On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband's childhood sweetheart called, claiming a burst pipe at her home.

Without a second thought, he ditched our celebration to play handyman.

Moments later, Vivian Duffy's social media lit up with a smug post.

[No matter when or where, my Superman arrives at one call. How should I reward him?]

Accompanying the post was a photo of scattered condoms and torn clothing on the floor.

I forced a smile, picked up my phone, and dialed a number. "My pipe is broken. Care to fix it?"

...

The reply came quickly. "What? You're calling me to play plumber?"

After a beat, his tone turned playful. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? That's fine. I'm booking a flight back in two days to fix your pipe."

"I'll hold you to it," I grinned, hanging up the phone and glancing at the clock.

The minute hand settled on 12. The anniversary passed in quiet solitude.

My phone buzzed with a call from my husband, Daniel Knapp.

I answered, my face blank.

"It's late," he whispered. "I'm crashing elsewhere tonight. Happy anniversary!"

His voice was thick with desire, underscored by Vivian Duffy's exaggerated moans in the background, loud enough for me to hear every syllable.

"Slow down!" she whined. "By the way, isn't today your anniversary with Jesse? Tell her I said happy anniversary."

I let out a bitter chuckle, the absurdity stinging.

The call ended, leaving me alone in the hollow house. The decorations I'd spent the afternoon arranging mocked me, as empty as our marriage had become.

The next morning, the clamor of movers woke me.

Workers dismantled the furniture I'd lovingly chosen, hauling it away. I blocked their path, demanding answers.

Just then, Daniel sauntered in, his arm protectively around Vivian. She shrank at the sight of me, whimpering, "Jesse's glare is terrifying."

Daniel shot me a scowl. "Quit scaring her."

I stared, unflinching. "What are you up to? Why are you gutting my house?"

Daniel chuckled, his hand gently rubbing Vivian's belly. She blushed, gazing at him adoringly.

"Vivian is pregnant," he announced. "I can't let her stay in that rundown rental. She's moving in with us."

I was stunned. Our seventh anniversary had just passed, and he surprised me with such a cruel joke.

"Those old things aren't safe for a pregnant woman," he continued, oblivious to my shock. "We ordered special maternity furniture."

I watched numbly as workers demolished the sofa I'd designed for our wedding, each stroke a memory of us dreaming of our future together.

Now, it was reduced to splinters.

"Oh, and move your things out of the master bedroom," Daniel added casually. "Vivian and I will take it. She needs someone nearby at all times."

I stood motionless, rooted to the spot.

His impatience flared. "What's with the attitude? Yeah, I gave you this house, but I decide how it's used."

Vivian tugged his sleeve, looking timid. "It's okay, Daniel. I don't want to cause trouble for you two."

Turning to me, she added, "I'm not trying to steal Daniel or anything. Once the baby is born, I'll leave. I won't be a burden."

Daniel pulled her close, soothing her. "Don't be silly. Our baby needs you, and that's never changing."

He looked up at me, his brow creasing. "Don't be so petty. Vivian's pregnancy was an accident. I forgot protection last time."

"The kid will call you Mom, too," Daniel went on. "Vivian wants no title. Just take care of her, and you'll still be the hostess of the house."

I stared at Vivian's flat belly, a glaring testament to Daniel's betrayal. Yet he expected me to play nanny.

Vivian puffed out her belly, almost gloating. "Don't be jealous, Jesse. A baby in the house brings luck. Maybe when they're born, you'll have one, too."

I met Daniel's gaze, memories flooding back. Countless times, I'd broached the idea of having kids, only to be met with his dismissal. "Kids would disrupt our lives. It's not the right time yet."

I'd let go of that dream, even lying to my dying mother to cover for him, claiming I didn't want children.

I had been such a fool.

It wasn't that he hated kids. He just didn't want them with me.

The truth of love, or its absence, was painfully evident.

...

Daniel led Vivian to the master bedroom, where she sprawled on my bed and under my quilt.

Her cloying rose perfume saturated the air, making my stomach churn.

Daniel frowned. "Feeling sick? Go rest."

Vivian piped up, "I'm starving. I want some lobster bisque."

Daniel reached for his phone to order, but Vivian added, smirking at me, "I want Jesse to make it."

Her eyes glinted with provocation as she pleaded, "Please, Jesse. The baby and I are craving it."

