Chapter 6

Sierra swept into the room, positioning herself possessively beside him.

"Sign it, honey," she urged. "We can start our real life together. I'll give you the children you deserve."

Marcus shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.

I looked at her and smirked. "Convince him. Don't you want to finally graduate from being the other woman?"

She glared daggers at me. "Don't act so superior. What do you have besides a piece of paper? This past year, he spent every holiday with me. Even the night you delivered, he was in my bed!"

I grabbed the cup of water from the bedside table and threw it squarely in her face.

"And you're proud of being a homewrecker?"

"Clara! How dare you!"

She lunged to slap me, but Marcus caught her wrist.

"Enough! Leave us," he ordered.

Pouting, she whined, "Honey..."

His tone softened. "Wait outside. I'll take you home later."

She shot me a final venomous look before flouncing out.

"Sign it," I said, my voice flat and cold.

Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his. "Forgive me. Let's just wipe the slate clean. We have a son—let's raise him together."

I glanced toward the door, where I could see Sierra peeking through the crack.

"What about her? Can you cut her off completely?"

He hesitated, then offered his grand solution. "I'll set you up down south and send her up north. You'll never have to cross paths."

Slap!

I rose from the bed and struck him hard across the face. I should have done this the very day I found out.

"You think you can have your cake and eat it too? Dream on, Marcus. I'm divorcing you!"

I jabbed the nurse call button repeatedly. When the nurse entered, I pointed at Marcus.

"Please make this man leave. He's disturbing my recovery."

The next day, I discharged myself. I packed efficiently and took my son to the airport. By that afternoon, we had arrived at Nana's house.

Nana's face lit up the moment she saw her great-grandson.

"My sweet boy—finally, I get to hold you."

Nana, a retired professor, was one of the few highly educated women of her generation. That night, she didn't ask a single question; she just held me while I finally slept deeply.

I stayed for a month, slowly feeling my strength return.

Then Marcus called.

"It's been a month. Are you done with your little tantrum?" he asked. "I bought Sierra a place up north. She promised to stay there if you come back, so you'll never see her again. She's compromising. What more do you want?"

His tone was meant to sound conciliatory, but I heard the underlying condescension. He genuinely believed that being married to him was a privilege.

My reply was glacial.

"I only want one thing: the divorce."

"You—" he started, but I ended the call.