But Dr. Collins didn’t step away. “There’s something else,” he said evenly. “There were complications… but the delivery was successful. Twins.”
“Twins?” Nathaniel’s voice cracked—not with joy, but panic. “That’s impossible.”
“Sometimes life hides its surprises,” Dr. Collins replied. “A boy and a girl. They’re in neonatal intensive care.”
The silence was thick enough to choke on.
“Two heirs,” Margaret hissed quietly. “That increases the guardianship allowance. Smile.”
They truly believed I was gone.
My story hadn’t begun in that hospital room in Boston. It began six months earlier at our estate in Weston, Massachusetts—the day I discovered my husband wasn’t ambitious. He was methodical.
I was the sole heir to Montgomery International, a global hospitality empire built by my father, Charles Montgomery. After his death, I was vulnerable. Nathaniel appeared charming, supportive, full of talk about partnership and legacy. But the wedding band was barely warm when the mask slipped.
Margaret moved in “to help during pregnancy.” The house grew darker.
One afternoon, four months pregnant, I walked barefoot toward the dining room and heard voices.