It didn’t matter that he didn’t love me, I told myself. I was young—I believed that as long as I gave enough, he’d eventually love me too.
That fantasy shattered a year ago when Thalia returned to the States.
From then on, Cortland rarely came home. He even stopped answering my calls.
I stayed up late while heavily pregnant, helping him resolve boardroom conflicts. Meanwhile, he had blocked me on every platform.
Whenever I urged him to return to the company, he’d accuse me of micromanaging. Late at night, wracked with severe pregnancy symptoms, I’d called to ask where he was. And every time, he couldn’t wait to hang up.
And yet, whenever I started to suspect something, he’d suddenly show up at home, smiling gently, cradling my belly and talking dreamily about our future as a family of three.
With that, I convinced myself he was just overwhelmed with work. And so I stopped doubting him or complaining.
Until that day—when Thalia was kidnapped, and all the clues at the scene pointed to me.
Cortland didn’t even ask me questions. He just straight up tied me up and threw me into that brutal frisbee, using real blades to scare me into confessing.
But I knew nothing at all!