Three days after my C-section, my husband—the man who had just sealed his eternal bond with his newest obsession on a private island—finally showed his face. He was cooing at the baby, a strange, pinched smile on his face, when he casually dropped the first bombshell. "The little guy’s tougher than we thought, isn't he? That bleeding scare you had in the third month didn't faze him at all." He leaned closer, his voice low and devoid of warmth. “Actually, that wasn’t a miscarriage threat from eating the wrong thing. It was an infection. I was with her, didn’t clean up, and then came to you. That’s how you got it.” He paused, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “My poor little Tatum was just worried you were going to monopolize me. She came up with the idea to slow you down. Can’t blame the girl.” I met his gaze, my eyes wide with incredulity and sickness. He shrugged, then flicked two hundred thousand dollars into my account as a casual "sorry." “Don’t stress yourself out while you’re healing, Evie. A First Lady has to be gracious. The baby’s healthy, and no one is actually going to threaten your position.” Watching his back as he walked away, I didn't scream, didn't rail, didn't shatter the way I had the last few times. Instead, I looked at the grand total in my account—a cool $5.2 million. I had the last payment. The final price to buy back my freedom. From now on, I wouldn't have to keep a vigil over a man who had stopped loving me—if he ever had. 1. Harrison “Harry” Price chuckled, a tight, controlled sound, and pushed his phone toward me. The screen displayed a quick, unforgiving photo of my face from moments ago: the raw, stunned horror when I realized he was the reason I was fighting a postnatal infection. My eyes were puffy, my skin sallow; the horizontal shot magnified every bit of misery. I instinctively reached for the phone to delete the image. He smoothly pulled it away. “A shame to waste such a perfect shot. I told her I’d capture your face when you heard the news.” “Tatum’s been sulking because you had my son. She hasn’t let me touch her in three days. I had to use you to coax her back.” His cynical indifference was a slow, deliberate carving knife, shaving away my dignity until nothing but bone was left. He discussed his infidelity with the same airy tone one might use to debate the dinner menu. The man who, on our wedding day, had vowed eternal fidelity had, long ago, betrayed every single word. Ding-dong. His special notification tone for her rang. It was a voice note. Tatum’s voice was too loud, too bright. “Oh my God, Evie looks terrible! Childbirth really does make you ugly. I am never having a baby!” She switched to a purring demand. “You have to use protection with me, Harry! I won't turn into a drab, yellow-faced wife!” Harry’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Gone was the performative indignation he’d shown years ago when she’d first called me too ordinary for him. “Of course not, sweetheart. The Price legacy requires a legitimate heir, but my pretty plaything is just here to keep me happy.” He laughed. “Are you feeling better now? Let’s review that position we tried last week. Go wash up and put on that sheer bodysuit. I’ll be there soon.” The voice note ended with a whoosh. He snapped the phone shut, his face glowing with a smug, satisfied hunger. He noticed my glistening eyes, gave my cheek a patronizing squeeze. “It is a bit slack, isn’t it? Relax, Evie. It’s not the first time you’ve heard me flirting with her. Why the distress? She’s just a diversion. The novelty will wear off, and I’ll find the next one. You have the child. Your position is unshakeable. Get some perspective.” He slid his hands into his pockets and strolled out, his steps light and easy. He called her a diversion, but in the last two years, his need for "novelty" had known no end. And the "unshakeable position" was a title anyone could challenge. Ten minutes later, my phone pinged with a debit notification from a pharmacy. The purchase: three boxes of Durex Ultra-Thin, Strawberry Flavor condoms. Immediately after, a text message from him arrived. [The emergency stash is running low. You’ve been paying for more lately. Top it up.] Looking at the deliberately provocative message, I felt none of the raw, searing rage that had driven me to crash their rendezvous spots the first time I saw a charge for birth control. I simply opened the delivery app, found the address I knew was Tatum’s, and ordered five more boxes. Thirty minutes later, the final two hundred thousand dollars of the 'compensation' hit my account. The total was exactly $5.2 million. I calmly screenshotted the transfer history and sent it to his mother, Victoria Price, who was handling some private business overseas. [The payment is complete. Let’s finalize the divorce agreement quickly.] 