Chapter 2Left With Nothing But My Son

For my in-laws’ seventieth birthday, they booked the entire top floor of Bridgewater’s most exclusive hotel.

I wore the champagne dress Donovan had specified. But the place by his side, where I should have been standing, was occupied by Sophie.

When she walked in wearing the white couture gown I had admired but never dared to buy, every eye in the room turned to her.

“Donovan, sorry I’m late,” she cooed, her voice sickeningly sweet.

Donovan kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. The star of the show always arrives last.”

My in-laws frowned but said nothing. A few of his uncles exchanged glances, a mixture of mockery and malicious glee.

I was seated at the far end of the long table, with distant relatives I barely knew.

After a few rounds of drinks, Sophie sauntered over, holding a wine glass. Her voice was sharp enough for the entire room to hear.

“Mrs. Ashford, could you get me a glass of hot water? I’m not feeling well.”

Everyone looked at me.

Donovan continued cutting his steak, not even lifting his head.

I put down my glass. “The waiter is right behind you.”

Her smile faltered for a second before she recovered. “But I want you to get it for me.”

I met her gaze calmly. “Miss Miller, if you want water, you can ask your boyfriend to get it for you.”

A few stifled laughs rippled through the nearby tables.

Sophie’s eyes instantly filled with tears.

“Donovan…” she turned to the head of the table, her voice trembling.

Donovan finally stood up. “Vivienne, it’s just a glass of water. Why do you have to be so petty?”

I looked at his cold, hard eyes, then stood, poured a glass of water, and pushed it across the table toward her.

Sophie didn’t take it. Tears streamed down her face. “Donovan, I was just trying to be friendly with her…”

Donovan’s expression darkened completely. “Apologize.”

The room fell silent.

My mother-in-law turned her face away. My father-in-law sighed.

I just stood there.

The eyes of everyone in the room were on me, a mix of pity, scorn, contempt, and morbid curiosity.

I remembered this same ballroom, one year ago today. Donovan had held my hand and introduced me to everyone.

“This is my wife, Vivienne.”

There had been pride in his eyes then, even if it was just a flicker.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I shouldn’t have told you to call a waiter yourself.”

The party ended on a sour note.

Late that night, Donovan came home smelling of alcohol and slammed the divorce papers on the table.

He lit a cigarette. “Sophie wants a home. She’s had a hard life. Just sign it.”

I stared at the document, and my mind drifted to the night he proposed. He had arranged roses in the shape of a heart on the lawn below my apartment, the hand holding the ring trembling.

“Vivienne, marry me. I’ll make you happy for the rest of your life.”

There was sincerity in his eyes then, even if it was just for a moment.

“Noah has to come with me.”

Donovan laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “You can’t afford him.”

I stood up. I was a full head shorter than him, but my spine was straight.

“Then I’ll see you in court.”

The smile vanished from his face. He stared at me, his expression a complex mix of emotions that finally settled into a sneer.

“Fine. If you insist on humiliating yourself, I’ll indulge you.”

He turned at the door. “Vivienne, you can’t win against me. Do you really think a single doctor stands a chance against the Ashford family’s legal team?”

The door closed.

Rain began to fall outside, drumming against the windowpanes. In the garden, the roses Donovan had planted himself before we were married were being battered by the storm. “Roses for my rose,” he had said.

Now, the roses were dying.

I walked back to Noah’s crib and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“Don’t worry, my love,” I whispered. “Mommy won’t lose.”

From the study, I heard the sound of something shattering.

The war had begun.