making breakfast?”

She leaned in, a cold smirk curling at the corner of her mouth：

“Don't forget. You're my maid now.”

I didn't want to argue. I turned back into the room and set my mother's portrait carefully on the table：

“I'll be there in a minute.”

Lois swayed inside, her gaze landing on the portrait. Her lip curled in open disgust：

“You're keeping a dead woman's photo in here? That's terrible luck. It's depressing just looking at it. Bad for my baby's development.”

“Cover it up.”

“You can look away.”

I didn't look at her. I just straightened the portrait with care, my voice flat and cold.

“You……”

Lois's face flushed red. Something vicious flickered behind her eyes.

She drifted closer, as if by accident, then swept her hand across the table and knocked my mother's portrait to the floor.

I scrambled to pick it up, but her foot came down on it first. She clapped a hand over her mouth, feigning shock：

“Oh no, Claudia, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.”

My mother's gentle face, pinned under Lois's heel. The rage I'd been holding down broke loose.

I shot to my feet and slapped her across the face. The force of it sent her stumbling. She caught the edge of the table to keep from falling.

I grabbed her by the collar and was about to hit her again when someone seized my arm from behind.

“Claudia, are you looking to die?”

Tristram's voice cut through the room, sharp with fury.

He wrenched my arm and flung me aside.

“Have you lost your mind?”

My eyes were bloodshot. I pointed at Lois：

“She threw my mother's portrait on the ground and stomped on it.”

Tristram glanced at Lois. Instantly, she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms：

“I just wanted to move your mother's portrait to the living room. The spot out there is so much better.”

“But the second I picked it up, she came at me like a maniac.”

“I only stepped on it because she scared me. It was an accident. I swear.”

“You're lying. You……”

Before I could finish, Tristram's foot slammed into my leg.

My knees cracked against the floor.

“You're just jealous that Lois is pregnant, so you're picking fights over nothing.”

“Apologize to her.”

I looked up at him, every word measured：

“I didn't do anything wrong. I won't apologize.”

Something shifted in Tristram's eyes as he stared down at my stubborn, unyielding face. For a fraction of a second, he seemed to falter, as though some buried memory had surfaced.

But the next second, Lois spoke again.

“Honey, it's fine if I'm the one being bullied. But our baby hasn't even been born yet, and already someone's treating him like this. My heart breaks for him.”

She cradled her belly, whimpering softly.

The flicker of hesitation in Tristram's eyes vanished. In its place was something brutal.

He raised his foot and brought it down, grinding it into my hand：

“Apologize to Lois.”

Pain ripped through my entire body. I shook from head to toe, but I clenched my jaw shut and didn't make a sound.

Tristram let out a cold laugh and lifted his foot.

I was about to breathe when he walked over to my mother's portrait.

He looked at me, eyes full of contempt.

The instant he raised his foot, I threw myself across the floor, shielding the portrait with my body：

“I was wrong. I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

Tristram smiled, satisfied. He turned, scooped Lois into his arms, and carried her toward the door：

“Next time you upset Lois, I won't let you off this easy.”