Chapter 1

After seven years of our childfree marriage, my husband, Ethan Reed, suddenly dropped this bomb, announcing, "Let's have a baby."

Painful memories came flooding back, sending a shiver down my spine.

I was about to say no when suddenly the houseplants started whispering in my head, "No freaking way! He knocked up his first love and now wants you to play a surrogate mother?"

The shock sent me into an asthma attack. As I gasped for air, Ethan just walked away with a shrug, muttering, "Come on. Stop playing the victim. You've had these episodes a million times, and you're always fine."

Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, the plants went on a tirade, calling Ethan an absolute scumbag who was plotting to pressure my mother into "donating" her kidney to his first love's uncle.

I raced to the hospital to stop them. But his parents kicked me in the stomach, causing me to lose the baby I never even knew I was carrying. "Her mother is a psycho, and she's got breathing problems. Her baby must be unhealthy."

Meanwhile, his first love cornered me, crying. "Your mom will be fine with one kidney. But my uncle will literally die."

The story went viral, and the public cursed me for being selfish and cruel.

I felt no more pain but a cold resolve. I reached for my phone and made a single call. It was time for Ethan, and his entire family, to truly regret what they'd done.

*****

Ethan Reed and I met in college. Before we even got married, we made a pact—we would be child-free.

For years, his mother, Margaret Reed, called me a useless waste since I couldn't pop out a kid.

His father, Richard Reed, never missed a chance to mock me.

I swallowed it for seven years. And now he grabbed my hand and said, "Charlotte Summers, let's have a baby."

"Why?" My voice came out shaky, my whole body trembling.

My mother, Helen Summers, nearly died giving birth to me. My father, Jack Summers, had a brain hemorrhage right there in the delivery room from the stress and never woke up.

I was born with congenital asthma, and Helen started drinking herself numb soon after.

Ethan knew all of this. I'd told him from the very beginning that I was never having children.

And back then, he looked me dead in the eye and promised he didn't want them either. He was totally on board with being childfree.

But now he looked at me like I was being unreasonable.

"Yeah, we agreed before, but I'm the only one left to carry on the Reed name. You really want my family line to die out?"

The sunflower on the windowsill suddenly chimed in. [No freaking way! He knocked up his first love and now wants you to play a surrogate mother?]

I froze for a second.

Ethan's face twisted with irritation. "You said you wanted a gift for our anniversary, so I bought you one. Why can't you just give me this one thing?"

[A necklace for a baby? Ethan's really playing the long game, isn't he?]

[What a sleazebag!]

[His precious ex is waiting downstairs right now. He's gonna take her to Charlotte's hospital and swipe Charlotte's insurance for her appointments.]

Voices swarmed my ears like a buzzing hive. I could almost see the leaves flapping as the plants all talked at once.

My head spun. Breathing got harder.

Ethan watched me struggle for air, all his old warmth gone. He glanced at his watch. "Save the performance. You've had a million of these episodes, and somehow you always pull through.

"I've got somewhere to be. Think about what I said."

He slammed the door behind him. The second he left, I tumbled from my chair. Shaking, I crawled across the floor, fumbling for my inhaler.

The plants around me whispered in sympathy.

[Ethan was trash from the start. He only pretended to be childfree so that he could inherit everything once Charlotte's mom died.]

[Every time his parents tore into Charlotte, he just stood there playing the good guy.]

[Wait a second, that necklace looks familiar. Didn't Charlotte's mom send it?]

[Oh no. If her mom didn't deliver it herself, something's definitely wrong.]

I finally got my inhaler working, but the second I heard something might've happened to Helen, I grabbed my phone and called the nursing home.

"Hello, this is Charlotte Summers, Helen Summers' daughter. I need to speak with my mother."

"I'm sorry, but your mother is currently resting and can't take the call," the nurse replied.

"When will she be available?"

"I'll call you back when she wakes up. Have a nice day."

The line went dead.

I fell silent for a moment, and then, feeling foolish, I whispered to the sunflower, "How do you know all this?"

There was no answer.

But a second later, the chatter started again in my head.

[Whoa, how did Charlotte suddenly know to call her mom?]

[Do you think she can hear us?]

[Nah. If she could, she'd totally be freaking out. She's way too calm.]

[Man, I spent 60 bucks on this limited-edition sunflower chat bubble design. Did my pay-to-win finally work or something?]

Suddenly, I realized these weren't actual plants talking. These were comments. And somehow, whatever I said back to them got filtered out.

[At this point, her mom is probably already on the operating table.]

I went cold. The mint plant cut in sharply.

[Ethan is disgusting. He used his legal rights as her husband to sign Helen up for an organ donation. And the recipient is his first love's uncle.]

[Wait, what? I totally missed that part!]

[You must have skimmed it. They had to get Helen's kidney to set up the plot where Ethan inherits everything.]