Chapter 1

In our three years of marriage, I was attacked by my husband's crazy ex-wife thirty-eight times.

For the final attack, she mistook white vinegar for sulfuric acid and splashed it all over me.

I wanted to call 911, but my husband stopped me.

"She's not right in the head. She still thinks we're married and forgot about the divorce," he said.

"Besides, it's not real acid. You're not hurt. Just wash it off."

He paused, then added:

"And Noah is our son. He's never accepted you as his stepmother."

"Why don't I move in with them for a while? Just bear with it a little longer, okay?"

I stared at him, my heart turning to ice.

He had never let go of his ex-wife. His son had never accepted me.

I looked down at the lab results confirming my pregnancy. Without a second thought, I scheduled an outpatient abortion procedure.

"Let's get a divorce."

"I'm done being in the way. You can have your family of three back."

"What did you say?" Ethan's head snapped up.

"I said, divorce." I met his gaze. "Go back to being Evelyn's devoted husband and Noah's perfect father. I'm out."

"Tess, don't say things you don't mean—"

"I'm not angry," I cut him off. "I'm pregnant."

Ethan froze. But within seconds, his brows furrowed into that familiar, problem-solving knot. He forced the words out. "This baby..."

A sharp laugh escaped my lips.

"I know. You don't want it. You only want to take care of your ex-wife's son."

"That's not it. It's just that the timing is wrong—"

I had heard enough, my voice suddenly rising.

"Ethan, I am done!"

"I'm done being attacked by your ex-wife, being called a homewrecker by your son, and still having to smile and play the sensible adult!"

"I'm done with Evelyn going online to call me the other woman. I get dragged through the mud, and I'm just supposed to keep my head down and take it!"

"I'm done with you taking her and Noah camping while I sit at home, expected to be understanding and wait for you to come back!"

My fingers crushed the lab results.

"I'm sick of always coming in second. I'm sick of your guilt, your responsibilities, and your difficult positions. They all just end up as knives in my back."

I turned toward the bedroom.

"Tess!" Ethan called out, panic finally cracking his steady negotiator voice. "Wait. Let's talk about this—"

I slammed the bedroom door in his face.

The living room fell dead silent. I buried my face in the blanket and finally broke down.

Six months ago, Ethan had put his hand on my shoulder and said earnestly:

"Once Noah adjusts a bit more, maybe we can consider having a baby."

"We'll have a child therapist step in early to help him prepare mentally."

Hearing that back then, I had felt a rush of warmth. I thought he was making long-term plans for our future.

Now I understood. It wasn't a plan. It was a feasibility study.

My baby was a project that needed psychological prep, risk assessment, and timing evaluation before it could be approved to exist. The child I thought would be the crystallization of our love was, in his eyes, just a tool to stabilize his family.

The ridiculous part was that I had actually bought into it. I fantasized that Noah would one day accept me, that once we had a child, we could truly be a family.

The next morning, the moment I opened the bedroom door, I saw Ethan standing in the hallway.

He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, his shirt severely wrinkled. He clearly hadn't slept. Seeing me, he immediately stood up straight.

"Tess."

"I'm going out." My tone was completely flat.

"I'll drive you," he offered instantly, then added, "I checked. The Women's Health Clinic has an opening this morning. You already made the appointment, right? I can take you."

He said it so naturally. Like we were discussing what to have for breakfast.

My chest seized, my breath hitching for a second.

"I'll go by myself."

Ethan froze, then frowned. "You can't go alone. You'll need rest after the procedure, and they have to keep you for observation—"

I looked up and cut him off. "Do you think I'm going to the clinic because you told me to?"

Ethan stared at me in silence.

"I'm not terminating this pregnancy because you told me to," I said, enunciating every word. "I'm doing it because I refuse to bring my child into a family where they will always be put last."

"I don't want them growing up asking why Daddy always takes care of everyone else before coming to them."

The color drained from Ethan's face.

I grabbed my packed bag and walked straight toward the door. He chased after me, catching my wrist.

"Tess, let me drive you. At least let me make sure you're safe before I leave."

"What are you going with me for?" I looked back at him, my eyes completely empty. "To sit outside the surgical wing and wait for me?"

"To hug me when I come out, tell me I've been through a lot, and say I'm brave?"

I smiled, but tears spilled over.

"Ethan, I know you're a Crisis Negotiator. But right now, I'm not your target, and I'm not a hostage you need to pacify."

I yanked my hand away and opened the door.

"Tess." His voice was terribly dry. "If you really want to keep this baby, we'll keep it."