ars of his fifty-two documented affairs, and now, nine months pregnant, he needed me. His secretary, a nervous young woman named Chloe, had apparently insulted a major donor, Mr. Abernathy,

tle too long on the arm of a woman whose dress cost more than my entire pre-marriage wardrobe. He paraded me past Abernathy, a stout man with a lecherous gaze, and I mumbled the practiced apology. Then Ethan was off, drawn to a younger,

. His dismissiveness, his blatant disrespect, it all boiled over. I accused, he deflected, then attacked. "You're always sick, always complaining," he sneered. As I turned to leave the room, my foot caught on

king pale and shaken. My son, Leo, was born prematurely, small, but the doctors said he was a fighter, healthy after a period of observation in the NICU. Ethan, they later found out, had been at a party

e the baby was born, you' d approve our divorce. Can I leave now?" She had been the one to orchestrate this marriage, a debt she felt she owed my deceased firefighter father

with Mystery Starlet." The footage was clear: Ethan, looking disheveled but triumphant, escorting a young actress from a trendy nightclub. She was snuggled into his suit jacket, the one he' d worn to the gala. The reporter chirped about a "hot

other with no resources, no family, was unbearable. "If I see him," I told Eleanor, my voice cracking, "I won' t be able to leave him. He' s better off with Caldwell money, Caldwell security. I have nothing to give him but a broken mother." El