Chapter 1

My husband, Jonathan Harper, slid the divorce papers across the table and said he was willing to walk away with nothing. All he wanted was for me to step aside so he could be with the woman he'd never gotten over.

I read the terms and nearly laughed. The house, our savings, his company shares, and custody of our daughter would all go to me.

He was leaving with nothing but the priceless true love he claimed to possess.

Fine by me. This divorce was a better deal than a clearance sale.

I was curious to see how long the serenely artistic Claire Sutton could endure life with a broke man after years of waxing poetic about art and higher ideals.

Jonathan wore my favorite black shirt the day he asked for a divorce.

I had to admit, the man was still ridiculously handsome. He had a straight nose, broad shoulders, and that cool, detached look whenever he lowered his gaze at someone.

I stared at him for five seconds and held a private funeral for our marriage.

I'd looked long enough. Time to put him on the resale market.

"Emily, I've made my decision," Jonathan said.

He sat across from me at the dining table, looking solemn enough to announce a business deal that would make corporate history.

His expression remained serious as he continued, "Claire's back. She's had a hard time these past few years, and I can't let her down again."

I flipped to the last page of the agreement.

"The house goes to me?" I asked.

His brows drew together. "Yes."

"Our joint savings?"

"They're yours," Jonathan replied.

"And the 30% of the company shares in your name get transferred to me too?"

Impatience crept into his expression. "All of it. Money really is the only thing you care about."

I nodded.

What a revelation. During a divorce, apparently I was supposed to count his eyelashes instead of checking the assets.

Five years ago, we'd been introduced on a blind date.

The matchmaker had gone on about his wealthy family, respectable career, and reserved personality. I hadn't heard a word. I'd been too busy admiring his face.

After dinner, Jonathan had asked what I thought of him.

I'd answered without hesitation, "You're handsome. I'd be interested in seeing you again."

He had frozen for three full seconds. Later, he told his friends I was refreshingly shameless about being shallow.

I found him easy enough to understand too.

He liked that I was cheerful and low-maintenance. I liked looking at him. We each got what we wanted, and somehow, married life turned out surprisingly harmonious.

Jonathan wasn't good with sweet words, but he remembered I took my coffee without sugar. I complained about his workaholic habits, but I still sorted his medication before every business trip.

There had never been a grand romance between us. Still, ordinary days had slowly built a warm life together.

The first time he tried cooking, he scorched a black patch into the bottom of the pan. I took a picture and teased him about it for six months.

He never got angry. The next day, he bought another pan and tried again.

The night Mia was born, he held that tiny baby in his arms and cried until his eyes were red. Jonathan had promised, "I'll always protect both of you."

I believed him for four years.

For a long time, I thought our life would continue that way.

Then Claire came back.

Jonathan noticed I still hadn't signed, and his gaze turned cold.

"What is it now?" he asked. "More conditions?"

I picked up the pen and signed my name without hesitation.

"No," I said. "You two are perfect for each other. Try not to break up."

His face darkened.

At that moment, the bedroom door quietly opened a crack.

Mia stood behind it, clutching her stuffed rabbit. "Daddy, where are you going?"

For the first time that night, Jonathan's composure cracked.

He walked over, crouched down, and reached for her.

Mia stepped back and hugged the rabbit tighter.

"Grandma said after you and Mommy get divorced, you won't live here anymore," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

Jonathan fell silent for a moment before stroking her hair.

"I'll come see you often," he promised.

Mia looked up at him. "Tomorrow?"

Jonathan hesitated. "Daddy has something to do tomorrow."

"What about the day after?" Mia asked.

He avoided her eyes. "I'll be busy then too."

Mia pressed her lips together. "Are you going to be with Claire?"

Children kept their own tally of who showed up and who didn't. Mia remembered who had canceled a promised weekend of building blocks to rush to the airport for someone else.

Embarrassment flashed across Jonathan's face.

"You wouldn't understand," he said. "It's grown-up stuff."

Mia nodded, hugged her rabbit, and went back to her room.

Before closing the door, she looked at him and said in her small voice, "Then I'll be busy from now on too."

My chest tightened. I was about to follow her when Jonathan turned on me first.

"How much has Mom been telling her?" he demanded. "She's four years old, and the two of you are already teaching her to hate me?"

I capped the pen.

"You've broken your promises to her four times in a row," I said. "Does anyone need to teach her?"

During Claire's first month back, Jonathan missed Mia's family sports day.

The second month, he forgot Mia was in the hospital with a high fever.

The third month, he gave away the restaurant reservation he'd made for Mia's birthday so Claire could hold a celebration dinner after her art exhibition.

Every time, Jonathan had an excuse.

Claire had only recently returned and was struggling to adjust.

Claire was emotionally fragile and needed an old friend beside her.

Claire had gone abroad years ago carrying unresolved regrets.

She was always delicate, sensitive, and above material desires.

Mia and I were always understanding, resilient, and capable of waiting until another day.

On Mia's birthday, she sat with her little cake until nine that night.

The candle had burned noticeably shorter, but she refused to blow it out. She wanted to wait for her father so they could make a wish together.

Jonathan finally called. I could hear glasses clinking and people cheering in the background.Claire SuttonClaire Sutton

Claire's laughing voice came through the phone. "Jon, you promised me that painting," she reminded him. "You can't take it back."

Mia heard her. She ended the call herself, closed her eyes, and made her wish.

"I hope Mommy and Grandma will always stay with me," she whispered.

At that moment, the last trace of attachment I had to my marriage died with the candle flame.

Jonathan's voice hardened. "Emily, stop assuming the worst about Claire," he said. "She wouldn't accept the necklace I bought her. Unlike you, she's never cared about material things."

I fought back a laugh.

Claire had indeed refused the necklace.

She'd thought the design was outdated. Then she'd saved the newest model on social media, and Jonathan bought it the next day.

When he gave it to her, Claire had sighed. "Jon, why do you always burden me with these vulgar things?"

Those vulgar things looked perfectly fine around her neck when she posted a nine-photo spread afterward.

I put the signed agreement away and tipped my chin toward the door.

"Mr. Harper, your true love is waiting downstairs," I said. "Don't keep her breathing car exhaust for too long."

Jonathan shot to his feet and grabbed his suitcase.

Before leaving, he looked back at me.

"One day, Emily, you'll understand that money can't buy love," he said.

The door opened. Grace Harper stood outside with a rolling pin in her hand.

She gave him a cold look. "Money can't buy love, but it can keep you the hell away from Mia."