When I married Wyatt, I thought I was stepping into a perfect love story. He was charming, full of dreams, and made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.
But charm doesn’t build a marriage. And dreams don’t pay the bills.
A year later, my so-called fairy tale came crashing down when I found out about his infidelity. The betrayal left me shattered, and the divorce that followed was quick and emotionless—at least on paper.
No kids. No assets to fight over.
But the emotional damage? That stayed. And financially, I was drowning. Wyatt had left me with nothing but heartbreak and a mountain of legal bills.
I moved into a tiny apartment on the edge of the city and picked up a second job at my lawyer’s firm—probably out of pity, but I was in no position to refuse. I cut down on every expense possible, scraping by just to keep my head above water.
Life was exhausting. Lonely.
But I pushed through.
Then, one freezing afternoon, a package arrived at my door.
No name. No return address.
Inside was a set of keys and a note with an address, a date, and a time. Before I could ask the courier anything, he was already gone.
My heart pounded.
Was it Wyatt? Did he regret what he did? Was he trying to make things right?
I wasn’t foolish enough to think we could get back together, but maybe… just maybe… this was my chance for closure.
Following the address led me to a high-end apartment downtown—the kind of place I used to dream about living in. The key fit perfectly, and when I stepped inside, I saw someone waiting for me on a sleek white sofa.
Jill.
My ex-mother-in-law.
Her pearl necklace shimmered under the soft lights, and her smile was cool, almost rehearsed.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, motioning for me to sit.
I stayed standing. “What is this, Jill?” I asked, holding up the keys.
“This apartment is my gift to you,” she said smoothly. “Out of all the women my son has been with, you were the best. The most deserving.”
My stomach twisted.
The apartment could change my life. No more scraping by. No more sleepless nights worrying about rent.
But Jill wasn’t the type to hand out gifts without expecting something in return.
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the catch?”
She sighed as if I was being difficult. “A grandson.”
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
Jill tilted her head, her voice as calm as if she were discussing the weather. “Wyatt is my only child, and I doubt he’ll ever settle down and become a family man. But you… you were always a good match. Just invite him over, make him feel wanted. Once the baby arrives, I’ll make sure you have everything you need. A comfortable life, no stress, no worries.”
I stared at her, stunned. “And what if it’s a girl?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
She barely hesitated. “Then, you’ll try again, darling.”
Her words sent a wave of nausea through me. She didn’t see me as a person. She saw me as a tool to continue her bloodline.
“No.”
Jill’s expression faltered, her perfect mask cracking. “Think carefully, Emilia. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
I lifted my chin. “I have thought carefully. And I’d rather struggle on my own than sell my soul to you.”
I dropped the keys on the table and walked out, ignoring her protests behind me.
The next two years were the hardest—and the most rewarding—of my life.
I threw myself into my job, staying late, taking on extra work, and proving myself. One of the senior partners noticed my dedication and mentored me. Slowly, I climbed the ranks, each promotion a reminder that I didn’t need Wyatt or Jill or anyone else to survive.
Then I met Daniel.
He was an associate attorney at the firm—kind, steady, and quietly funny in a way that made bad days feel lighter. He knew all about my past with Wyatt, but he never pitied me.
“I mean it, Emilia,” he said one evening, handing me a bottle of water after a long meeting. “You pulled yourself out of a nightmare and built something real. That takes guts.”
Our first date was a simple coffee after work. By the third, I knew he was different. He wasn’t flashy or unpredictable like Wyatt. He was real.
A year later, we got married in a small ceremony surrounded by close friends and family. And a year after that, we had our son, Ethan.
I held him in my arms, tears filling my eyes. “Finally,” I whispered to Daniel. “I always knew I wanted to be a mom. But I also knew I couldn’t be a mom with Wyatt.”
Ethan became the center of our world.
One morning, while out for a walk in the park, I paused by a bench to adjust Ethan’s blanket. That’s when I saw her.
Jill.
She was crying, her face buried in her hands. She looked… different. Weary. Her once-polished appearance was gone. No pearls, no designer clothes. Just a tired, broken woman.
A stack of papers had fallen at her feet. Instinct took over. I reached into my diaper bag, pulled out some napkins, and approached her.
“Here,” I said softly. “Do you need any help?”
Jill looked up, startled. Her eyes flickered to Ethan, and something passed over her face—longing, regret, bitterness.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the napkins. I bent down to gather her papers and handed them back.
After a long silence, she spoke. “Wyatt got married again.” Her voice was brittle. “It didn’t last, of course. She was just as cunning as he was. Took him for everything. Now he has nothing.”
I didn’t know what to say. Despite everything, I felt… sorry for her.
“I’ve spent every penny trying to keep him afloat,” she whispered, shaking her head. “And now, I have nothing left either.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.” And I meant it.
She looked at Ethan again. “You could have given me a grandson after all,” she said, her voice almost wistful. “He’s beautiful.”
Then she stood, gathering her things. “Goodbye, Emilia.”
I watched her walk away, her back hunched against the cold.
A few minutes later, Daniel jogged up to me, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He leaned down, kissed me, and scooped Ethan out of the stroller, making him giggle.
“Ready to head home?” he asked.
I smiled, slipping my arm through his. “Yeah. Always.”
Together, we walked forward, leaving the past behind where it belonged.