"No," I refused without batting an eyelid.

She froze, and Daniel's scowl deepened. "It's just soup. Don't make a big deal out of it."

I fired back, "Why should I cook for your mistress and illegitimate child?"

Vivian's tears soaked the quilt. "How could you say that? The baby is not a mistake, just a little angel who arrived by surprise. I'm sorry for the trouble. I'll just leave."

She made a show of standing, but Daniel gently pushed her down. "Jesse, apologize."

I held his gaze, refusing to let my tears fall.

Vivian tried to shuffle off again, but Daniel held her arm, fixing me with a cold glare. "Have I spoiled you too much? You're acting lawless."

His hand swung, and a searing slap cracked across my face. Blood trickled from my lip, my cheek burning.

I stared at him, disbelief crashing over me.

Vivian cooed, "Daniel, don't fight over me. If Jesse won't cook, it's fine. I'm not that hungry."

Daniel wasn't having it. "I say cook, and you do it. Vivian, take a rest."

He dragged me to the kitchen, ignoring my stumbles. My leg hit the wall, bruising instantly.

Uncaring, he shoved me inside and locked the door. "Finish the soup, then you're out. I've got all day to wait."

Through the door, I heard Vivian giggle as she perched on Daniel's lap and ate my specially ordered blueberries.

Those were his favorites, now a bitter jest.

Wiping my tears, I pushed through the pain and prepared the bisque. In a daze, I accidentally knocked over a pot of boiling water and scalded my leg.

Daniel started toward me, but Vivian grabbed him. "I know she doesn't want to cook for me, but hurting herself like that is not worth it."

Daniel sank back, sneering, "Just her petty tricks. If she wants to play victim, let her."

Pain seared like ants devouring my flesh. I poured cold water over the burn, biting back screams.

Daniel was unmoved. The man who had once panicked over a paper cut on my finger was gone, replaced by a stranger.

...

I limped out of the kitchen and placed the bisque on the table.

Vivian beamed triumphantly. "Thanks for cooking through all that pain for me and the baby. Daniel, let's dig in."

Ignoring their cozy display, I hobbled to the guest room, agony pulsing with each step, and searched for the medical kit.

Daniel burst in, holding it. He frowned at my blistered, bruised leg. "Sit. I'll treat it."

I tried to refuse, but he pressed me down on the bed, his touch surprisingly gentle as he applied ointment.

His eyes flickered with concern, but he had caused this pain, giving me hope only to crush it again.

The pitiful act now felt hollow.

I gritted my teeth, fighting tears as the pain pulsed.

He wiped my cheeks gently. "Look at you, crying like a kid. Still can't stand the pain?"

His breath assailed me as he cooed, "Let's not fight, okay?"

I struggled, trying to push him away, but it was useless.

I hadn't done anything wrong. I was just unwilling to take care of Vivian and her child.

His scent, so familiar, pulled me back to the boy who'd once shielded me from my abusive family, promising I'd never hurt again.

Now he was the source of my agony.

...

Vivian's wails shattered the moment.

Daniel shoved me aside. My wound was caught on the bed, pain whitening my face.

Vivian lay weakly in his arms. The bisque bowl lay shattered, the soup pooling on the floor.

"I know you hate me and the baby," she sobbed, glaring at me. "But how could you poison the bisque to hurt us?"

I started to deny it, but Daniel's suspicious gaze stopped me.

He didn't trust me.

Exhaustion washed over me. Arguing felt futile.

"I didn't poison anything," I said flatly.

Vivian clutched his sleeve. "That bisque was all I had today. I don't blame her for hating me, but I won't let her harm our child."

An ambulance arrived swiftly.

Daniel scooped her up, grabbing the shattered bowl as evidence, and rushed out.

I collapsed, laughing hysterically until tears fell.

That afternoon, his bodyguards dragged me to the hospital. Daniel stood outside Vivian's room, where she lay pale.

They tugged me along and shoved me to the floor, ignoring my blisters that ruptured.

The pus flowed like punishment, trickling down my wounds.

I screamed, but Daniel was unmoved, lighting a cigarette. The smoke swirled around him, blurring his face.

"Tests came back. The bisque had abortifacients," he said.

"That's impossible," I protested.

He snapped, "Still lying at this point? I never thought you'd stoop to such viciousness."