The manufactured infertility to break my will.
The rushed divorce to move while I was broken.
The forged signatures to drain the foundation.
They had built their beautiful new family — the house, the baby, the pearl earrings — with money stolen from the poorest women in the city, laundered through my own grief.
I sat with that for a long time.
And somewhere in that sitting, the woman who’d spent a year with her hands pressed to an empty stomach quietly stood up and did not lie back down.
Chapter 10 — Cooperating
I did not call Weston.
I did not confront Delphine.
I had learned something in four years of marriage to a man who weaponized my emotions: the moment you react, you hand your opponent the script.