chapter 1

My baby died—on the very day his father Elliott Caldwell’s beloved woman came back from abroad. Before my baby closed his tiny eyes, he kept crying to see his father one last time. But guess what? Elliott was celebrating that woman’s birthday—his childhood sweetheart, his one and only.

When I told Elliott to come to our child’s funeral, he said, “Stop being dramatic. Be reasonable.”

I said, “It’s okay baby, Mommy’s here. Mommy won’t let anything happen to you.”

My hands shook as I held my baby’s hands, my vision blurring in and out.

“Mom, Daddy’s still not coming, is he?”

My baby looked up at me with those bright eyes that seemed ready to fade any second.

“Your daddy... he’s on his way. He’ll be here soon.”

My voice cracked. I’d called Elliott an hour ago—straight to voicemail every time.

“I wanna talk to Daddy.”

My baby’s voice grew fainter, but his eyes still clung to hope as he looked at me.

Nodding, with shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed Elliott.

The call barely connected when Elliott’s annoyed voice came through. “Ophelia, what the hell do you want?”

I replied, “Something’s happened to our baby. We’re in the hospital. He wants to see you one last time. You need to come qui—”

“Ophelia.”

Elliott's tone grew even more irritated.

“I’ve got important things to deal with right now. Can’t you stop bothering me? Can’t you be reasonable for once?”

“Elliott, how does this clothing color look?” A woman’s voice faintly drifted through the line. I knew who it was—Elliott’s one and only, Claire Sheppard.

“I’ve wired the money to your account. Buy whatever you want.”

With that, Elliott hung up—just like that. No hesitation. I didn’t even get to let our baby say a word to him.

After the call ended, I couldn’t bring myself to look into my baby’s eyes.

“Daddy’s not coming, is he?”

My baby’s voice grew weaker and weaker.

Heartbroken, I pulled him close and said, “It’s okay. You’ve still got Mommy here. It’s okay.”

He weakly wrapped his arms around my neck, his voice so faint I had to press my ear close to hear him clearly.

He said, “Mommy, I don’t like Daddy anymore. I don’t want him.”

I choked on my sobs, tears dripping onto his face.

I said, “Okay, we don’t want him.”

With his last bit of strength, he hugged my neck and kissed my cheek.

“Mommy, I love you.”

Hearing the alarm from the monitor beside me, I couldn’t hold back anymore and tightened my arms around my baby.

Brandon Whitaker, the butler, turned his head away, unable to bear the sight.

My child was gone.

He was dead on the very day Elliott’s beloved woman came back from abroad.

I sat there, numb, clutching my baby’s lifeless body for what felt like forever, until finally, the doctor gently took him from my arms.

I signed my name in the family member section of the death certificate. That name I’d written countless times now took all my strength.

“Mrs. Caldwell, let’s go home first. I’ll have someone take care of things here,” Brandon said, helping me into the car, his face full of pity.

As we drove, I stared out at the bustling streets, tears pouring down my face like rain.

Then, my voice hoarse, I spoke,

“Brandon, tell the secretary to draft divorce papers for me.”

Brandon whipped around, stunned. “Mrs. Caldwell, you—”

I knew how shocked he was.

Everyone knew I was head over heels in love with Elliott.

I’d been married to Elliott for five years, sticking to him like glue even though he never gave me the time of day.

So of course Brandon didn’t buy it when I suddenly dropped the divorce bomb.

I closed my eyes, not in the mood to explain more.

I said, “We already had a prenuptial agreement, so the divorce papers should be easy. Tell him to bring them tomorrow. Once I sign, I’ll give them straight to Elliott.”