The cruelty hit me with a half-second delay, filtered through the thick gauze of exhaustion. I blinked, my brain struggling to process the idea that my body—the vessel that had just carried triplets to term—was now a public offense to his brand.

“Mark,” I managed, my voice a dry rasp. “I just had three babies. Your babies.”

He didn’t flinch. He adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror, admiring the silhouette of a man who was already moving on. “And you let yourself go in the process,” he said, as if I had failed to meet a quarterly KPI. “I’ve arranged for the lawyers to handle the logistics. You can have the Connecticut estate. Consider it a donation.”

Then, the final reveal. The upgrade.

Chloe appeared in the doorway like a perfectly timed stage prop. She was twenty-two, with hair that looked like spun gold and makeup that hadn’t a single crease. She wore a dress that cost more than my first year of college tuition. She offered a small, victorious smile. Mark slid an arm around her waist, claiming his prize.

“We’re tired of the noise, Anna,” Mark said, his betrayal disguised as a promotion. “The hormones, the crying, the sight of you in those rags. It’s time for a fresh start.”