Chapter 2

I wasn't angry about Chloe Beaumont's appearance. If not Chloe Beaumont, it would've been Hannah Beaumont, or Lily Beaumont. If Ethan Caldwell were truly a decent man, rumors of his affair with Chloe Beaumont wouldn't be swirling through every Birmingham social circle. Twenty minutes later, Ethan stepped out of the bathroom. The sharp, clean scent of his designer body wash barely masked the cloying perfume that clung to his skin—a scent that made my stomach turn. I stayed seated on the couch, watching as his eyes shifted from hopeful expectation to cold indifference. No dinner waited for him. His jacket and shoes still lay where he'd tossed them on the floor, a silent mockery of his self-centered assumptions. Six years of devotion—cooking, cleaning, managing his low blood sugar with homemade gumbo, even funding half his startup—had earned me not a single word of gratitude. One night without service, and he glared at me like I'd committed a crime. "Emily, I swear, I don't know what's going on in that head of yours," he snapped, running a hand through his damp hair. "Tomorrow's the family dinner. Chloe's coming too. Just... don't make a scene." He'd already given in to her presence, but the compromise clearly grated on him. With an irritated sigh, he pulled out his phone and ordered takeout. I pretended not to notice. My fingers kept scrolling through my screen, though if he'd looked closer, he'd have seen the tears glistening in my eyes. The man I loved had died long ago—quietly, without ceremony. "You hear me?" he demanded after tapping in his order. "Mm-hmm," I murmured without lifting my head. Inside, I felt nothing but barren emptiness. Family dinners were supposed to be just that—family. Outsiders had no place there. But every time, Ethan used the excuse that the Beaumonts and Caldwells were old Southern families, bound by generations of alliance. In his mind, Chloe was practically his mother's second daughter. He conveniently forgot that Eleanor and Edward Caldwell had never wanted me in their son's life to begin with. Whenever Chloe showed up, I became the invisible guest—the awkward outsider shoved into the corner while everyone fawned over her. The worst time was when I'd spent all day preparing a full Southern spread: collard greens, cornbread, fried chicken, sweet tea. I carried each dish proudly to the dining table at the Caldwell plantation house, only for Eleanor to wave me away with a sniff. "That food's not fit for this table," she'd said coolly, then turned to Chloe with a warm smile. "Everyone, meet my future daughter-in-law." When I protested, Ethan didn't defend me. Instead, he scolded me for being "rude" and "making a fuss over nothing." From the very beginning, I was the only stranger in that house. A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts—Ethan's food had arrived. As he took the bag from the delivery driver, I spoke up quietly. "If it's your family dinner, I won't go." He spun around. "What's that supposed to mean?" I waved a hand dismissively. "We're done, Ethan. I won't come. I'll move out soon anyway. The baby's gone." At the mention of the baby, the anger in his eyes flickered and died. He must've remembered. After I got pregnant, I'd begged him to marry me—to give our child a name, a home, a legal right to exist. He'd promised, over and over. But on the day we were supposed to go to the City Hall, he stood me up. Seven times. On the seventh try, I was already standing outside the courthouse, clutching my ID and the marriage license application. Then his phone rang. Chloe had "messed up" a client meeting and was being "berated" by the other company. It wasn't even a real emergency. What mattered was who was on the other end of that call—the woman who owned his attention. So he left me there. He swore over the phone he'd be right back. "Just wait a little longer, Em." I waited. And then a drunk driver slammed into me. I woke up in the hospital with empty arms and an emptier womb. Sometimes I wonder if our baby sensed that his parents didn't love each other anymore. Maybe he slipped away quietly, choosing not to be born into a broken home. Maybe that was his mercy. "I can explain what happened that day," Ethan said suddenly, still holding the greasy takeout bag. He stared at the floor for a long moment before adding, voice thick with guilt, "That wasn't just your baby, Emily. It was mine too. And I... I was the one who broke my promise." He had no defense. No excuse. And for once, he knew it.