2. The first ‘compensation’ transfer from Harry had come when I stumbled upon his lewd texts with his secretary. We fought, I shouted, I hysterically begged him to stop, and in the chaos, he shoved me. I fell and had a miscarriage. That night, he signed over ownership of every liquid asset he could, kneeling before me, pleading for one last chance. I didn't take the assets. I gave him a different condition. “From now on, every time you violate my trust, you owe me two hundred thousand dollars. When the total hits five point two million, I walk away for good.” He thought it was a desperate, angry joke. I never told him the real reason for the exact number. Long before he begged me not to divorce him, his mother, Victoria, had. Harry had paid off my bankrupt gambler father’s millions in debt to marry me. Victoria told me I could only divorce when that debt—plus a significant sum for "pain and suffering"—was repaid. I knew she wasn’t truly demanding the money. She was trying to use me to tether her son, who had inherited his father’s fickle blood. When I first found out I was pregnant again, I wanted to terminate the pregnancy. But Harry came home, playing the devoted husband, treating me with the tenderness he hadn't shown since we were dating, claiming he finally wanted a real family. It lasted until the fifth month—the safe point of no return for an abortion. Then, his old habits returned with a vengeance. After sending the text, I received the draft of the electronic divorce settlement. I let out the breath I’d been holding for months. The day I was discharged to the specialized postpartum care center, Harry came to pick us up. The nurse was in the back with Max and a mountain of baby gear. I took the passenger seat—a place I hadn't sat in years. The seat was reclined wide. When I reached for the adjustment knob, my hand snagged on a scrap of ruined, black pearl-lace lingerie. “That girl is wild, Evie. She wants to try every corner of the house. And the car.” He smirked, looking for the familiar flush of hysteria in my eyes. I simply took my hand away, leaving the pathetic garment exactly where it was. He was momentarily stunned, then let out a dismissive snort. “Impressive control. You’ve become much more generous. It’s a good thing you sent those five extra boxes yesterday, or her clinging would’ve been unbearable. If you’d been this understanding sooner, we might already be planning for a second baby.” I didn’t reply, resting my head back, feigning sleep. A few minutes later, that distinctive notification tone rang again. A knot tightened in my stomach—the familiar prelude to disaster. Sure enough, he slammed on the brakes, pulling off onto a deserted shortcut that cut through a construction zone. “You two wait here. Tatum has a terrible toothache. I’m dropping her off at the dentist. I’ll be back for you shortly.” He unlocked the doors, practically throwing my oversized diaper bag out, and yanked me out of the car. With a screech, the car sped away. The nurse looked at me, confusion mixing with outrage. I ignored the deep ache in my C-section scar and pointed to a black SUV rounding the corner behind us. “We’re taking that one. It’s my mother-in-law’s car.” The nurse looked at me, then the fast-approaching luxury vehicle. I simply smiled. A year ago, I had believed his empty promise to wait and had stood abandoned in the freezing cold until I became hypothermic. He’d only returned to scold me for calling the police and interrupting his quality time with Tatum. Since then, I never traveled with him without a backup plan. Being left behind was simply a known quantity now. That night, Harry returned to the spot, breathless and frantic, having found us gone. “Why didn’t you call me once you got a ride? I drove all the way back here to look for you!” “I sent you a text. You didn’t see it.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Then why didn’t you call? I thought something terrible had happened!” I paused for a beat, then gave a slow, smooth reply. “You told me never to call you when you were with Tatum.” 