A week after giving birth, I stumbled across a post online.

[My daughter married way out of her league. How do I make her divorce him?]

The poster claimed to be a mother. According to her, the older daughter was lazy, selfish, and completely unworthy of such an amazing family.

So she planned to force the older daughter to get divorced, then marry her sweet, obedient younger daughter into the same family instead.

The comments blew up instantly.

[I've seen favoritism, but this is actually insane.]

[Was the older daughter adopted or something? What kind of mom schemes against her own kid?]

[So you're basically passing one rich husband around between sisters? Girl, what the hell.]

Then, buried under all the insults, one comment appeared.

Cold. Sharp.

[A woman who just gave birth is mentally wrecked already. Send her some fake cheating pics and let paranoia do the rest. One meltdown and that marriage is cooked.]

The poster replied almost instantly.

[Thank you @LindaKnowsBest!! I'm doing it right now.]

A second later, my phone buzzed.

Mom.

[Kyla, look at this. Is Bruce cheating on you?]

I read the post again.

[My older daughter has been selfish and useless since she was little. She only got into a top college because she got lucky and landed a rich husband.]

[Now she had a baby and suddenly acts like she's some fragile princess. My son-in-law's family spent $30,000 putting her in one of those fancy recovery places, and she doesn't think twice about it. Do you know what $30,000 could do? That's enough for a down payment on my younger daughter's apartment.]

[My younger daughter is the better girl by far. She's classy, sweet, educated, and just got back from a prestigious school in the UK. She fits high society much better than her sister ever will. I need the older one divorced so the younger one can step in instead. Any advice?]

Every word felt like it was scraping across my skin. My hands started shaking.

The IP address was local.

I was only seven days out from giving birth, still recovering.

My husband and his parents were terrified I'd push myself too hard, so they booked me into a luxury recovery suite with a living area, study, nursery, and private bedrooms.

My sister Zoey had just gotten back from the UK last month. She'd even asked me to help her find a job.

The tone. The wording.

It sounded exactly like my mom.

'No way... It can't be...'

My lips went dry.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I opened the photo she sent.

Bruce Brighton was holding a woman in his arms.

Way too close.

It took me three seconds to realize it was fake.

The woman had six fingers.

Under the photo was a voice message.

"Kyla, look at this!" Mom's voice exploded through the quiet room. "Is Bruce cheating on you? Don't be stupid!"

Then she forwarded an article.

[Don't Forgive a Cheater During Postpartum Recovery: Once a Cheater, Always a Cheater.]

Every word screamed divorce.

I tightened my grip on my phone as cold spread through my body.

***

Ever since I was a kid, Mom kept saying we were broke. As the older sister, I had to sacrifice more.

So after high school, I never asked them for money again.

I paid the bills.

When Dad got sick, I covered his surgery.

I dropped twenty grand renovating the house back home.

And when Zoey studied abroad? Forty grand a year. I paid for three years.

I really thought I had a happy family.

Now I saw it for what it was.

A bottomless pit sucking me dry.

I gave them everything.

And now they wanted to destroy my home.

My fingers were still numb as I opened the post again.

The poster had updated it a minute ago.

[Thanks to @LindaKnowsBest for the idea. I already did it. Now I'm waiting to see how my older daughter reacts.]

The comments were tearing her apart.

She ignored every one of them.

I stared at the update, then laughed.

Fine.

If you wanted to play games, I could play too.

***

My phone buzzed again.

Another long voice message from Mom.

"Kyla, did you see it? I've been through this before. Once a man cheats, he's trash. You need to think ahead!"

Her voice was sharp and urgent.

As I listened, old memories came rushing back.

Back in high school, money was so tight we lived off discount food.

To help out, I ate a peanut butter sandwich for lunch every single day.

Then Mom went and signed Zoey up for a three-thousand-dollar dance program. Said Zoey was talented and couldn't be held back.

When I got into a top university, Mom barely looked at my acceptance letter.

"What a lucky break. But with your personality, you still won't go far."

But when Zoey got into community college, Mom acted like she'd won the lottery.

She spent all day bragging about how smart Zoey was. Said she was destined for big things. Said the family would depend on her someday.

Later, when Zoey demanded to study abroad, Mom told me to pay for it.

I couldn't say no after that pleading look. I gave in.

Then she threw Zoey this huge party.

Relatives kept praising her for raising a daughter who studied overseas.

Nobody mentioned I was the one paying for it.

When I was three months pregnant, Mom stayed at the Brighton estate for a week.

Those seven days were a nightmare.

One time, Bruce poured me a glass of water, and Mom immediately sneered.

"Look at you. You're pregnant, not disabled. Acting like a princess already? You can't even pour your own water?"

After meals, I cleaned the dishes while she sat nearby eating snacks.

"Wow. Now you know how to work hard? Where was this before?"

Then she'd turn to Bruce and start praising Zoey.

"Zoey cooks for herself in the UK. Such a good girl. Whoever marries her will be lucky."

I spent my whole life getting torn down, thinking maybe I really wasn't enough.

Now I finally got it.

She kept me down so Zoey could shine, clearing the way for Zoey to marry into the Brighton family.

I took a breath, and typed:

[Mom, where did you get this photo?]

"Typing..." stayed on the screen for almost a full minute.

Then finally:

[A friend took it. Stop asking so many questions.]

I kept going.

[Which friend? When was it taken? Where?]

