Lila Carter never expected her past to collide with her present—not like this. Not while she was five months pregnant. Not while she was finally safe. And certainly not while the man who once broke her soul sped toward her in a glossy black Bentley, aiming straight for the puddle beside her.
The splash hit like ice.
Cold, filthy water exploded across her belly, soaking her sweater, her jeans, her hair—chilling the skin stretched over the miracle she’d been told she would never carry again.
Lila gasped, instinctively covering her bump.
Then she saw him.
Adam Whitford.
Her ex-husband.
The man who once whispered “I love you” in the same hospital room where their infant daughter died in her arms.
The man who told everyone the loss was her fault.
The man who walked away while she lay broken.
Adam leaned out the window now, smirking.
“Well, well. Lila. Still living like the bargain-bin failure I left behind. And look at that—you found some idiot who got you pregnant.”
His eyes dropped to her stomach with disgust.
“You’ll lose this one too. Just like you lost ours.”
Lila felt her knees weaken. For years she believed him—that her body was useless, that she was barren, that she was unlovable.