When I came to, David was sitting at the edge of my hospital bed. His eyes were rimmed red.

"Where's the baby?"

He didn't answer.

"David, where's the baby?!"

He pulled me into his arms, his voice trembling.

"Ellie, please don't be upset..."

I lost it. I tried to get out of bed, tried to get to the delivery room.

He held me down by the shoulders, saying sorry over and over.

Then the nurses came. The doctors came. Every single one of them told me the same thing: the baby was gone.

Too small. They couldn't save him.

I didn't believe them.

I begged them to let me see him, just once.

No one would let me.

David said he'd already taken care of everything.

"Don't think about it anymore. It's not good for your recovery."

I spent the next year trapped in postpartum depression.

He stayed by my side every single day. He even handed the company over to a professional manager just to take care of me.

Everyone said he was a wonderful husband.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Shen Yi.

That woman's name is Corinne Henson. Don't do anything yet. Give me three days to dig up the full picture.

I deleted the message and looked up.

David was sitting across from me, watching.

"What's wrong? Doesn't taste good?"

"It's fine."

That evening, a friend request popped up on my phone.

The note read: Mr. Delgado's assistant... Corinne Henson.

The verification message said: Ms. Pruitt, I'm Mr. Delgado's new assistant. I may need to coordinate some work-related matters with you.

I stared at the name for a long time.

I accepted the request, then opened her social media feed.

March 27th. The day I'd had my prenatal checkup. David said he had an important meeting and showed up two hours late.

A photo of a coffee cup, captioned: The boss was in a great mood today. Bought coffee for the whole office.

In the corner of the photo, a pair of cufflinks glinted on a man's wrist. The same cufflinks I'd given David for his birthday three years ago.

February 21st. My birthday. David said he had a client dinner. I reheated his food three times before finally scraping it into the trash.

A photo of a bouquet of flowers, captioned: Someone said work is too exhausting. You have to be kind to yourself.

Corinne reached out, saying she wanted to learn about Mr. Delgado's personal preferences so she could better manage his daily schedule. She suggested we meet at a coffee shop.

When I pushed open the door, a woman in a white knit sweater smiled at me.

The smile was soft. The eyes were razor-sharp.

It was her.

The white dress had been swapped for a white sweater, but I recognized that face.

"Ellie! Over here, sit down."

Her smile was sweet. Her voice was sweeter.

"Thank you for coming." She lowered her gaze and stirred her coffee. "I just started at the company, so there's a lot I don't know yet. I was hoping you could help me understand Mr. Delgado's dietary preferences."

"He doesn't eat cilantro or scallions," I said, lifting my cup.

"Right, right, I knew that." She covered her mouth with a little laugh. "He also won't touch carrots. Apparently he was forced to eat them as a kid, and now he makes a face whenever he sees one."

She knew. She knew everything.

I set my cup down.

"Assistant Henson, you didn't invite me here just to ask about that."

Her smile faltered for a second, then stretched wider.

"You really are sharp, Ellie."

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. The mask came off.

"I'll just say it, then."

"Ellie, don't you think whatever you and Mr. Delgado have... has run its course?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." She tilted her head. "There's no love left between you two. Instead of dragging it out, why not let go while you still have some dignity?"

"You're telling me to get a divorce?"

"I'm offering you a way out." She corrected me with a smile. "No job, no children, nothing to contribute to his life. What's the point of holding on?"

I clenched my fists.

"Who do you think you are? You're an administrative assistant. You don't get to tell me to step aside."

"Administrative assistant?" She laughed out loud. "You really think that's what I am?"

"It doesn't matter what you are." I stared her down. "As long as I don't sign the divorce papers, you'll always be the dirty little secret. You and that child. Always."

Her smile froze for a split second.

Then something flickered behind her eyes, and she let out a derisive scoff.

"You're that confident? You went to the villa neighborhood the other day, didn't you?"

My heart skipped a beat.

"Relax." She waved her hand. "David doesn't know. I didn't tell him."

"I kept your secret for you." Her smile turned knowing. "After all, you're the big sister in this arrangement."

She set her coffee cup down and traced a finger along the rim.

"Speaking of which..."

She looked at me, and her gaze held a kind of cruel pity.

"It's such a shame, really. David told me your baby and Pete's birthdays were only six hours apart."

"Your child didn't make it. Mine is alive and thriving."

The corners of her mouth curled upward. Her tone was light, breezy, like she was commenting on the weather.

"Pete is smart, adorable, healthy. Even when he's being a little troublemaker, I can't bring myself to discipline him too hard. What can I say? I'm just lucky. God's been good to me."

