Chapter one

Chapter One

LIANA,

They say giving birth is a woman’s most powerful moment. That it’s beautiful. Transformative. A rite of passage wrapped in joy and love. But no one tells you how cold the room feels when you’re doing it alone.

I shook uncontrollably, not from the pain—though it was more excruciating than anything I’d ever felt—but from the absence. The deafening silence pressed in, suffocating me. Damian was supposed to be here. He promised me.

“I’ll never let you do anything alone, Li. I swear on my life. I’ll always be here.”

His words—once so full of promise—now echoed in my mind like glass shattering. The chair in the corner remained empty. No smirk. No presence. No Damian.

Damian Cross. My husband.

He was everything I’d ever wanted—until he wasn’t. Tall, dark, and effortlessly handsome, Damian was a man who could command a room with a single glance. His jet-black hair always seemed to fall perfectly, and those green eyes of his, filled with a dangerous intensity, could melt anyone’s resolve and shatter it just as quickly. He carried himself like someone who never had to try, who never needed to beg or plead, because the world was his to take.

I had fallen in love with that confidence. The way he made me feel safe, the way he promised me the world. But beneath that perfect exterior was a man who couldn’t be tethered to anyone. Not even me.

Before I found out I was pregnant, Damian had made it clear—warned me, in fact—that he never wanted children. That I should never, under any circumstances, get pregnant. His words had been so clear, so final: "We’re not ready for that, Li. It’s not the right time. You can’t do this to us."

But I had—against his wishes, against every warning. I had held on to a small, foolish hope that maybe this baby, our baby, would change everything. That maybe the life we could create together, a life that didn’t need anything more than us, would be enough to heal the cracks that had begun to show in our marriage.

Instead, when I told him, he looked at me with the same cold eyes he had worn when he’d warned me not to get pregnant. No love. No warmth. Just resignation. “I’m not ready for this,” he had said, his words slicing through me like a razor. “You should’ve gotten rid of it when you had the chance.”

The betrayal of his words hit harder than anything I’d ever known. The man who swore he would always be by my side, the one who promised me the world, walked out of that hospital room without a second glance. And just like that, he was gone.

He’d left me with nothing but empty promises. And now I was lying here in a sterile room, my body fighting against itself, while the man who swore he would never leave me was nowhere to be found.

But it didn’t end there.

A few days later, I found out through whispers and late-night gossip that Damian hadn’t just left me. He had left with another woman—someone younger, someone who could offer him the life he wanted, free of any responsibilities. Free of me. Free of the child he’d never wanted.

I hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. I kept imagining that maybe I had misunderstood, that it was some cruel rumor, a vicious lie. But no. When I called his phone, it went straight to voicemail. His social media went silent. Every part of him that had once been so open to me was now locked away, and I had no key to get back in. I wanted to scream. I wanted to crash through the walls of our life together and demand the truth.

The sting of that revelation was sharper than the physical pain of childbirth. To know that, while I bled and ached in silence, he was out there, laughing with someone else, pretending our love had never existed—it shattered me in ways I couldn’t explain.

The contraction hit again, sharp and unforgiving, dragging me back to the present. I bit back a scream, tears flooding my eyes. I didn’t want to cry—not for him. Not for the man who had walked out on me three days ago. No warning. No fight. Just silence.

My body trembled, breaking under the weight of everything he had left behind. I had begged him to talk, to tell me what changed. But his eyes—cold, distant—had already given me his answer. “I’m not ready for this,” he’d said, his words cutting through me. “You should’ve gotten rid of it when you had the chance.”

I stared at the empty chair, my chest tight with the sting of his rejection. The baby inside me—our baby—was a mistake to him. A burden he couldn’t carry.

But not to me. Not to her.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” a nurse murmured, her voice distant, as if from a faraway dream. “Focus. One more push.”

One more push.

It wasn’t just physical. It was everything. My heart, my body, my soul—all of it was on fire, burning with the ache of loss, with the weight of betrayal. But the moment I pushed—just when I thought I couldn’t take any more—the pain broke. And then, a cry.

A tiny, desperate wail. My heart skipped.

They placed her on my chest, her skin warm, her tiny fists clenched. My daughter. Emma.

The room, once so cold and empty, suddenly became my world. She was here. She was mine. And despite everything, I was not alone.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, choking on the words. “I promise.”

Unlike him, I meant it.

They took her briefly to clean her up. I couldn’t look away from the bassinet where they placed her—tiny, fragile, yet so much stronger than I had ever felt. The room dimmed, but I couldn’t close my eyes. Not yet. Not until I knew for sure that Damian wouldn’t be walking through that door.

But I knew he wouldn’t. He hadn’t even been here for her first breath.

It wasn’t the first time he had disappointed me, but this—this was different. This was him walking away when I needed him most, when I needed to believe that he was the man he had promised to be. But he wasn’t.

"Father’s name?" the nurse asked, clipboard in hand. She was young, her voice soft, as if she understood the weight of that question.

My throat tightened, my fingers curling into the sheet.

I glanced at Emma. She was perfect. And in that moment, I realized I had to protect her from the lie that was Damian. From the man who would never truly choose us.

"Leave it blank," I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my chest.

The nurse hesitated but nodded. I didn’t need him on that birth certificate. Not anymore. I was writing our future—mine and Emma’s—on my own terms.

"Her name?" the nurse asked gently.

I swallowed hard, the weight of it all sinking in. My heart ached as I spoke the name that had already felt like home.

“Emma,” I said softly, the name a whisper, yet full of strength. “She’s named after my mother.”

Emma. My mother. Emma Grace—gone too soon, but alive in this small miracle in my arms. The woman who had shown me what strength truly was. The woman who would have held me up when Damian couldn’t—or wouldn’t.

Emma.

The name felt like a promise. A vow.

“I’m going to give you everything he couldn’t,” I whispered to her, my voice thick with determination.

And for the first time in days, I wasn’t waiting for Damian to come back.

I was ready to move on—with Emma. For Emma.

The pain in my body—physical and emotional—wasn’t something I could ignore. But in that moment, it became clear to me that I had to fight, to live, for her. I would protect her from the world Damian was so desperate to leave behind. She deserved better than his cold rejection. She deserved the love and the safety that only I could give her.

Damian had failed me. But Emma—my sweet, beautiful daughter—was my future. I would not let anyone take that from me.

“Emma,” I whispered again, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine like a lifeline. “You’re all I need.”

The nurse left quietly, leaving me alone with my daughter. I watched her sleep, her small chest rising and falling with each breath, the innocence of her existence both a balm and a reminder of all I had lost. Damian wasn’t here. He would never be here. But in this moment, I didn’t need him. I had everything I needed in Emma.

And with her, I would build a life that was mine—ours. I would make sure she never knew the sting of abandonment, that she would grow up in a world where love was never a promise broken.

I kissed her forehead softly, as if to seal the vow I had made to her, and whispered, “We’ll be okay, Emma. Just you and me.”