Loans.
Minimum payments shuffled like cups in a shell game.
And his affair? That had turned into a pregnancy he didn’t want anyone to know about.
When my labor went wrong, and our baby was born dead, he saw a solution.
His mistress had a healthy newborn daughter. I had a room full of pink blankets, birth announcements ready to mail, and in-laws waiting for proof that their perfect son had the perfect heir-producing marriage.
He met Nicole in a back corridor while he supposedly took Max for juice.
Cash for silence.
A baby for a lie.
I backed away from him until I hit the wall.
“You sold our daughter’s death,” I said.
He flinched. “Don’t say it like that.”
I laughed again, and this time it sounded broken. “How should I say it? Professionally?”
He had the nerve to look miserable.
Then I asked the question I should have asked first.
