Vivien sat in the nursery she had assembled mostly alone and read comment after comment until the words began to feel physical.
She was in the rocking chair. The walls were painted a muted cream she had chosen because it felt calm without trying too hard. A half-built mobile hung from the ceiling. Tiny folded clothes rested in a drawer. On the shelf above the changing table sat a stuffed gray elephant Ruth had bought for the baby. Vivien stared at strangers typing with conviction about a marriage they had experienced as a thirty-second clip.
What kind of woman stays for five years just to set a trap?
She bankrolled him and then cried abuse.
Billionaires always think they’re above everyone else.
She weaponized pregnancy for sympathy.
Ruth came in, took one look at Vivien’s face, and snatched the phone from her hand.
“Enough.”
Vivien swallowed. “Maybe they’re right.”
Ruth stared at her. “About what?”
“I did stay. I did keep funding him. I could have ended it earlier.”
Ruth crouched in front of her. Ruth was a pediatric nurse, broad-shouldered, practical, and incapable of tolerating stupidity for long. It was one of the reasons Vivien loved her.