Pregnancy should have been the happiest time of my life. Instead, I spent those months discovering just how deep betrayal could cut. First, my husband’s infidelity – then learning his mistress was my own sister.
Harry’s cruelty knew no bounds. He questioned if the baby was his while packing my bags. He took our shared home despite having been unemployed for months. He even tried turning my family against me – not realizing they’d never been on my side to begin with.
My grandmother’s dying gift – her home and life savings – became my sanctuary and my son’s future. When Stephanie came crawling back months later, destitute and abandoned by the man she stole from me, I finally understood: losing them wasn’t a tragedy. It was liberation.
The woman who walked away from that marriage was stronger than the one who entered it. And my son would grow up knowing his worth – something it took me thirty years to learn.
