I was a goddamn idiot.
Raising someone else's kid and feeling proud of myself for it.
There probably wasn't a bigger fool on the face of the earth.
I wondered how Louise and Bill laughed about me behind closed doors.
Rage. Humiliation. Bitter refusal to accept it—all of it crashed together inside my chest.
My fists clenched until my knuckles went white.
It took every ounce of strength I had to keep the all-consuming rage from tearing its way out.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
"Attorney Matthews, I need you to prepare a divorce agreement."
I ignored his shock on the other end and calmly told him to make it fast.
Louise didn't come home that night.
The next morning, I was jolted awake by my phone ringing. I glanced at the caller ID and let a cold smile curl across my lips.
"Gilbert, you have ten minutes. Get your ass to the hospital—now!"
The second the call connected, Ann Sullivan's shrill voice sliced through the speaker. The same imperious tone she always used—a command, never a request.
Before I could respond, she hung up.
I let out a quiet, mirthless laugh.
So. They were holding court. And I was the one on trial.
I washed up, got in the car, and drove to the hospital.