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Five years after my husband, Ryan Hawthorne, and I got married, his mistress got pregnant. Instead of throwing a fit like I used to, I went to that woman's rundown apartment and brought her home. She was ten years younger than me, with big eyes and a sharp nose. She looked just like I did at twenty. She carefully cradled her belly and asked, "Violet, after I give birth to the baby, I'll leave. I don't want anything, okay?" I gently stroked her hair, thinking to myself, 'Relax. I'll help you become the new Mrs. Hawthorne as soon as I can.' After all, if I waited any longer, that young guy I'd been keeping an eye on would leave the country.