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On her third birthday, my daughter Earlene Stout took a terrible fall from up high and slipped into a coma. My husband Kurt Stout pulled out all the stops, hiring the top medical team to perform surgery on her. After a grueling day and night of rescue efforts, she still succumbed on the operating table to massive blood loss. I cried myself into a faint, and when I came to, Kurt was nowhere in sight. I got up to look for him, only to overhear him talking with his old flame in the hospital stairwell. "Kurt, I never thought extracting just a little bone marrow from that kid would kill her. You've given up so much to save our baby." Kurt pulled her into a tender embrace. "You went through hell under all that pressure to have our child for me—how could I ever betray that? "Our baby is the real heir to the Stout family legacy. The one my wife had dying like this... it couldn't have worked out better." I'd always thought I had the perfect marriage and a happy family. Little did I know the ugly truth hiding underneath was so vile and corrupt. Well, this home, this man—I wanted no part of any of it...