My mother and I married a father and son. I became the wife of architect Liam Ashford, while she married his father Julian, the firm's founder.

"What now, Chloe? We're saving Scarlett's assets. You'll have to wait."

During a wildfire, I, eight months pregnant, dragged my mother with her weak heart to safety. My husband and stepfather chose to save another woman's legacy instead of their family.

They called it business. I called it a choice.

A choice that cost me my unborn son.

When they came to my recovery room, they only asked about the woman they had rescued. My husband Liam shoved me, his face twisted with rage at my "pathetic drama."

Then his eyes found my empty stomach. "Chloe," he choked out, "where is the baby?"

"Gone," I whispered, relishing his horror. "And it was the Ashford heir you wanted so badly."

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1

My abortion procedure was finished by nightfall. The wildfire’s orange glow had dimmed to a hazy dusk beyond the clinic window.

A news anchor on the wall-mounted TV recounted the fire’s devastation. The headline flashed: “Crestwood Hills Fire Claims Three, Over a Thousand Evacuated.”

A dull pain pulsed from the anesthetic, yet I pushed through it. I had to find my phone. I had to call my husband, Liam Ashford.

My mom, Eleanor, lay beside me, still lost to her own sedation.

I knew it was time for a divorce.

The dial tone was a cold, empty pulse in my ear. Just before the line disconnected, Liam answered. His voice was sharp with impatience.

"What is it, Chloe? The evacuation is over. Why are you calling? I’ve been buried in crisis management all day."

"Scarlett’s entire collection was nearly lost. We’ve been securing the assets. Dad is with the insurers now. We’re still deep in it."

"Julian, Liam, I owe you everything." Scarlett’s voice, smooth as silk and laced with practiced fragility, bled through the line. "Without you two, my father's legacy would be ash. I'd be ruined, just like those poor people who lost their homes."

My stepfather, the great Julian Ashford, reserved a gentle tone just for her. His kindness was a calculated choice, proving the vast difference between those he valued and those he did not.

A bitter smile touched my lips. "In that case, Liam," I said, my voice a thread, "let's get a divorce. I... I can't do this anymore."

Silence held for two heartbeats. Then his fury erupted.

"Are you serious right now? I know you were evacuated, but we were saving our entire business portfolio! Scarlett was at risk. What's the big deal if we prioritized our future?"

"You can't possibly want a divorce over this? Do you have any grasp of reality? Scarlett is all alone. She depends on us."

Scarlett had it hard? How about my mother and I?

My mother, with her weak heart, and me, just days away from abortion. Did we not measure up to a business associate, to her collection of insured art?

Pregnancy made emotions raw. I felt tears welling, but I stared at the ceiling and forced them back down.

Liam's voice was a barrage of ice through the phone.

"A divorce? You’re eight months pregnant, and you dare threaten me with divorce? You love that baby. Do you want it to grow up without the Ashford name?"

"Stop being so damn dramatic, for God's sake. Scarlett needs our support. You should try thinking about someone other than yourself."

With that, he hung up.

I tried to call him again, but the call wouldn't connect. He had blocked my number.

I smiled bitterly, my hand resting on my stomach. It had been a perfect, round curve this morning. Now it was just a hollow, empty space. My phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Liam had been right. If our baby were still here, I would have fought for our family. I wouldn’t want our child to grow up without a father, so I would have found a way to forgive him.

But now, there was no baby. The only bond tying me to Liam was gone. So I might as well end it now. What was the point in waiting? To stay would be to slowly poison myself.

And was saving Scarlett's assets truly a logistical necessity? Her climate-controlled storage was miles in the opposite direction of the fire. Even if insurers were involved, Liam would never have gone there unless he chose to.

Had he thought of me during my dozens of frantic calls? Had he thought of the baby in my belly, so close to being born?

He probably just didn't care. Otherwise, he wouldn't have ignored eighteen calls. He wouldn't have spoken with such chilling detachment. Why else would he tell me to wait for emergency services like a stranger?

I was his wife who was carrying his baby!

And we had tried for a whole year for this child to finally happen.

I could still feel the sharp, cramping pain. I could recall the sterile despair of the procedure. My baby was being taken from me, and I was utterly helpless to stop it.

While lost in thought, Mom's phone began to ring. It was a call from Julian Ashford, my stepfather.

Thinking she was still asleep, I reached to answer it for her.

But just as my fingers brushed the screen, Mom woke up and answered the call herself.

Instantly, Julian's frustrated voice filled the quiet room. "Eleanor! Can't you control your daughter? You're a disappointment as a mother. Did she inherit this recklessness from that artist you were married to?"

"Why the hell would she talk about divorce over something so trivial? Marriage is not a game she gets to quit so lightly."

My mother's lips tightened into a stark, colorless line.

She inhaled a slow, measured breath, steeling herself.

This was a familiar maneuver, designed to banish any waver from her tone.

"Okay. Let's make it a joint divorce, then. Scarlett is your first love—your true legacy. Of course, she's more important than me. We were just a merger of convenience, after all. Besides, she represents a promise you made long before we ever met."