3. The last time, when the baby was misdiagnosed with Down syndrome, I was so terrified I could barely stand. I called him, only for Tatum to take the phone and switch to video. She was wearing a tight nurse uniform, giggling hysterically. “Evie, Harry said if the baby’s sick, you treat it. If you can’t, you abort it. Calling him won’t help.” “We’re role-playing right now. We don’t have time for your check-in calls. He said he might record something for you to use as a lullaby later.” She hung up, and Harry quickly followed with a text. [From now on, only text me. If I don't respond, I'm with someone else. Don't interrupt.] He froze, processing my words, then his lips curved into a satisfied half-smile. “Finally listening to reason. Good, that earns you a star. Though that time, I genuinely didn’t know it was about the baby, or I wouldn't have let her talk like that.” He pulled two necklaces from his pocket. One was a heavy, pure gold locket for Max. Max cried the moment Harry’s hand touched him, as if repulsed. Harry flinched, then handed me the other, a cheap, diamond-chip necklace. “Here. I saw this at the auction yesterday when I was with Tatum. Thought it might suit you.” It was from the auction, but I’d seen it on Tatum’s Instagram feed: a throw-in, a free gift that came with a $2-million pink diamond, practically worthless. He went to put it around my neck. I flinched back, shrinking away from his touch. His brows furrowed, his eyes darkening with immediate displeasure. “What is this? I compliment you, and now you’re playing hard to get?” A bitter, cold wave of self-mockery washed over me. He still thought I was so easily placated by these pathetic gestures. “You misunderstand, Harry. I’m highly allergic to this particular material.” His face stiffened. He seemed to have forgotten the millions he'd spent years ago to have a custom, hypoallergenic wedding band made for me. In the past, when I still desperately hoped for his affection, I would have accepted anything he gave me, even if it caused a rash or discomfort. Anything for a flicker of his approval. I had run myself ragged chasing that last gasp of our relationship. And for what? This. After that day, he found the perfect excuse not to visit. I was relieved, using the quiet time to focus on my recovery, physical therapy, and Max. His social media, however, was a constant feed: today, Ferris wheels with Tatum; tomorrow, filming a low-budget commercial; mornings spent cooking her breakfast; afternoons hitting viral restaurants; and, occasionally, rich and chaotic nightlife posts at 3 AM. Everyone in his company was buzzing, calling her the longest-lasting mistress, speculating on when he'd finally toss out the "old wife." From the fifth month of my pregnancy until the day I gave birth, I brought up divorce countless times. But Harry refused. He didn’t want to give up the illusion of a picture-perfect family. If he had agreed earlier, I might have even accepted being "kicked out." The day before I was due to sign the final divorce papers, we hosted Max’s first-month celebration. Harry arrived, dramatically, with Tatum on his arm. He even led her to the seat beside him—the seat of the Lady of the House. He held the baby, cooing at him. Tatum leaned in close. “Hello, little man. I’m your stepmommy.” The silence in the room was deafening. Every guest's face froze. Before anyone could speak, Harry smiled, looking only at me. “I forgot to mention, Evie. Tatum brought a gift for Max. She’s going to be his godmother.” Tatum slid a heavy gold bracelet onto Max’s wrist, her eyes full of venomous triumph as she looked at me. “I’ll help you take care of the baby, Evie. We’ll do it together.” Ignoring the heat of my mother-in-law’s hand trying to clamp down on mine, I smiled faintly and calmly took Max from Harry’s arms. “How thoughtful. A spiritual advisor recently told me Max’s astrological sign was too strong; he needed a God-Parent to absorb the bad karma and prevent disaster.” I looked pointedly at Tatum. “You are truly a saint, Tatum, to solve this problem for me. I accept the gift. Thank you for taking on Max’s bad luck.” Their faces instantly crumpled. Tatum’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s okay, Evie. Anything for Harry’s child. Taking on his bad luck is nothing—I would die for him.” She sniffled, looking piteously at Harry. “Maybe I should just leave now. I’m too tainted. I don’t want to spread my misfortune to everyone else.” She picked up her purse and began to leave. Harry glared at me, ready to follow her. Victoria grabbed his sleeve, her eyes sharp. “It is your son’s celebration. You will not chase a tramp out the door in front of all these people! Are you trying to shame our family forever?” Harry hesitated, about to retort. I spoke first, smiling at Victoria. “Let him go, Mom. Max is the only star tonight.” Victoria sighed, releasing her hold. “Get out! And