I would make the world see Mamie Winfield for the shameless, scheming fraud she was. And I would make Oliver Delgado realize exactly who the real fool had been all along.
I went downstairs. For the first time in years, I didn't make breakfast. Didn't tidy the living room. Instead, I moved fast—packed my essentials, then pulled the memory cards from the surveillance cameras.
I'd installed hidden cameras in the living room and entryway ages ago, a security precaution. I'd never thought twice about them. Now they were the most critical evidence I had.
I walked out the front door and drove straight to a law firm. I hired an attorney to draft divorce papers, tucked my prenatal exam records safely away, then headed to the hospital to consult a specialist about contact allergies.
The doctor couldn't have been more definitive. Allergic reactions triggered by contact with the opposite sex were extraordinarily rare. Even in documented cases, the patient would never be immune to just one specific man. And the idea of "desensitizing" through intimate physical contact? Medically absurd. The entire premise violated basic science.