Five minutes after the divorce was signed, I boarded a flight with my two kids and disappeared overseas. Meanwhile, all seven of his family members crowded into a maternity clinic, celebrating his mistress—until the doctor spoke… and the room went dead silent.

“Yes, it’s finished. I’m coming to you now,” he murmured, his eyes avoiding mine. “The checkup is today, isn’t it? Don’t worry, Allison. My entire family is meeting us there. Your child is the heir to our legacy, after all. We’re coming to see our boy.”

The mediator pushed the final copies toward him. David didn’t read them. He scribbled his name with a jagged flourish and tossed the pen onto the desk with practiced contempt.

“There’s nothing to divide,” he said, directing his words at the mediator as if I were a piece of discarded furniture. “The condo was my premarital asset. The car is mine. As for the children—Aiden and Chloe—if she wants to drag them along, let her. It’s less hassle for my new life.”

His older sister, Megan, stood by the door like a sentinel of spite. “Exactly,” she chimed in, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. “David is getting married to a woman who is actually giving this family a son. Who would want a used-up housewife with two kids in tow anyway?”