Garry drove me to the gates of the Henson villa.
He didn't come in. He just slipped off his jacket and draped it over my thin hospital gown.
"Marie, don't stand out here too long."
He pressed the bag of medical records into my hands.
"If you can't hold up, call me."
I nodded and pushed open the door I'd lived behind for three years.
A brand-new pair of children's sneakers sat in the entryway.
Beside them, Phoebe's limited-edition heels.
The wedding shoes Finn had knelt to slip onto my feet on our wedding day had been kicked into the corner.
The toes were grey with dust.
I remembered how he'd dropped to one knee that day, his voice gentle.
"Marie, I'll protect you for the rest of your life."
Looking back now, it was laughable.
The door to the master bedroom hung half open.
Phoebe sat on the edge of the bed in my favorite silk robe, coaxing Spencer Coleman to sleep.
On the nightstand was the little nightlight I'd bought for my baby.
The safety charm I'd gone to the temple to pray for hung around Spencer's neck.
I strode in and reached straight for that charm.
Spencer woke with a start and burst into wailing sobs.
Phoebe's eyes went red as she snatched the boy into her arms.
"Miss Swanson, what do you think you're doing!"
"Spencer is fragile, he can't handle being upset. Don't take it out on him!"
My mother-in-law, Linda Fox, came briskly down the stairs.
The sight of Spencer crying twisted her face. She raised her hand and slapped me.
My ear rang from the blow.
"Back five minutes and already dragging bad luck through my door?"
Linda jabbed a finger at my face.
"Marie, a wretched, luckless thing like you, everything you touch carries the stink of rot!"
I swallowed the iron taste of blood in my mouth and looked at her, cold.
"Where are my documents?"
Linda gave a cold laugh and snapped an order at the maid.
The maid carried out a cardboard box and dropped it at my feet.
Inside, scattered, were my ID, my household identity documents, and a few old clothes.
On top lay the little socks I'd bought for my baby.
Now shredded to pieces.
"All this bad-luck garbage, I dealt with it for you."
Linda smoothed her shawl.
I crouched down, hands trembling as I gathered the snipped-off threads.
The incision in my belly pulled tight, the pain breaking a cold sweat across my skin.
Phoebe walked over, watching me with a challenge in her eyes.
She leaned close and spoke softly.
"Marie, you couldn't keep your child, and you can't keep Finn either."
"If you hadn't played your dirty tricks back then, I'd be Mrs. Henson now. I'm back. People have to accept their lot eventually."
The triumph in her eyes was plain.
I clenched the broken threads in my fist. The moment I rose to my feet, hurried footsteps came from the doorway.
Finn strode in.
The first thing he saw was the men's jacket on my shoulders.
His face darkened.
"Your child's barely gone and you're already hunting for the next man?"
He stared at Garry's jacket, every word dripping with contempt.
I looked at the man I'd loved for three years.
"He's only my attending physician."
Finn scoffed.
"Three years ago you also swore you didn't drug me. And how did that turn out?"
"Marie, what is your word even worth?"
For a moment I couldn't process it.
My chest felt tight, and cold.
Phoebe spoke up, wounded.
"Finn, Spencer was just frightened by Miss Swanson. His asthma nearly flared up."
Finn brushed past me, went to the bed, and lifted Spencer into his arms.
He patted the boy's back, the motion practiced and tender.
"It's all right, Uncle's here."
I watched the scene, and my tears suddenly ran dry.
My child never even got the chance to be held by him once.
And here he was, playing the doting father to someone else's son.
Linda wouldn't let it go.
"Marie, apologize to Spencer right now! Otherwise don't even dream of taking those household documents."
I looked at Finn.
He frowned, not looking at me.
"Just apologize and we'll call it done. Phoebe suffered enough abroad. Now that she's back, stop making trouble for her."
He was always like this.
For the sake of his childhood sweetheart, he ground my dignity under his heel and offered me one weightless little word: "over."
I bent down toward the boy who'd taken my child's place.
"I'm sorry."
Phoebe covered her mouth, unable to hide the smile curling at the corners.
I picked up the household documents and turned to leave.
But Finn seized my wrist.
"A divorce? Of course you can have one."
He slapped a document down on the table, his voice hard.
"First sign this statement. Admit that three years ago, you drugged me to trap your way into this marriage."
I looked down at the document.
The final clause read: should I refuse to sign, the Henson family would lawfully pursue ownership of the century-old ancestral home in the prime district registered under my father's name.
