Chapter 1

On the night of my husband's fortieth birthday, two five-year-olds sprinted into the banquet hall and wrapped their arms around his legs, calling him Daddy.

The wine glass slipped from Nathan's fingers, shattering across the floor at my feet.

Only minutes earlier, he stood on stage holding my hand, thanking me for standing by him through cancer and accepting the reality that we would never have children.

The little boy tilted his head up, his cheeks flushed with pure excitement.

"Daddy! I knew you'd be here!"

The little girl behind him hung back.

She stood by the door, nervously clutching the hem of her dress, staring out through a pair of gray-blue eyes that matched Nathan's perfectly.

Nathan froze where he stood. "Theo, what are you two doing here?"

He knew the boy's name.

I let go of his hand.

Oblivious to the tension, the boy pointed toward the entrance. "Mom brought us. You weren't answering your phone."

The ambient chatter across the hall died instantly.

Nathan's coworkers, his doctors, and our mutual friends all turned to stare.

On the projector screen above, our commemorative slideshow remained paused on an old photo of me sitting beside Nathan in a hospital corridor right after his chemo.

A woman hurried inside.

"Theo, June, get over here."

I recognized her instantly.

Celeste Rowan, Nathan's childhood friend.

Over the past eleven years, she occasionally showed up at our Christmas parties and charity galas, always greeting me with a polite, casual embrace.

Celeste grabbed the boy, her expression devoid of surprise.

"I'm sorry," she told Nathan. "The babysitter canceled at the last minute. I texted you over and over."

She never once looked at me.

Glancing down, I caught sight of the medical band around the little girl's wrist.

Her name and emergency contact were printed clearly across the plastic:

June Mercer.

Father: Nathan Mercer.

I stared at the letters as the world around me went mute.

Mercer was my husband's last name—and mine.

"Why is her last name Mercer?"

Nathan's lips parted. "Eve, let's go to the lounge and talk."

"Answer me right here."

He reached out to steady me, but I took a step back.

The heel of my shoe crunched down on broken glass.

Celeste finally looked in my direction. "The kids shouldn't have met you like this."

The little girl suddenly ducked behind Nathan, instinctively tugging at the edge of his suit jacket.

Nathan looked down and gently stroked her hair, a reflex so natural that any lingering denial shattered.

"Are they your children?" I asked.

Nathan kept his voice low. "Biologically, yes."

A heavy, suffocating pressure seized my chest.

"You told me the treatment made you sterile."

"It's more complicated than that. I never slept with Celeste." He glanced nervously at the surrounding crowd. "Five years ago, she desperately wanted to be a mother. I just helped her out."

"You were just a donor?"

"Yes."

The boy immediately furrowed his brow. "No, you're not! Daddy comes over to our house every Wednesday!"

The color drained completely from Nathan's face.

My mind flashed back through every Wednesday over the last five years.

Lab trials, board dinners, sudden late-night meetings.

He always walked through our front door past eleven at night, his jacket occasionally carrying the faint, sweet scent of kid's sunscreen.

Celeste pulled both children into her arms. "They're scared. We should leave."

She said we.

I looked at Nathan. "How many times have you seen them?"

"Eve—"

"How many times?"

The little girl reached into her pocket, pulled out a brass key, and dropped it into Nathan's open palm.

"Daddy, you left the house key on the nightstand."

The hall fell dead silent.

Nathan clutched the key tightly, looking like a man who finally realized no excuse could save him.

I slid the wedding band off my left ring finger and set it down beside his birthday cake.

"For eleven years, I thought we were carrying the pain of being childless together."

I glanced at the twins hiding behind him.

"Turns out, I was the only one who was forced to lose my chance at motherhood."