My husband threw divorce papers into my face while I cradled our newborn daughter. “I need a son, not a useless girl,” he sneered. His mother nodded. “We need a grandson. Someone else has already done what you couldn’t.” Months later, at his wedding to the mistress supposedly carrying his baby boy, I walked in holding my daughter and one sealed envelope. When I revealed what was inside, the groom went pale—and revenge had only just begun.

PART 1

The divorce papers struck my cheek before they landed across the hospital blanket covering our daughter. Two hours after I named her Brinley, my husband looked at her face and called her useless.

“I need a son,” Connor said, smoothing the cuffs of his shirt. “Not another burden wearing pink.”

My body shook from the delivery. Brinley slept against my chest, unaware that her father had rejected her.

Behind him, his mother, Betsy, lifted her chin. “Our family needs a grandson. Fortunately, someone else has already done what you couldn’t.”

The door opened, and Connor’s assistant, Alyssa, stepped inside. One hand rested on a rounded stomach beneath a dress, and her smile was victorious.

“A boy,” she said. “Twelve weeks.”