Chapter 1

Lily's fever spiked again at 2:17 in the morning.

The thermometer beeped once.

103.4.

I stared at the number for a full second, my mind going blank. My daughter was burning up in my arms, her cheeks bright red, her breathing too fast, her tiny fist locked around the collar of my sleep shirt like she was scared I might disappear too.

I called Ethan.

First call. No answer.

Second call. Sent straight to voicemail.

On the third try, he finally picked up.

Glasses clinking in the background. Music. And Vanessa laughing.

Of course.

"Ethan, Lily has a high fever. I need to take her to the ER. Can you come home? I can't do this by myself--"

He sighed.

Not the worried kind.

The tired, annoyed kind. The kind that said I had interrupted something more important.

"Mia, kids get fevers. Don't panic every time something happens."

I tightened my arms around Lily. "She's at 103.4."

"Then take her in." His voice dropped, like he didn't want anyone at his table hearing me. "I'm with investors right now. Vanessa's presentation is tonight. She's been working on this for three months."

Vanessa's soft voice floated through the phone.

"Ethan, if Mia really needs you, you should go."

So sweet.

So generous.

And just like that, Ethan sounded even more irritated with me.

"You hear that? Vanessa is under insane pressure, and she's still thinking about you. Mia, you're Lily's mom. You're better at this stuff than I am."

You're her mom.

It was supposed to sound like a compliment.

Funny how that worked.

Translation: you can handle it, so you get to handle it alone.

I hung up, wrapped Lily in a blanket, and carried her to the car. The roads were empty and black. My hands shook on the wheel. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself--hair a mess, sleep shirt stained with milk, face pale enough to scare me.

At the ER, the nurse looked over my shoulder.

"Is her father coming?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

A woman in a camel coat glanced at the milk stain on my shirt and muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "Some women really shouldn't have kids if they can't handle one fever."

Nice.

Lily was shaking in my arms, but sure. I was the problem.

The nurse typed into the computer. Then her brows pulled together.

"Mrs. Reed, we couldn't reach Ethan Reed. The file also lists an authorized emergency pickup and secondary contact."

I assumed she meant Ethan's mother.

Then the nurse read the name off the screen.

"Vanessa Cole. Do you want us to call her?"

I froze.

Vanessa.

Vanessa Cole was on my daughter's emergency file.

And I, Lily's mother, was finding out in a hospital hallway at three in the morning.

The nurse must have seen my face, because her voice softened. "It says the father updated the record last month."

Last month.

When Ethan said he was dropping off Lily's vaccination form at school and handling a little paperwork.

Great.

Apparently, that paperwork included giving another woman a back door into my daughter's life.

Three hours later, Lily's fever finally started coming down. She slept against my chest, limp and sweaty, one hand still tangled in my shirt.

My phone lit up.

Vanessa had posted a story.

In the photo, Ethan stood in a hotel lounge by the floor-to-ceiling windows, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders.

The caption said:

Some people know what you need before you even ask.

The comments were already piling up.

Power couple energy.

Vanessa and Ethan are the real dream team.

His wife is lucky. She gets the home version while Vanessa gets the empire.

I stared at that last one and laughed under my breath.

So everyone saw it.

Everyone but me, apparently.

Lily whimpered in her sleep and clutched my shirt harder. I kissed her hot little forehead, then opened my contacts and scrolled to a number I hadn't touched in three years.

The call rang once.

Then a man's voice came through, low and wide awake.

"Mia?"

My throat hurt.

This time, I didn't cry.

"Noah," I whispered. "I want a divorce."