Chapter 1

All the way to Willow House, I imagined how Grant would react when I showed him the ultrasound photo.

In every version, he cried and pulled me into his arms.

In reality, he was kneeling at another pregnant woman’s feet.

I stopped outside the half-open nursery door.

Paige Mercer, the young brand manager from Grant’s company, stood in front of him in a cream maternity dress. Her stomach was already noticeably swollen.

At least five months.

Grant carefully tied the laces of her white sneakers.

"You shouldn’t bend down," he said softly.

His voice carried the same patient concern he had used that morning when he cooked me porridge and massaged my aching waist.

Paige smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.

Grant looked up at her, his eyes filled with quiet tenderness.

The eight-week ultrasound photo trembled between my fingers.

We were finally having a baby.

But my husband was already preparing for someone else’s.

My mother-in-law, Diane, stood beside the closet, folding tiny blue clothes into neat stacks.

She held up a miniature sweater and smiled.

"This will look perfect on him."

Paige rested one hand over her stomach.

Neither of them sounded uncertain.

Neither of them sounded ashamed.

They had clearly stood in this room together many times before.

I looked past them at the nursery.

Pale yellow walls. Tiny white stars. A handmade crib beneath the window.

It was exactly the room I had designed five years ago, before I woke in a pool of blood and learned that our first baby was gone.

Grant had carried me to the hospital himself.

He had sat beside my bed for days, barely eating or sleeping. Whenever I woke crying, he held me until I could breathe again.

"We don’t need a baby," he had whispered against my hair. "I only need you, Sophie. You are my family."

For five years, I had believed him.

Now the nursery I had designed for our child had been completed for another woman’s.

Above the crib hung a custom wooden sign.

Baby Lawson.

Paige suddenly inhaled.

"He’s kicking."

Grant immediately stood and placed his hand on her belly.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then his entire face lit up.

His laugh filled the nursery—bright, surprised and completely unguarded.

I had not heard him laugh like that since before we lost our baby.

Paige covered his hand with hers.

The three of them stood beneath the warm nursery lights like a family.

I remained in the dark hallway, holding the first photograph of the child Grant did not know existed.

I did not push open the door.

I did not scream or demand an explanation.

Instead, I stepped farther into the shadows and called him.

His phone rang inside the nursery.

Grant glanced at the screen.

The smile on his face faded slightly, but when he stepped into the hallway and answered, his voice softened immediately.

"Hi, sweetheart."

He stopped only a few feet away from me.

The hallway was dark enough that he could not see me standing around the corner.

"Hi," I managed.

Grant straightened.

"What’s wrong? You sound tired."

Real concern entered his voice.

"Did the doctor say why your stomach has been hurting?"

He was genuinely worried about me.

That hurt more than indifference would have.

"It’s just stress," I whispered.

He released a quiet breath. "Thank God."

I stared at the thin streak of yellow paint on his shirt cuff.

"Where are you?"

"I’m still at Willow House with the plumbers," he answered without hesitation. "The place is a disaster. Dust everywhere."

Behind him, warm light spilled from the completed nursery.

Paige laughed softly inside.

Grant lowered his voice.

"Go home and rest, okay? I’ll stop at the bakery and bring you that strawberry tart you like."

The ultrasound photo bent beneath my fingers.

I had driven here imagining that same tenderness directed at our child.

"I love you, Sophie."

He said it naturally.

Without guilt. Without hesitation.

And I knew him well enough to recognize the truth in his voice.

He meant it.

That was the most terrifying part.

Grant truly loved me.

He loved me while lying to my face.

He loved me while preparing a nursery for another woman’s baby.

He loved me while building a second family behind my back.

"Me too," I said.

Then I ended the call.

Grant stared at the dark screen for a moment, a faint crease appearing between his brows.

For one second, I thought he had heard something in my voice.

Then Paige called from inside.

Grant turned immediately.

He walked back into the nursery and closed the door behind him.

Back to his mother.

Back to his pregnant mistress.

Back to the son they were all waiting for.

I stood there until the warm line of light beneath the door blurred.

Then I carefully flattened the ultrasound photo against my palm, placed it inside my purse, and walked away.

I did not let myself cry until I reached the car.

Even then, I allowed myself only a few minutes.

Afterward, I wiped my face and opened the conversation with my best friend, Megan.

I looked back at Willow House.

The home Grant had once promised to build for me.

Is the room behind your cousin’s inn still empty?

Grant returned home several hours later carrying a white bakery box.

I was standing in the kitchen when he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

His familiar warmth surrounded me.

He buried his face against my neck and kissed my skin.

"You’re cold."

Before I could answer, he took off his jacket and placed it around my shoulders.

Then he turned me toward him and studied my face.

His brow furrowed.

"Have you been crying?"

"The appointment was exhausting."

Concern immediately filled his eyes.

"I should have gone with you."

I looked at the man who had spent the afternoon touching another woman’s pregnant stomach.

"Yes," I said quietly. "You should have."

Grant paused.

For a moment, his gaze searched mine.

Then he brushed his thumb beneath my eye.

"I’m sorry."

He sounded sincere.

That was the cruelty of Grant Lawson.

His tenderness was not an act.

He opened the bakery box and placed a strawberry tart in front of me.

"I got the last one."

He knew exactly which bakery I liked.

Exactly which dessert I ordered.

Exactly how warm I wanted my tea and how many pillows I needed when my back hurt.

He remembered everything about me.

He had simply decided that remembering me did not require being faithful to me.

Then he wrapped one arm around me again.

His large, warm hands slid down and rested perfectly flat against my stomach.

He had no idea his own child was growing right beneath his palms.

"Sophie," he whispered softly. "Why didn't you tell me your test results today?"