My voice dripped with mockery.
If she hadn't thought I could carry on the Henson bloodline, she probably wouldn't have spared me a second glance.
I kept my tone even.
"I'd better clear out quickly. Wouldn't want to get in the way of your next bride—that would be unforgivable of me."
Piers' voice cut through, cold and sharp. "Vera, what the hell are you talking about?"
I met his gaze without flinching.
"We're getting the divorce on the eighth. The County Clerk's Office opens that day."
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward the nursery to check on Terry.
But my mind drifted back—to what happened not long ago.
Minnie had shown up on Little New Year's Eve, seeking out Piers.
Her face was pale, her coat far too thin for the winter cold.
"Piers."
The moment her voice reached him, his eyes went red.
He shot to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor, and crossed the room to drape his coat over her shoulders, his movements tender with concern.
"I'm sorry, Piers. I had nowhere else to turn."
"Lana Abbott is sick. Please—I'm begging you—save her."
That was the first time I'd ever seen Piers lose his composure like that.
He left. Just like that. Left me and Terry behind without a backward glance.
He didn't come home that night.
When Terry woke, he crawled into my arms, all chubby limbs and sleepy warmth.
"Mama."
I pressed a kiss to his little cheek.
Myra chose that moment to enter the nursery.
"You gave the Henson family an heir. Credit where it's due—even with the divorce, you won't walk away empty-handed."
I didn't know what Piers had said to her, but she'd agreed to let me take Terry.
I didn't refuse.
Her cold gaze swept over me.
"If you hadn't given birth to Terry, you wouldn't get a single cent."
I didn't doubt for a second that she meant it.
"Grandma, that's enough."
Piers appeared in the doorway, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. He stepped in front of me, just as he always had.
Shielding me from Myra's barbs.
I remembered the early days of our marriage, before Terry came along.
Myra had scoured every corner of the city for fertility remedies, brewing bitter concoctions and forcing them on me daily.
The taste was vile. I hated every drop.
But I never dared refuse.
Back then, Piers would always step in. He'd send Myra away, then pour the medicine down the drain.
"If you don't want to drink it, don't."
I'd gaze at him, heart full to bursting, though a sliver of worry remained.
"What if Grandma finds out? She'll be furious."
He'd tap my nose, playful and reassuring.
"You won't tell. I won't tell. Who's going to know?"
"I didn't marry you just to have sons."
Back then, I truly believed he was the one.
Until two weeks ago, when I discovered a secret buried in his computer.
A password-protected folder. Thousands of photos. Him and another woman.
I clicked through them, one by one.
Piers walked into the study at that exact moment. The instant he saw me at his computer, his expression twisted with rage. He lunged forward and snatched it away.
"Vera, who the hell told you to touch my computer?"
His voice was a thunderclap. His tone, vicious.
I froze. Stared at him. Couldn't process what I was seeing.
A beat passed. Something in his face shifted—perhaps he realized he'd gone too far.
His demeanor softened. He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean it. I just—I panicked."
I drew a slow breath and pointed at the screen.
"What is that?"
His expression darkened, just for a flash.
"She's my first love."
The girl in those photos—his first love. They'd fallen for each other when they were young.
