Three years into our marriage, Nigel Gilbert had sent me to the police station ten times. I'd sent him to the hospital eleven.
Because every time I slapped his precious first love, he called the cops.
And every time I got out, I'd fight with him until one of us ended up in the ER.
Then came the business trip to Dubai. He shielded me from a collapsing beam. I shielded him from shrapnel.
From our hospital beds, we reached across the aisle and held hands.
"No more fighting, babe."
"I'll send her away."
"Let's just... be good to each other. Okay?"
Looking at the bandages covering both our bodies, I tore up the divorce papers with trembling hands.
"One last try."
Shirley Henson was sent away in tears.
Every trace of her was scrubbed from his phone.
Nigel gritted through the pain and had my name tattooed over his heart.
"I swear, you won't regret this."
On our seventh anniversary, the police called and asked me to come in.
A married couple had reported that my company's products gave their child food poisoning.
The wife was Shirley Henson.
The husband was Nigel Gilbert.
He lit a cigarette.
"She and I have a three-year-old kid. That's the situation."
We'd been back together for four years.
The child was three.
His buddies told me I should be grateful he'd at least had the decency to hide it.
I pulled out the divorce agreement from four years ago.
"Then let's make it official."
...
Shirley left the station clutching her son, sobbing.
Because I'd shut her down so thoroughly she couldn't get a word out.
Against my legal expertise, she didn't stand a chance.
She cried out of sheer frustration.
Back at the house, I stormed through the front door. Nigel followed, frowning.
"Would it kill you to show a little decency? Bullying a mother and her child—what does that prove?"
"Bullying?"
I spun around.
"There is nothing wrong with my company's products. She obviously fed her own kid something he shouldn't have eaten and tried to pin it on me for a payout. You couldn't see that?
"So tell me—who's bullying who?"
Nigel's brow creased.
I stepped closer.
"You know exactly how clean my formulas are. And you still helped them file a report."
A cold laugh escaped me. I looked at him with nothing but contempt. "You really haven't changed at all."
He let out a breath.
"Chloe Simmons, you can be really heartless sometimes."
I froze.
"The kid is three years old. She's a first-time mother. Her child was hospitalized with food poisoning—of course she panicked.
"You couldn't show an ounce of compassion, fine. But you went after a single mom and tore her apart over a small mistake.
"You..."
His gaze swept over me.
Then his lips curled into something cruel.
"Oh, right. You'll never be a mother yourself, so I guess you wouldn't understand what it feels like to have a child."
I stared at him in disbelief.
The next second, my palm cracked across his face.
"Nigel Gilbert! Whose fault is it that I can't be a mother? You don't remember?"
Something flickered behind his eyes. He lowered his gaze, unable to meet mine.
I didn't let him look away.
"Back in college, you got drunk and picked a fight. They came at you with a broken bottle.
"I stepped in front of you. The glass went into my stomach. That's why I can't carry a child."
Guilt bled across his face.
My lips twisted into a bitter smile.
"If I'd known you started that fight because of Shirley Henson—because of those guys hitting on her—I never would have saved you. Not in a million years."
His throat bobbed.
"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"You've said a lot of things you shouldn't have. Seven years' worth."
I looked at him.
