Chapter 1

On our anniversary, I received 999 red roses. They weren't from my husband but from his mistress.

Lying on the hospital bed, fresh from surgery, I finally found the courage to call him and ask for a divorce.

But it wasn't his voice that answered. Instead, I heard her, choking back tears.

"I'm so sorry. I just wanted to apologize. I never meant to come between you and Edward."

That was all it took for him to explode. "Jo, for Christ's sake. Can you just leave her alone for one fucking day?" he roared through the phone. "You want a divorce? Fine. Pack your shit and get out. And don't ever come back."

Something inside me died in that moment. Whatever love I'd been clinging to simply evaporated.

"As you wish," I whispered, and hung up.

I left that night with nothing but a suitcase and my dignity, determined to build a new life without him. But now, after searching the world for me, he's kneeling at my feet, begging for a second chance.

"Jo," he pleads, "please, just give me one more chance."

*****

Edward Foster got home at three in the morning.

Back when it was good, I would be waiting at the door, easing him out of his shoes and jacket before bringing him the soup I had simmered for hours to be kind to his stomach.

But tonight, I stepped out of the guest room and walked right past him without a word. I just filled my mug and turned to leave.

To my surprise, he stopped me. "Bring me some soup."

"I ate out tonight," I said after a beat. "Didn't cook."

As I spoke, I subtly covered my belly with my hand, hoping he wouldn't notice my discomfort.

He didn't. His brow furrowed, irritation clouding his features.

The old me would've dragged myself to that kitchen even if I had been up twenty-four hours straight and fresh from losing a baby.

But now, I genuinely didn't give a damn about his mood. I just wanted to go back to my room.

Honestly, I was secretly hoping he'd get pissed enough to spend the night somewhere else.

Instead, he surprised me by holding out a gift box.

"For you," he said. "Anniversary."

I looked down, my lashes fluttering.

Inside was some fancy perfume, one marketed to girls barely out of high school. Definitely not my style.

I knew in an instant who had picked it out.

"Edward, are you seriously too busy to even pick out your own wife's anniversary present?" I asked.

Before he could answer, I cut him off with a shrug. "Forget it. When are you signing the divorce papers?"

He stared at me, face darkening. "For God's sake, Jo Summers! Emily had no idea you're allergic to roses. She thought you were mad and wanted to apologize for me. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

I went quiet for a moment.

Did he really think I was that naive? Emily Grant was his childhood sweetheart. She had moved abroad for high school, but the moment she came back, she landed a job as his personal assistant.

In less than two months, they were joined at the hip, sharing suites on business trips. Emily even had a supplementary credit card linked to our family account.

Honestly, I was pissed at Emily, but I knew better than anyone that it takes two to tango.

When it came to cheating, Edward was just as much to blame.

Sighing, I took a mug of hot water and sat down on the sofa, taking slow sips.

Edward relaxed a bit and sat down beside me.

He probably thought the whole divorce thing was behind us because he actually tried to make small talk.

"How's our boy doing in school these days?" Edward asked, trying to sound casual.

I shook my head with a blank expression. "No idea."

I wasn't just saying it to provoke him. The truth was, I hadn't seen our son, Timothy Foster, in almost six months.

To the Foster family, Timothy was the heir apparent, which meant he deserved the best of everything—food, clothes, housing, and especially education.

So the day he was born, they whisked him off to Foster Manor to be raised by Edward's grandmother, Jennifer Foster. I was only allowed to see him once a month, for a couple of hours on the first.

Ridiculous, right? At first, I did fight it. I cried and pleaded for more time with my own child.

But the entire Foster family accused me of being a selfish mother who didn't care about my son's future.

And of course, Edward didn't miss his cue to judge me. "Could you care about your son for once? Emily worries about him a hundred times more than you do!"

This time, I just laughed.

For the last three months, every time I showed up on the first to pick Timothy up, Emily had already picked him up.

The first time it happened, I stood at the school gate like an idiot, waiting from dusk until it was pitch black. I was about to call the police when my phone rang. Emily chirped that she'd picked him up "as his mother."

I could even hear Edward's voice in the background, soft and caring. "Still busy? Timothy won't eat unless you're here."

Emily laughed it off before hanging up. But I never forgot the feeling of a family in that call I had never experienced in my own home.

When it happened again and again, I knew it was just another one of Emily's cheap tricks.

But now, I couldn't even be bothered to get mad.

Snapping back to the present, I stood up with my mug.

"Then let her be Timothy's mother. Let her be your wife. I'm leaving."

Edward stared at me, his shock quickly morphing into a full-blown rage.

"Jo, are you ever gonna stop with the drama?"

"I'm not being dramatic. I'm dead serious," I shot back.

"And by the way," I added, glancing at him, "I lost the baby that day."