"Now that she has returned to the center of your universe, you are finally free to devote yourself to her."

"You should go pursue the love you actually want."

Julian's volume escalated, a sharp departure from the gentle cadence he reserved for Scarlett.

"Another divorce? So you and your daughter have decided marriage is a complete farce, that the commitment we made holds no value for either of you? You claimed you abandoned your first husband because he was unstable, but it's obvious now that you were the source of the chaos all along!

"Your jealousy is completely out of control!"

"Did the smoke get to your brain? Scarlett's assets were at risk. Shouldn't we have secured them? Her father’s collection was nearly lost, and as the executor of his estate, I shouldn't have gone to protect it?"

"Your paranoia has made you delusional. How can you be jealous of a business obligation?"

"You want a divorce? Fine! You can wait until the Ashford heir is born. And don't you or your daughter even think of taking that baby with you!"

Julian terminated the call before my mother could utter a single word; her phone followed suit, slipping from her hand to the floor with a muted clatter.

She then gazed out the window, remarking, "Chloe, men are all bastards."

In that moment, I understood her mind had drifted back to her past.

Mom had been a rising star in the art world, only to fall for a charismatic but penniless painter. This was the man Julian had referred to as my birth father.

Mom cut all ties with her patrons to be with my father and moved with him to a tiny studio.

At first, my father promised her the world. He told her he would work hard, make his name, and she would be the wife of a celebrated artist. Mom was still in her early twenties then, so she had believed every single word he had said.

Soon after, she discovered she was pregnant with me, a development that prompted my parents to hastily wed.

Mom told me that the nine months she was pregnant had been the best time of her life. She was his muse, his goddess. He painted her constantly and catered to her every need.

My birth, however, marked a shift in my father's disposition upon discovering I was a daughter; his demeanor towards Mom soured before she even left the hospital, and my infant cries would provoke him to berate her, branding her an impediment to his artistic genius.

That was how Mom lived her life for the next few years. My father was emotionally abusive toward her, either yelling or disappearing for days at a time.

When I turned seven years old, my father came home with another woman, telling Mom that he wanted a divorce. His reasoning was simple. His new "love" was a better muse.

My father then chased me and my mother out of the studio. We were penniless and owned nothing but her art books and my clothes.

For years, we led a nomadic life; Mom undertook art restoration projects while I attended school, and she managed to fund my college education with her meager earnings until I finally graduated.

The very same day I introduced my boyfriend to her was the day she revealed she had also met someone special.

It wasn't until we each brought our partners to see each other that we realized we'd fallen in love with the father-and-son duo from Ashford Architecture.

A month later, we both got married on the same day. I was married to the star architect Liam Ashford, the son, while Mom was married to Julian Ashford, the firm's founder.

Liam's mother had died from cancer a few years ago. On our wedding day, Mom had held Liam's hand in hers, saying, "Liam, I'll be your mother from today onward."

Meanwhile, Julian also held my hand and said, "Chloe, I'll be your father from today onward."

The moment was incredibly moving, and looking back, I can still recall its profound warmth.

However, both Mom and I had been so caught up in our happiness that we never realized that some other things were also starting to take root—our wedding day was set on the same day as the anniversary of the death of Julian’s founding partner.

It was obvious what this meant to them both.

Additionally, both Liam and Julian had personally phoned his daughter, Scarlett, pleading for her presence at our weddings.

Liam's words are seared into my memory: "Scarlett, your being here would mean the world to me."

I hadn't thought much about it back then. But now that I looked back at it, these had all been warning signs from the start. Scarlett was someone special to the Ashfords.

Still, there was something I couldn't understand.

Liam had his own mother. So, why did he defer to Scarlett so much? He would even think that no one else could ever measure up to her.

I suspect that if my mother, Scarlett, and I had all been caught in today's fire, our funerals would have been scheduled only after the insurance payout was secured.

I sat beside my mother on the bed, each of us aimlessly scrolling through our phones.

Scarlett happened to be featured on a major magazine's website just then.

Scarlett had been featured in an article with a photo of herself, Liam, and Julian.

She stood between them, looking strong yet fragile, while the Ashford men stood behind her. They all looked resolute. A powerful trio.

Her quote read, "In crisis, you discover who your true partners are. Thank you, Julian and Liam. My chaotic life is now peaceful because of you both."

Both Liam and Julian weren't wearing their wedding rings in the photo. However, they usually never wore them on site visits, since their work could be demanding.

However, the lack of the wedding bands on both their fingers in the photo now served as a proclamation to the world that they were still single and available.

People were starting to leave comments under the post.

"Wow! What a power move! Anyone can see the deep bond between them!"

"Is this the new Ashford power trio?"

"No way! I don't believe it for a second. The drama is just too good."

"Don't worry. I'm already imagining it. Is there room for two wives in this picture, though? Which one does she actually like?"

"I know! It's definitely both of them! She's playing the long game for the whole dynasty!"

