My health was not good, but I had always wanted a child.

My husband, citing concern for my health, avoided intimacy with me for a year.

Then I stumbled across his private messages with another woman.

[You'll spend Valentine's Day with me, right? You're not going to touch her tonight, are you?]

[You know I don't like doing it just to make babies. Got you some lingerie. Wear it for me tomorrow.]

That ill-fitting lace lingerie he was talking about was on my body. I'd slipped it on while he was in the shower, thinking it was a Valentine's Day surprise from him.

Turned out, he hadn't bought the wrong size. He had just sent it to the wrong address.

I clicked on the woman's profile. Her latest video showed her at the beach, hand in hand with the person filming.

I recognized her hand instantly. It belonged to my best friend.

...

The whispers of affection filled the room, soft and intimate.

Fury surged through me. I flung open the door, phone in hand, and began recording.

The camera's flash pierced the dimness, forcing the two figures to squint.

My husband, Dale Sparks, scrambled to cover himself with a blanket, his face draining of color. Panic flashed in his eyes. "Weren't you on a business trip? Did something go wrong at work?"

Even now, his first thought was whether I'd faltered at the job I poured my soul into for him.

I dug my nails into my palm, the sharp pain anchoring me as I fought to stay composed. "It's Valentine's Day. I've been working day and night to come home early and celebrate with you. I didn't expect this kind of gift."

I turned to Cecily Puckett, my best friend. Disappointment and rage crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Dale's betrayal after seven years of marriage stung, but Cecily's cut deeper.

We'd grown up together, our families bound by decades of friendship. She'd been my maid of honor.

"You said your husband can't have kids, so you went after mine?" I snapped. "When you were in his arms, did you ever think about our friendship?"

Dale's brows furrowed, irritation flickering in his eyes. He stepped protectively in front of her, retorting, "We've been married for years, and you can't bear a child. Cecily is doing us a favor, taking on the burden of pregnancy. It's tough, you know. Having her carry the baby is safer than some stranger, isn't it?"

Cecily clutched the blanket, hiding behind him with feigned fear. "Abigail, we promised we'd be godmothers to each other's kids, right? You can't have one, and my husband is no good either. This way, both our families get a child. You'd be the mom. Isn't that a win-win?"

That was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard.

My vision blurred with anger, my body trembling. Dale, still half-dressed, jumped out of bed to steady me.

I slapped his hand away, leaning against the wall. "Don't touch me!"

His face darkened, his voice shaking with barely contained anger. "You're rejecting me now? I never blamed you for your infertility. Have I ever let you down before this? And you know Cecily's husband can't perform. She is miserable. She is your best friend, but you don't care about her at all."

Dale looked at Cecily pitifully, which chilled me to the core.

I squeezed my numbing fingertips and let out a cold laugh. "So, it's my fault now? I'm the one standing in the way of your baby-making scheme?"

I'd built our company from nothing alongside him. I worked tirelessly, schmoozed clients, and drank until my stomach bled to secure deals.

He grew complacent, dodging work with excuses, content to let me carry the load.

As the business expanded, it needed more capital. I poured in all my savings and borrowed from friends and family to keep it thriving. I never complained, believing we'd build a good life together.

At our wedding, Dale had vowed, "I'll make it big one day and earn enough to take care of you. I'll stick by you till we're old and gray."

But long before we aged, his promises shattered. He always assumed I was the one who couldn't conceive. In truth, I'd lied to protect his pride.

He sighed, softening his tone. "Come on, don't fight about this. Cecily and I just want a kid. She won't come between us. Even if she tried, I'd never leave you. You're the only one I love. She took care of me when you were away. You should be grateful, not picking fights or giving her a hard time."

Cecily chimed in, "I've always seen you as my best friend. All these years, you knew I was unhappy, yet you kept bragging about how great Dale was. I couldn't help but wonder if you were rubbing it in, maybe even inviting me to share him. We've shared so much over the years. What's the big deal now?"

My hands shook with rage. Their audacity was shameless beyond belief.

Years ago, Cecily had a one-night stand and insisted on marrying the man, Elmer Harris, heir to the powerful Harris family.

She hounded him, threatening to go public unless he married her.

The Harrises, with their strict values, couldn't afford the scandal and agreed to the marriage.

But something felt off. With their influence, they didn't have to bow to Cecily, someone from an ordinary family.

I dug deeper and uncovered the truth: Elmer had bipolar disorder. His previous wives either died or suffered severe injuries.

I had warned Cecily, urging her to reconsider, but she looked at me like I was sabotaging her shot at wealth.

Cecily had sulked, "You're just jealous. You don't want me to have a good life."

Her words had left me speechless.

She eventually married into the Harris family as she wished, but her life became miserable.

Elmer's abuse and his mother's cruelty broke her.

When she came to me, crying, I gave her money, helped her get a job, and even let her stay in our house, reassuring her that Dale wouldn't mind.

My trust was ironically misplaced. My kindness was twisted into an invitation to share my husband.

I was nothing but a blind fool.

Turning to Dale, I said firmly, "I want a divorce."

...

He froze, then sneered, "Don't be ridiculous. The company is about to go public, and I'll be worth billions. You're 30 and barren. Who else would want you?"

He stepped closer. "Sure, you're good at your job, but without me, you'd be a nobody. Divorce me, and you'll have nothing."

I met his mocking gaze. "I'd rather be a beggar than stay with you. I'll have a lawyer draft the agreement today. Sign it as soon as possible."

Once, he had stayed up all night comforting me after my parents' deaths, even learning professional massage techniques when I mentioned neck pain.

We were equals in love then. Now, he saw himself as superior, even justifying his infidelity.

Cecily, now dressed, got out of bed with a smirk. "You're so possessive. Can you really let go of Dale?"

I ignored her taunt and started packing.

In a fit of pique, Dale smashed everything in sight. "You're not thinking straight. I'm giving you a few days off to reflect. We'll talk when you calm down."

He stormed out, slamming the door.

Cecily grinned, looking down at me. "You're too stubborn. This is just a fling. Every guy cheats. I thought about making him leave you, but if you go, how will I enjoy the good life? You're a hard worker, and I'm sure you can handle my recovery from childbirth. We've been friends for 16 years, and this is Dale's kid. Doesn't that mean you should look after me?"

Her taunt got under my skin, and I struck her across the face.

"You're not worthy of being my friend!" I snapped, slapping her again. "I took you in when you were abused and had nowhere to go. And you repay me by wrecking my marriage? You're disgusting!"

She screamed, collapsing dramatically. The noise drew Dale back.

She sobbed, "Abigail can't handle us being together, especially since I'm pregnant. She tried to hurt the baby."

Her acting was pathetic, but Dale bought it.

After helping her up, he grabbed my wrist roughly and barked, "I told you to cool off. You can't have kids, so what's wrong with Cecily giving me one? That's my child. I didn't ditch you for being infertile. Can't you show some compassion? Apologize to her."

My wrist throbbed, but I refused to back down. "Dream on! Let's wait and see you crash and burn."

His anger flared, but guilt reined it in.