Chapter 2

"If you really love me, keep this quiet," Jake added.

I broke into full-on ugly crying. The "heartbreak" was total BS, but the bitterness? That was legit. I'd busted my ass for years playing the perfect wife, and now he was pulling this infertility stunt to upgrade to his mistress.

He'd learn: people who played with hearts didn't get happy endings.

In that moment, every ounce of bottled-up grievance exploded.

I bolted to his parents—Jake was the firstborn, their pride and joy with a side of massive expectations.

"Olivia, Anthony, talk him down. We can't just torch everything over this. People would gossip like crazy if we split now," I begged.

Anthony puffed hard on his cigarette and shook his head. "Maeve, this ain't fixable.

"Hauling him to every quack in town would ruin his rep. A guy's gotta keep his dignity. Cut him some slack."

Still sniffling, I spun to my brother-in-law. "Ryan, Jake's always looked out for you guys. Beg him to stick it out and get treatment with me."

Ryan's face twitched; he arched a brow and huffed. "Maeve, divorce is the kindest thing for him right now. Do him a solid. Dudes don't bounce back from gossip the way women do—it's like a knife in the ribs."

Ryan's wife kept her eyes glued to the floor, refusing to look at me.

The whole crew was basically rolling out the red carpet for Splitsville.

Inside, I was popping champagne. Outside, the waterworks kept flowing.

Jake tugged me to my feet, all soft and soothing. "Maeve, I'm the screw-up here. A guy like me—half a man—doesn't get to keep you.

"After this, live your best life. Need more cash? Say the word. You're the lady in this mess, after all."

I gasped through my "agony," finally caving. "You're always too damn noble. Okay. I'll respect it."

I ducked into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and clenched the real report in my bag.

The numbers didn't lie—his odds for viable sperm were one in a thousand.

Doc's words rang in my ears. "Conception's off the table."

For two weeks I'd been losing sleep over how to bury this—terrified he'd crumble.

Turned out he beat me to the punch with a fake-ass report. The sterility was real, though.

We'd been married for years but still hadn't had any kids, and the Greers always blamed me for it.

Now that his fling was pregnant, they were doubly sure I was the dud.

Right then, I got a message from my friend. [Jake dragged her to like three hospitals, even shipped blood to Crestmoor—yep, it's a boy!]

That explained why the Greer clan, with their boy-obsessed bullshit, was shoving him toward the exit.

If he was dying to play daddy, who was I to rain on that parade?

I was not in the business of fixing cheaters.

Let them keep getting their hopes up about their precious new baby—I couldn't care less.

I wiped my face, stormed out while the family gawked, and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

Divorce? Hell yes. Timing? That was my call.

To stall, I worked every angle, begging his buddies to talk sense into him.

Out on the street, I grabbed Nathan Cole, Jake's buddy, bawling my eyes out. "Nathan, why's Jake gotta be so damn touchy? Face isn't everything. I couldn't care less about the baby thing—if I'm fine with it, what's his deal? Tell Jake living solo blows. Kids or no kids, everybody needs a home."

"Tell him we gotta at least try fixing it."

Nathan's gaze darted away, clearly uneasy. He knew what was up, but couldn't really say anything.

"Maeve, seriously, keep it down. This isn't exactly something you want everyone in the neighborhood talking about. If Jake thinks dumping you will make him happier, maybe just let him go," he muttered, awkward and trying to keep things low-key.

Neighbors nearby started gossiping, their voices buzzing with curiosity.

"She's something else—her husband can't even have kids, and she doesn't mind one bit. She's even trying to help him get better," one neighbor whispered.

"Yeah, switch the roles and watch the shade fly," another neighbor chimed in.

He wanted to save face; I was ready to torch it.