The Night of Your Surgery
I forbade Rex Blackwood from bringing his assistant to our lake house. He agreed, but behind my back, he bought her a penthouse in the city's most exclusive district.
The whole world said I had married the prince of the tech industry, that getting pregnant with twins was a fairy tale come true.
But on the day of my emergency C-section, I suffered a placental abruption and began to hemorrhage. Rex was on vacation with that woman at some lavish ski resort, completely unreachable on his private jet.
My mom crumpled to the floor outside the operating room, her calls to him—over forty of them—all going straight to voicemail.
Only later did I learn that his assistant, Chloe, had been with him since she was an eighteen-year-old college intern.
I took my twin boys and moved back to the apartment I’d had before the wedding. When Rex finally came looking for me, I was in the middle of changing a diaper.
He stood at the door, dressed in a bespoke suit and holding a gift box from a luxury baby boutique.
"Savannah, come home with me."
He held out the gift box. "I messed up."
I glanced up at him and smiled. "Messed up what?"
He froze. The question clearly caught him off guard.
I took the gift box from his hand and, right in front of him, tossed it into the recycling bin in the hallway.
"Messed up..."
I clapped my hands together, my voice deceptively soft. "Rex, you should have just had her carry your children instead of lying to me."