She stood, picked up her purse, and walked over to where I sat. She leaned down, her lips close to my ear, and whispered a single sentence.

"You're a woman with no blessings."

She straightened up, and that gentle mask slid right back into place.

"But don't lose heart." She patted my shoulder. "Your blessings are still coming."

The click of her heels faded into the distance.

I sat there, motionless.

Six hours.

Only six hours apart.

The same day.

The same hospital...

General Memorial Hospital?

On the fourth night, Lucinda called. Her voice was shaking with anger.

"Ellie, your... your marriage certificate with David... it's fake."

I thought I'd heard her wrong.

"What... do you mean?"

"There's no marriage registration on file in the civil records system. But there is a divorce record. Two years ago, David forged your signature and filed for an uncontested divorce."

"Ellie, you two aren't husband and wife anymore."

The phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor. A crack split across the screen.

Corinne's face flashed behind my eyes. The way she'd frozen when I threatened her with refusing to sign, and then that scoff. That knowing, contemptuous scoff.

She'd known all along.

She knew David had forged the divorce papers for her. She knew he'd been willing to dissolve our marriage just to be with her.

She'd been laughing at my audacity. Laughing at me, a housewife who thought a marriage certificate was enough to hold David, with no real power to fight back.

I was a clown, dancing around in someone else's marriage.

Convinced I could win, while everyone else watched and laughed.

The next morning, David got up at seven as usual, knotted his tie, and ate the breakfast I'd made.

"I might have a business dinner tonight. Don't wait up for me."

"Okay."

He walked to the door, pulled me into his arms, and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"Ellie, I know these past few days have been hard on you. I'll make it up to you. I promise."

I smiled and said nothing.

After he left, I found a receipt in the walk-in closet. A crumpled slip from the store.

Imported toys. Children's vitamins. Dinosaur crackers.

In the bottom drawer of his study desk, I found the statements for his second bank account.

A fixed monthly transfer of forty-five hundred dollars. Three years. Thirty-six months. A hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars.

Recipient: Corinne Henson.

A new succulent on the balcony. Chocolates on the coffee table. A parking stub from a neighborhood I'd never been to, crumpled in his jacket pocket.

Cracks everywhere.

But the old me had never noticed a single one.

My phone rang. Lucinda.

"I found it. The woman's name is Corinne Henson. The Emerald Bay house is registered under her name, but the purchase funds came from one of David's offshore accounts."

"There's something else."

Her tone shifted.

"I pulled the hospital records from that year. Corinne was admitted to the same hospital three years ago to give birth."

"You were discharged within hours of each other. Ellie, the child she had was born only six hours apart from yours."

I stared at the wedding portrait hanging on the wall. In the photo, David's smile was so tender.

Six hours.

The same hospital.

My baby was pronounced dead.

Her child was now three years old.

"Lucinda."

"Yeah?"

"Get me that child's birth certificate."

Lucinda paused. "You sure?"

"It's because I'm not sure that I need to see the proof with my own eyes."

I closed my eyes.

Three years.

Three years.

Every year I went to the cemetery. Burned paper offerings. Laid flowers. Talked to a slab of cold stone.

I told my baby that Mommy missed him.

I told my baby that Mommy was sorry, that I'd failed to protect him.

What if that child never died?

Lucinda pulled some strings and got her hands on the medical checkup file for Corinne's son at the community clinic. An oral swab sample was on record.

I went to a separate facility myself. Drew blood, provided samples, and submitted everything for a paternity test.

Results would take five to seven business days.

For those seven days, I cooked, did laundry, and waited for David to come home. Same as always.

He'd been in a good mood lately.

On Wednesday, he came home early for the first time in months.

A bouquet of roses in his arms.

"Your birthday's next Saturday. I want to throw a little get-together with friends and family."

He handed me the flowers with a smile. "Something big. At the Grand Ballroom. I've invited all our friends, plus my business partners."

"I want to give you a surprise. Ellie, you've had it rough these past few years."

He pulled me into his arms.

His chin rested on the top of my head.

My cheek pressed against his chest.

"I want everyone to know that you're the most important person in my life."

Friday morning. Ten o'clock.

My phone rang.

An unknown number.

"Hello, is this Ms. Pruitt?"

"Speaking."

"This is Trumark Forensic Testing Center. The paternity test samples you submitted have been processed. The results are ready."

My heart skipped a beat.

The voice on the other end continued: "The report indicates that the submitted sample compared against your DNA shows a match of..."