Chapter 3Too Late To Beg Professor Crawford

I have no recollection of how I managed to get back to our apartment.

By the time the front door clicked shut, I had already dragged my hard-shell suitcase from the top of the closet, flinging drawer after drawer of clothing inside.

Ten minutes later, Garrett burst through the door, his tie undone, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and rain. He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed the handle of the suitcase, wrenching it away.

"Nora!" He was panting, completely unmoored. "Just listen to me for one minute, please! I deleted her! I went there today purely to cut the cord, to end the lease on that house. Nothing happened between us today, I swear to God!"

Listening to him double down on his lies exhausted me to my bones. I looked up, meeting his eyes with cold, heavy contempt.

"Did you forget that your cottage has sheer curtains, Garrett? I stood in the yard. I saw everything."

His jaw went slack.

Before he could construct his next defense, the electronic deadbolt chimed. The front door swung open.

It was Brooke.

She had entered using our personal security code.

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "You know the code. You’ve been here before, haven't you? How many times did the two of you sleep in our bed while I was out on business?"

Brooke ignored Garrett’s murderous glare. She walked straight into our living room, one hand resting deliberately over her lower stomach.

"I’m pregnant," she announced clearly. "Eight weeks."

Garrett spun around as if struck by lightning. "Pregnant?" His voice dropped an octave, laced with disbelief and mounting fury. "How the hell are you pregnant? We always—"

He choked on his own words, realizing what he had just admitted, and looked back at me in pure panic.

Eight weeks.

The number echoed in my hollow skull.

Eight weeks ago was the week I lost our baby after a distracted driver clipped my sedan at an intersection.

I remembered waking up in the post-op recovery room, the sterile hospital lights glaring overhead. Garrett had knelt beside my bed, holding my hand against his cheek, weeping so hard his shoulders shook, repeating over and over that it was his fault, that he should have driven me, that he failed to protect us.

And now I knew.

During the day, he wept over my empty womb. At night, he went to her bed to plant his seed.

Brooke saw the redness in my eyes and smiled with predatory satisfaction.

"You know why, don't you, Nora? Because the doctors told him your uterine lining was torn beyond repair. You can never carry to term again. What kind of self-respecting man accepts an empty bloodline? My child is going to be his true heir."

I took a slow, deep breath, forcing the tremor out of my hands.

"An heir?" I looked at her, letting the coldness settle over my voice. "If your only value on this earth is acting as an unpaid surrogate, by all means, go pop out ten more. See if it earns you a wedding band."

"You—" Brooke bristled, raising her hand to strike me.

"Enough!" Garrett seized her wrist mid-air.

Yet even in his fury, his other arm moved instinctively, subtly shielding her abdomen from any collision.

I saw the gesture. The small, protective arch of his elbow.

It settled inside me like a block of ice.

Before anyone could speak, the buzzer at the building entrance sounded, followed by the heavy clatter of footsteps in the hallway.

Garrett’s parents let themselves in.

The moment his mother, Evelyn Crawford, crossed the threshold, her eyes bypassed me entirely and locked onto Brooke. She swept the girl behind her like a hen guarding a chick.

"Nobody lays a hand on my grandchild!" Evelyn snapped.

The look she gave me was filled with open resentment, as if I were the interloper trespassing in my own home.

I dug my nails into my palms until the skin broke, feeling no physical pain at all. In the shadows where I hadn't looked, this family had already accepted her. I had been excised from the equation long ago.

Garrett ripped his tie completely off his neck, running a hand through his hair in mounting irritation. "Mom, Dad, get out of here. Stop making this worse!"

Evelyn scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Brooke is carrying Crawford blood. That makes her the most important person in this room! What, you expect us to let this family line die out just to coddle her fragile pride?" She glared at me, her mouth twisting. "I haven't demanded you file for divorce yet, Nora. That’s already more grace than you deserve."

Every word was a slap, making sure I understood my place: an infertile liability.

Brooke leaned against Evelyn’s shoulder, looking over with smug pity. "Thank you, Mrs. Crawford."

"Don't worry, darling," Evelyn patted her hand. "We take care of our own."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Garrett looked at the floor, his jaw working.

"Mom," he said quietly, his voice carrying a strange, calculating calm. "When this baby is born, Brooke signs away her rights. Nora will raise the child as her own. In my eyes, Nora is the only mother my children will ever have."

Brooke gasped, backing away from him in horror. "Garrett! Are you out of your mind? This is my baby!"

I stood by my half-packed suitcase, looking at the man I had called my husband, and felt an overwhelming wave of revulsion.

He truly believed he was offering me a profound mercy. He believed I should drop to my knees in gratitude for the privilege of raising his mistress’s child.