This time, she answered immediately.

[Why are you so focused on that? The point is he cheated! Stop nitpicking!]

She was rattled.

I let out a cold laugh and switched to voice message.

"Mom, I feel like I'm falling apart... What am I supposed to do..."

My voice shook like I was about to cry.

Three seconds later, her voice message popped up.

"My poor daughter! I knew Bruce couldn't be trusted! Rich men are all the same!"

Her voice sounded thick with fake tears. Seriously Oscar-worthy.

I kept playing along. "Then what should I do? Divorce him?"

She answered instantly. "Yes! You have to! The baby's still young. It's not too late!"

I pushed a little further. "But I can't let Bruce go."

Her next message came fast, already irritated. "What's so special about him? There are tons of men out there! Look at Jack next door. He's not bad. Okay, he's in his fifties and divorced three times, but he knows how to treat a woman! Not sure he'd even want you, though... I'll ask him someday."

My grip tightened around my phone.

Jack next door.

I knew exactly who she meant.

A drunk.

A wife-beater.

All three ex-wives ran away after he beat them.

Was that really all she thought I deserved?

Another voice message came through. "It's okay. I'll send Zoey over to stay with you for a few days. You girls can talk. Cheer you up a little."

After a pause, I typed: [Okay.]

She instantly spammed smiley emojis.

"Great! I'll have her come tomorrow!"

I exited the chat and reopened the post.

Sure enough, there was another update.

[Thanks, @LindaKnowsBest! My older daughter totally believed it. She cried her eyes out. I'm sending my younger daughter over to keep her company... and maybe "take care of" my son-in-law while she's there. My sweet girl is gentle and beautiful. I'm sure she'll win him over in no time. Once it works, I'll update everyone!]

People were still dragging her in the comments.

I shut off my phone and lay back down.

Staring at the ceiling, I suddenly smiled.

My husband, Bruce Brighton, wasn't some easy target.

Bruce came straight to the private recovery suite after work.

He dropped his briefcase, washed his hands, then leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Honey, did it hurt today?"

He still remembered the sharp pain from my C-section.

I nodded.

He frowned and immediately called in a nurse, asking if they could increase the pain meds.

"It's already at the max," the nurse said.

So he sat beside me, took my hand, and gently rubbed it.

I looked at him.

Bruce Brighton.

He took over Brighton Corp at twenty-four. Tripled its value in three years.

Cold, decisive, ruthless in business. Impossible to shake at the negotiation table.

Even his own father said Bruce always played his cards terrifyingly close to his chest.

A guy like that?

No way he'd fall for Zoey's cheap tricks.

***

The next afternoon, Zoey showed up at the private recovery suite.

She was wearing the Chanel set I bought before I got pregnant and carrying a bag of bruised apples. Her perfume hit way too hard.

The second she walked in, she gasped. "Kyla, why do you look so exhausted?"

Her hand hovered near my cheek, but her eyes kept sliding to Bruce.

"Women still have to take care of themselves after having a baby. Look at me. I work out an hour every day. My skin's amazing."

She did a slow spin in the middle of the room.

Her arms and legs were stick-thin. No muscle anywhere.

I watched her and almost laughed.

How had I seriously fallen for this act before?

Bruce sat on the couch flipping through reports without even looking up.

When nobody reacted, Zoey froze for a second, then turned toward the crib. "Aw, the baby's so cute! Let me hold her."

She reached out.

Bruce stood first and picked up the baby. "You didn't sanitize. Not clean enough."

Then he carried the baby into the nursery. The door clicked shut behind him.

Zoey's hand stayed hanging in the air while her face turned green.

I almost laughed.

That's my man.

Zoey wandered around the suite, loudly pointing out every little "problem."

When I still didn't react, she finally dropped onto the edge of my bed.

"Kyla, where's your new Dior bag? It looked so good on you last time. Let me borrow it for a few days. And Mom said your mother-in-law gave you a Cartier bracelet? Let me see it. If it's cute, I'll buy one too."

Her eyes kept sweeping across the room.

I used to spoil her rotten.

Anything she wanted, I handed over.

Now I realized I'd been a complete idiot.

I smiled faintly. "The bag's at a cleaning service. The bracelet? Oh, that's locked in the safe. Bruce has the key."

Her face darkened right away.

Just as she opened her mouth again, the nursery door swung open.

Bruce walked out holding the baby, heading over to change her diaper.

Zoey's voice instantly turned sweet. "Oh, Bruce! Why are you doing that?"

She hurried over, reaching for the baby. "Kyla, seriously, that's a woman's job."

Bruce stepped aside. "My daughter isn't your job."

Then he gave me a look and laid out the diaper smoothly.

Zoey's hand froze in the air again.

Right then, her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen, and a weird blush spread across her face. "Kyla, one of my friends needs me. I should go."

Bruce had just finished changing the diaper. He set the baby down and wiped his hands with a wet wipe. "I'll drive."

Zoey's eyes lit up. "Thanks!"

She reached to hook her arm through his, but he'd already turned toward the door.

Her hand closed on empty air.

After the door shut, I sat on the couch watching them leave, a chill crawling through me.

The satisfaction from earlier disappeared completely.

Half an hour later, Bruce finally came back.

I sat there with my arms crossed, staring at him.

"Who told you to drive her?"

Bruce stopped in the doorway.

"Wasn't it you?"