Eight months after divorcing me because I supposedly couldn’t give him a child, my ex-husband called from Ashborne to invite me to his wedding—and proudly announced that his pregnant fiancée had succeeded where I had “failed.”
He had no idea I was answering from a hospital bed with his newborn daughter sleeping beside me, or that his wedding invitation had just handed me the perfect stage to expose a betrayal far bigger than our marriage.
Part 1 My phone rang just after sunrise. I was wiped out from giving birth, my body still aching, my daughter sleeping peacefully beside me.
Then I saw the name. Barrett Osgood. Eight months since our divorce. I picked up.
“Come to my wedding,” he said. No hello. No apology. Then he laughed. “You should see what a real woman looks like, Elowen.
Fern’s pregnant.” I froze. “Unlike you.” Beside me, my newborn daughter let out a soft sigh.
His daughter. The child he had no idea existed. “You still there?” “Yes.”
“You always wanted a family,” Barrett said. “I figured you’d enjoy watching me finally get one.”
