Rooftop Edge, A New Life Began

The doctor finally gave me the green light to conceive, and I floated home to tell my husband, Clay.

We toasted to our future children, Charis and Donny, names he swore were unique and special.

Later that night, I unlocked his iPad and realized those names weren't unique-they were a sick tribute to his mistress, Charity Odonnell.

When I confronted him, the "perfect husband" mask shattered.

He didn't apologize.

Instead, he and his mother slapped me across the face, claiming my "mental instability" had returned, while my own parents begged me not to ruin his reputation.

Then came the video from Charity, laughing as she told me to "do everyone a favor and die."

Broken and cornered, I stood on the edge of the hospital roof that night.

I called Clay, told him to look up, and watched his face crumble in terror as I let go.

But I wasn't trying to kill myself.

I was aiming for the large oak tree below, calculating the perfect fall to destroy his life and secure my freedom.

Chapter 1

Danae Hodges POV:

The doctor' s words were a whisper of hope I hadn't dared to dream of for years. "Danae, your blood work is excellent. Your hormone levels are stable. And the fertility treatments? They've been a success. You are officially healthy, and your body is ready to conceive."

My breath hitched. Ready to conceive.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a joyful drumbeat after so many years of silence. The darkness that had consumed me, the clinical depression that had held me captive, felt miles away now. The heavy blanket of anxiety had finally lifted. I was free. I was whole. And I was ready to build the family Clay and I had always dreamed of.

I practically floated out of the clinic, the city streets blurring into a kaleidoscope of happy colors. I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed Clay.

"She's ready," I choked out, a sob of pure joy escaping my lips. "The doctor said... I'm ready, Clay. We can finally have our baby."

His deep laugh filled my ear, warm and reassuring. "That's my girl. I knew you'd get through this. I knew you'd fight. I'm so proud of you, Danae."

"I love you," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "Thank you for everything. For staying with me, for supporting me. We're going to be parents, Clay."

"We are, baby," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And it's all thanks to you. You're the strongest woman I know."

He arrived home an hour later, flowers in hand, his eyes shining with an intensity I hadn't seen in months. He swept me into his arms, kissing me deeply, his lips tasting of triumph and unspoken promises.

"My brave girl," he murmured against my hair, holding me tighter than usual. "You did it. We did it."

He pulled back, his hands cupping my face. His thumbs brushed away the lingering tears on my cheeks. "Let's celebrate. Tonight, we celebrate us. And our future."

He had ordered my favorite Italian, and the apartment smelled of garlic and basil, a scent that usually brought me comfort. But tonight, it was tinged with an unfamiliar, almost unsettling sweetness.

Clay poured two glasses of sparkling cider, a tradition since I' d started my medication. He raised his glass, his smile wide and genuine. Or so I thought.

"To our future," he toasted. "To our family. To Charis and Donny."

I smiled back, clinking my glass against his. "Charis and Donny. I love those names, Clay. So unique." He had suggested them a few weeks ago, saying he' d always loved them. I hadn't questioned it. It was just another sign of our beautiful future.

He was the perfect husband. Everyone said so. My mother, Dianne, always told me how lucky I was to have him. "He stood by you, Danae, when you were at your worst," she'd constantly remind me. "Most men would have left."

His own mother, Bertha, never missed an opportunity to praise him. "My Clay is a saint," she'd tell anyone who would listen. "Marrying a woman with 'issues' and standing by her side through thick and thin. He's a keeper, Danae. Don't you ever forget what he sacrificed for you."

I never did. I felt indebted to him, grateful for his unwavering support during my darkest days. He was my rock, my savior. And now, he was going to be the father of my children. Charis and Donny.

The evening was perfect. We talked for hours about nurseries, baby names, and which stroller we'd buy. Clay even pulled out his iPad, showing me some digital renderings of a new extension he was designing for our house-a soundproof nursery with a skylight.

"It needs to be perfect for Charis and Donny," he'd said, his eyes full of tenderness.

Later that night, after Clay had fallen asleep, I decided to return his iPad to his nightstand. As I picked it up, a notification flashed across the screen from his cloud storage. "New upload: 'Charity – Our Anniversary.'"

My heart stopped. Charity.

The name hit me like a physical blow. Charity Odonnell. Clay's high school sweetheart, the one everyone said he never truly got over. The one who had broken his heart before he met me.

I dismissed it, telling myself it was an old file, a relic from his past. Yet, a cold dread began to coil in my stomach. Curiosity, a dangerous, dark thing, took hold. I unlocked the iPad, my fingers fumbling with the passcode – our wedding anniversary.

I navigated to his cloud files, my breath catching in my throat as I saw a folder labeled "Charity." I clicked on it.

A series of videos unfolded. Clay, laughing, intimately holding Charity. Their faces pressed together, whispering secrets. Dates flashed across the bottom of the screen, recent dates. Dates from when I was still battling my depression. Dates from when he was supposedly at work, or "working late."

My vision blurred. The world tilted. A sharp, icy pain pierced through my chest, burning its way down my throat. It felt like someone had scooped out my insides and replaced them with shards of broken glass.

I scrolled, numb with disbelief, until I found it. A video, labeled "Charis & Donny." My hands shook so violently I almost dropped the device. This wasn't a tribute to our future children. This was their tribute.

In the video, Charity, draped in nothing but a silk sheet, was laughing, her head resting on Clay' s chest. "So, Charis for a girl, and Donny for a boy?" she teased, running her fingers through his hair.

Clay kissed her forehead. "Only for you, my love. Always."

My ears roared. The warmth of Clay's breath on my neck earlier, the tenderness in his voice, the joy in his eyes – it all curdled into something grotesque. It was a lie. All of it. Every word, every touch, every promise.

The iPad slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the hardwood floor with a harsh crack. The sound was deafening in the sudden silence of the bedroom. Clay stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

"Danae? What's wrong?" he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

I stood there, frozen, the image of Charity' s face, smug and triumphant, seared into my mind. The names. Charis. Donny. His first love. His mistress.

My mouth was dry, my tongue heavy. "Clay," I managed to choke out, the word tasting like ash. My voice was a shaky whisper, barely audible in the quiet room. "We can't have children."

He pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His gaze fell on the iPad on the floor, its screen displaying Charity's laughing face, then darted back to me, confusion clouding his features. "What are you talking about, Danae? We just celebrated. The doctor said you're ready."

A bitter, ugly laugh tore from my throat. It was not my own. "No, Clay. You can't have children with me." My voice grew stronger, each word a hammer blow against my own fragile hope. "Not anymore."

His confusion morphed into something darker, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He glanced at the iPad again, then at my face. "What is this, Danae? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," I began, my voice raw with unshed tears, "I want a divorce."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Clay' s face, which had been registering a slow dawning of realization, instantly froze. The color drained from his cheeks. His eyes widened, fixing on me with an intensity that suddenly felt predatory. The easygoing, loving mask he wore had cracked.

A glass of water he' d left on his nightstand, which he had been about to reach for, toppled over, spilling cold water across the polished wood. He didn' t seem to notice.