The legal wife, hanging balloons and arranging desserts for her husband’s mistress.
The day of the party arrived.
Our Beverly Hills mansion was packed—family, friends, executives, people who had watched me be Daniel’s wife for a decade. Some looked at me with pity. Others with quiet judgment.
Jessica wore a form-fitting dress, one hand cradling her belly, the other clinging to Daniel’s arm.
Margaret was practically glowing with pride.
“At last!” she announced into the microphone. “The Carter family will finally have a real grandchild. Thank God Jessica came along—if we had relied on Valerie, this family line would’ve ended!”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
I stood near the wall, holding a tray of drinks—like hired help in my own home.
“Valerie!” Daniel called. “Come up here.”
I stepped onto the stage.
“I’d like to thank my wife,” he said with a smirk, “for accepting her limitations and organizing this celebration herself. Valerie—did you bring a gift for our baby?”
I smiled.
“Yes, Daniel,” I said evenly. “I did. And I spent a lot of time and money on it.”
A waiter handed me a large red envelope.
“Jessica,” I said, turning to her, “you’re three months pregnant, right?”