if you ever bring that trash here again, don’t bother coming back yourself!” Harry searched my face, looking for the familiar desperation and cruelty that always reassured him. But I gave him nothing. I simply turned away, raising my glass of iced tea to toast the guests. The party wasn’t a triumph of etiquette, but at least Max was too young to remember it. And I was fine. Tomorrow, I would have the divorce papers. Victoria took us back to the family estate for our final night there. Max fell asleep on the sofa, and Victoria went to fetch a handmade blanket for him. 4. Suddenly, the massive front door slammed open. Harry stormed in, cradling a sobbing Tatum in his arms. “Evelyn! I underestimated you! Where is the bracelet? Give it back! You won’t believe it—Tatum came down with a mysterious fever this afternoon, and then she was in a car accident on the way to the hospital.” He was breathless, enraged. “I thought it was a coincidence until I ran into a traveling missionary who knew exactly what happened! You put a curse, a hex, on that bracelet to bring her bad luck! How can you be so maliciously wicked?” This from the man who called me superstitious when I prayed for days after my bleeding scare. I laughed, a short, cold sound. “And you believed that? It was a casual dig. You think I’ve been out of the house, three days post-surgery, finding a missionary to put a jinx on a piece of jewelry? Which chapel, Harry? Ask your missionary.” He stammered, unable to answer. Tatum, however, was already taking action. She pulled a prayer amulet from her bag and walked toward Max. “It’s okay, Evie. Maybe I just have a weak constitution. But this is a blessed amulet from the chapel. I want to trade it for that gold bracelet.” I stepped in front of Max. “I won’t take your amulet. I’ll return the bracelet tomorrow. Max is sleeping. I need you to leave now.” Harry glared, his eyes bloodshot. “Why can’t you give it to me now? What are you going to do with it?” Before I could speak, Harry grabbed the sleeping baby. “What are you doing? Don’t touch him!” Tatum seized Max’s arm, forcibly yanking the bracelet off. “Evie, I’m doing this for you. No matter how much you hate me, you can’t use a child to do evil! If you continue this way, the bad karma will come back on him! We have to take it off now!” Max cried out in pain and shock. My heart lurched. I lunged forward, hitting Tatum with a searing slap across the face that sent her tumbling. “Stop lying! I told you, I did nothing! Don’t you dare touch my son!” Tatum looked up at Harry, her face wet with manufactured tears. The next second, Harry’s eyes were blazing red. He shoved me violently, sending me staggering backward, and carelessly dropped Max back onto the sofa. He rushed to Tatum, helping her up with agonizing care. “We’re trying to save you and the baby from sin! Look at you, Evie! You’re insane!” The unhealed C-section scar collided with the sharp corner of the coffee table. A white-hot, ripping pain exploded through me. But the cold dread that settled over me was worse: he had zero concern for his own flesh and blood. Victoria, rushing in at the sound of the cries, helped me up. She scooped up a screaming Max. She spun around and slapped Harry across the face. “You animal! A tiger doesn't eat its cubs, but you’re worse than your own father! You abuse your son for a tramp!” “You will regret this! Get out! Get out of my house! Don’t ruin our last night together!” “It was her fault…” Harry’s frantic eyes suddenly went still. He looked from his mother to me. “What do you mean, last night?” But before he could finish, Tatum collapsed into a dramatic faint on the floor. He instantly lost focus, scooping her up in his arms. As he reached the door, he glanced back at me. A flash of pure, unadulterated panic crossed his face. “I’m coming back tomorrow for the bracelet! Don’t try anything!” Victoria slammed the door shut, tears streaming down her face. The next morning, the household manager quietly returned with the freshly stamped, final divorce certificate. I didn't wake Victoria. I placed the certificate beneath the gold bracelet, nestled it all inside the velvet box he’d used to present my expensive, custom wedding ring. I left the box conspicuously on the living room table. Looking down at Max in his bassinet, I spoke with a lightness I hadn't felt in years. “Time for a new life, little one.” He suddenly grinned, his eyes crinkling into happy crescents. In the sound of his innocent, unknowing laughter, we boarded the plane that would take us to a new world.
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