Diane’s panic hardened into something cold and defiant. She set the bowl down on the console, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin to look down her nose at me.

“Since you’ve barged in, I won’t sugarcoat it,” she said. “The child in her womb belongs to my son. This family will not go without an heir just because your body is a barren wasteland.”

The question was whether I’d break right there, or whether the fury would hold my spine straight.

Chapter 2 — The Barren Lie

I heard every word, and still a high ringing filled my ears.

Five years reeled past behind my eyes. The nights I bit my tongue and swallowed Diane’s passive-aggressive venom. The mud-colored fertility tinctures she brewed and pushed on me until my stomach rebelled.

The family gatherings where I bowed my head and absorbed the pitying glances of aunts and cousins, taking the humiliation to protect my husband’s pride.