"I want her to have the baby."
I stared blankly at Dennis sitting across from me. My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. The hand resting on my lower abdomen clenched involuntarily.
"You're sure about this?"
"If you really are, I'll make room for her."
Dennis looked up at me in disbelief. He probably hadn't expected it to go this smoothly.
But the flicker of relief vanished almost instantly. He grabbed my hand, his voice cracking.
"Sarah, did you ever love me? Even once?"
"Is it still him? That damn first love of yours?!"
"The affair, the divorce, even if I brought her home today to carry the baby to term, you wouldn't care at all, would you!"
I watched Dennis spiral. Watched him hurl an entire cabinet's worth of liquor to the floor.
I let him pin me down and take what he wanted, over and over, without resisting once.
"Sarah, could you just... even a little... just love me a little, that's all I'm asking..."
I said nothing.
In the days that followed, Dennis rarely came home at night. Jane was on his arm at every occasion.
At events where I wasn't present, he shielded her from drinking toasts, held her umbrella, drove her to and from work. They looked like any couple drunk on new love.
The tabloid rumors spread like wildfire, and every time, I was the one who stepped in to clean it up, buying out every planted story.
I sat securely in my seat as Mrs. Whitney, mopping up Dennis's messes. But Jane was getting restless.
Or maybe it was the baby in her belly that couldn't wait.
"Ms. Sullivan, when exactly are you going to agree to the divorce?"
"I don't want my child born without being on the family register."
I stirred my coffee slowly, caught somewhere between a laugh and a grimace. "The registration is easy to solve. One word from Mr. Whitney and it's done."
"You're too naive, Ms. Henson. A marriage like ours between two powerful families involves too many entangled interests to end simply."
"Think about it. Does a family like the Whitneys really have room for a mistress and an illegitimate child?"
"Besides, it's not that I won't divorce him. It's that your Mr. Whitney refuses to let me go."
Perhaps my words cut too close to the bone.
That night, Jane tried to kill herself.
The baby didn't survive.
Dennis came storming home, eyes shot through with red. His hand closed around my throat, and he nearly took my life with it.
"Sarah, who told you to go to her!"
"Do you have any idea she almost died! A few words from you, and the baby is gone!"
"Sarah, is this how badly you want this divorce?"
"Fine! We'll divorce!"
I found out later that Jane had slit her wrists to force Dennis into divorcing me, and the baby was lost in the process.
She told him I was the one who sought her out.
One sentence from her, "I love you that much," was enough to keep Dennis's heart.
And one more, "Sarah never loved you," was enough to sever the last thread between us.
"Jane Henson was never actually pregnant."
"She's just a kept woman trying to claw her way up. The whole thing was a performance she staged herself."
"You have to hand it to Mrs. Whitney, though. Agreeing to divorce just like that. If it were me, I wouldn't rest until I'd made that cheating bastard and his little tramp suffer for years."
By the time those words reached my ears, the hand I'd been using to sign the divorce papers went still.
"I'm not signing."
"Dennis, you're the one at fault. I want you to walk out of this marriage with nothing."
And so the lawsuit dragged on for two years.
Long enough for Mick Sanchez to appear at my side.
The truth was, I didn't care how much money I got out of the Whitney family. I just wanted to make Jane's life miserable.
But Mick showing up, the scheme Mick had orchestrated, suddenly made the whole thing feel pointless.
I couldn't even be bothered to dig into whatever connection the two of them shared.
"Sign it."
I pushed the papers across the table to Dennis's side.
