But through the haze, one cold truth surfaced.

That baby could not be Michael’s.

He was biologically incapable. And if this trio wanted to stage a grand production of the perfect happy family, I’d buy a front-row seat and watch until the stage caught fire.

But who was the father?

Chapter 3 — Dividing the Ashes

Coming back to the condo felt like walking onto a crime scene. I stood at the mahogany door a long time before I could make myself turn the key.

The living room glowed with the warm light I’d curated. The table wore the azure linen I’d bought in Florence for our anniversary. Michael’s Italian loafers sat parallel on the rack.