Chapter 1

I came home after five years working out, only to find my husband had a new family.

Christmas was coming. I took time off early, planning to surprise my husband.

I knocked on the door with gifts in hand, bursting with excitement.

A stranger opened it—a woman. With a crying baby in her arms.

I froze. She looked me up and down. "Can I help you?"

"I... I just came back home." I stammered.

The woman scoffed.

She leaned against the doorframe, blocking my path.

"Lady, you've got the wrong place."

"This is my home. My husband's and mine. Your house couldn't possibly be here."

Her home?

My eyes shot past her into the house.

They landed on a massive wedding photo on the wall.

In it, my husband had his arm around this woman.

Both of them grinning like idiots.

The background, the furniture, the layout—

Identical to my home.

She noticed the gift in my hand. Her tight expression relaxed.

"Oh, I get it. You're here to see my husband about something medical, right?"

She stepped aside, clearing the doorway.

"He's got surgery this afternoon, won't be back till later. Come in and wait if you want."

"But he cannot accept gifts. please take it back."

...

I followed her inside like a ghost.

My mind was blank. Buzzing.

"Don't bother with the shoes. We're not that formal here."

The woman adjusted the baby on her hip, gesturing to the couch.

"Help yourself to water. I've got to settle him down. Dr. Grant's swamped—you're not the first patient's family to track him down at home."

She thought I was some desperate relative here to beg favors.

I stood in the middle of the living room. My hands and feet were ice.

This house was mine.

Five years ago, Grant and I got our marriage license.

I was just a waitress. He was a doctor.

People whispered we didn't match—that I was punching above my weight.

I didn't want anyone thinking I married him for his money.

So I worked myself to the bone. Double shifts, triple shifts. Saved every tip.

I sold the house my parents left me and scraped together the down payment for this penthouse.

I wanted to prove I could contribute. That I deserved him.

Right after we bought it, I got an offer to work at a casino in Las Vegas.

The tips there were insane—some gamblers who win money throw it around recklessly. I could make three times what I made here.

But it meant five years away.

Grant held my hand and said, "Babe, go. For our future, I can handle the distance."

"Don't worry about the renovations. Mom and Dad are here. When you come back, we'll move straight into the new place."

I believed him.

For five years, I worked every shift I could get in Las Vegas.

Breakfast rushes, lunch crowds, late-night bar service. My feet bled in my shoes.

Every month, I kept just enough for rent and food. The rest went straight to Grant.

I told him to use quality materials for the renovations. Eco-friendly. Don't cheap out.

He said okay.

I told him to get smart appliances. For when we had a baby.

He said okay.

Now I was back.

The house was finished. It looked great.

Except the woman of the house had been replaced.

In the wedding photo on the wall, Grant's smile was radiant. Crow's feet crinkling with joy.

The woman in his arms was young, her face full of collagen. She couldn't be older than twenty-two.

"Hey, why are you just standing there?"

The woman finished soothing the baby and came over to pour me water.

"Dr. Grant looks serious, but he's a softie. You're here about a hospital bed, right?"

She played the hostess, voice dripping with pride.

"All I have to do is whisper in his ear at night. This kind of thing? Easy."

I stared at her face. My stomach clenched.

"How long have you two been married?" My throat was dry.

The woman paused, then smiled shyly.

"Almost two years. The baby's already six months old."

Two years.

Back then, I was pulling triple shifts in Las Vegas.

I worked until my ankles swelled, until I couldn't stand anymore.

Came home one night with a 103 fever. I called Grant just to hear his voice.

He said he was in a conference. Hung up fast.

Turns out, he was here. Researching how to make a baby.

My fingers tightened around my purse strap. The leather dug into my palm.

"The house is beautifully decorated," I said, scanning the room.

The woman lifted her chin proudly.

"Of course. Grant designed it himself. He personally picked out every single piece of furniture."

"He said he wanted to give me the best. He'd never let me suffer."

Designed himself? Personally picked?

The high-end coffee table. The crystal chandelier. The leather couch.

I paid for all of it. I told him to buy it.

My money—money I earned one grueling shift at a time—had become a monument to their love.

I'm such a goddamn idiot.