I passed the phone over to Mom. "Mom, I'm definitely getting a divorce."

Mom took the phone from me and enlarged the photo, her face dark and solemn.

A few seconds later, she replied calmly, "It's okay, Chloe. I'll do it with you. I've done it before anyway, so I've got the experience. Call up a lawyer and get them to draft a divorce agreement."

Three days later, the divorce papers were finalized by our lawyer. My mother and I had them delivered by courier to the Ashford estate that morning.

In the three days of silence that followed, neither Liam nor Julian reached out.

My mother and I stayed at the clinic, focusing on recovery.

Our bodies were healing, but my spirit felt shattered. Losing a child so late in a pregnancy had hollowed me out, leaving me weak and disconnected from my own skin. I spent most of the day in bed, my gaze often drifting to my flat stomach, an ache in an empty space.

My baby was gone.

I had already created the blueprints for his nursery, mapped out the trips we would take to see the architectural marvels of the world, and debated which Ivy League school he might choose.

Above all else, I had just wanted him to be happy. His success would have just been a bonus.

My eyes burned with hot, unshed tears. I tried to swallow them down, but it was useless.

My baby was gone! And it was entirely his father’s fault for refusing to answer our calls!

I clenched the thin hospital blanket in my fist.

How would Liam even react when he finally found out his son was gone forever?

Suddenly, my phone pierced the silence with a sharp, insistent ring. It was Liam.

He had unblocked me, and now he was finally calling. He didn’t bother to ask why I’d been gone for three days or show any concern for my well-being. Instead, the first thing he did was unleash his fury on me.

"Chloe Ashford! What in the hell is going through your mind? I was giving you space for a few days, letting you cool off and reflect on your ridiculous behavior!"

"And this is how you repay me? With a divorce agreement? Are you completely insane?"

"I did nothing wrong by securing Scarlett's assets. But I suppose there's no reasoning with you when you're determined to cause such a pathetic scene!"

"And another thing, where the hell have you been? You weren't at the estate. So who's the new man warming your bed?"

At the same time, Julian had called my mother, his voice a low growl that I could hear from across the room.

"You're nearly fifty, Eleanor, what is this childish stunt you and your daughter are pulling? What, have you formed a pact to take us down together? Have you no sense of decency?"

"Scarlett is my late partner's daughter. Am I not permitted to help her?"

"My duty is to protect the Ashford legacy! And you dare to suggest that's wrong?"

"Fine! If you want to see me as the villain, then so be it, you damn woman! Now, can you cut this pathetic melodrama?"

My mother’s voice was unnervingly calm. She looked just as composed as she answered, "Julian, you want to know my location, don’t you? I’m at the Crestwood Recovery Clinic, Room 326."

"What the hell are you doing there?"

"You'll see when you arrive."

My mother ended the call and turned to stare out the window.

I remained silent as well. The quiet in the ward was heavy and suffocating.

Twenty minutes later, Julian and Liam stormed in, shattering the fragile peace.

I glanced toward the door. They hadn’t come alone. Scarlett was with them.

The sheer audacity of it was almost laughable.

My mother was at the water dispenser, pouring me a cup of hot water, when they burst in. The moment Julian saw her, he strode toward her and backhanded the cup from her grasp.

It crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. The scalding water splashed across my mother's hands, turning her skin a blotchy, angry red.

My mother hissed in pain but refused to shed a single tear.

Julian, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to explode. "Keep up the act. I can't believe you'd admit yourself to a clinic just to prove a point."

"You're as strong as they come! What could possibly be wrong with you?"

My mother didn't grace him with an answer. Instead, she said flatly, "The divorce papers are ready for your signature whenever you're available."

Scarlett stepped forward then, her voice a soft, venomous purr. "Eleanor, there is absolutely nothing between Julian and me. And even if there were, it would be none of your business."

"Shut your mouth!"

The words ripped from my throat before I could stop them. I launched myself from the bed and struck her across the face, the sound cracking in the tense silence.

"You’re a woman in your forties. Can’t you find some dignity? It wasn’t enough to wrap the father around your little finger, you had to sink your claws into the son, too? You should put your talents to use and become a professional homewrecker!"

Scarlett was momentarily stunned by the force of my slap.

The slap also ignited Liam’s rage. He shoved me with the full force of his body, his face a mask of thunder.

My body, still weak from the procedure, slammed backward into a medical cart. Glass vials clattered to the floor, and a shard of one pierced the sole of my foot. Blood began to well up instantly.

Liam looked far from finished. He advanced on me, ready to unleash more of his fury.

"You will not speak to Scarlett that way!" He grabbed the collar of my flimsy hospital gown, his face inches from mine.

Then, his gaze traveled slowly downward.

It was only in that moment that he finally registered my flat stomach. The color drained from his face. "Chloe Ashford," he breathed, his voice cracking, "where is our baby?"

I shoved his hand off me and met his cold, shocked gaze with the eyes of a killer. "The baby?" I let my voice drop to a lethal whisper. "He’s gone. And yes, it was a boy."