LOGINFriday morning I woke up to nausea so intense I barely made it to the bathroom. Threw up everything I'd managed to keep down from dinner the night before. Sat on the cold tile floor afterward, shaking and sweating, wondering if this was normal or if something was wrong. Jessica found me there twenty minutes later. "Eve, this is getting worse." "I know." "You need to call your doctor." "I have an appointment next week..." "Call them today. Tell them what's happening. This isn't normal morning sickness anymore." She was right. I knew she was right. I called Dr. Rivera's office and explained the situation to the nurse. "How much weight have you lost?" she asked. "I don't know. Maybe five pounds?" "And you're how far along?" "Fifteen weeks." "Can you come in today? Dr. Rivera has an opening at two." "I'll be there." Jessica drove me to the appointment. Waited in the lobby while I went back. Dr. Rivera examined me, asked questions, looked concerned.
The call from the property manager came Thursday afternoon. "Ms. Morgan, I have good news. Your application has been approved. You can move in as early as this weekend if you'd like." I sat down on Jessica's couch, phone pressed to my ear, trying to process. "This weekend?" "Yes. We just need first month, last month, and security deposit. Once that clears, the apartment is yours." "I'll transfer the money today." "Perfect. I'll email you the lease agreement. Sign it and return it by tomorrow, and we can schedule your move-in for Saturday morning." We hung up and I sat there staring at nothing. I had an apartment. My own space. A place that wasn't Jessica's spare room or the penthouse I'd shared with Damon. A place that was completely, entirely mine. Jessica came out of her bedroom. "Who was that?" "The property manager. I got the apartment." Her face lit up. "Eve, that's amazing!" "I can move in Saturday." "That's two days away. Do you have furniture? Boxes? Anything?"
Lara: Refusing to communicate with counsel is only going to make this harder for you. I strongly suggest you retain your own attorney immediately. I didn't respond. Just put the phone down and looked at the divorce papers spread across my desk. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. The words that were supposed to end everything. But I wasn't going to let them. I wasn't going to sign, or cooperate or make this easy. If Eve wanted a divorce, she was going to have to fight me for it. And I was going to fight back with everything I had. Not because I wanted to hurt her. But because I needed her to understand that I wasn't giving up. That I was still here. That I still loved her. That our marriage was worth fighting for even if she didn't believe that anymore. Marcus was still standing there. "What are you going to do now?" "I'm going to call my own lawyer. File a response contesting the divorce. Make this as complicated as legally possible." "That's a terrible idea..." "
The process server showed up at my office Tuesday morning at nine thirty. I was in a meeting with the acquisition team when my assistant knocked on the door. "Mr. Sterling, there's someone here to see you. Says it's urgent." "I'm in a meeting..." "He says it's legal. That you need to sign for something." I exchanged a look with Marcus across the table. "Give me five minutes," I said to the team. "We'll resume after." I walked out to the reception area where a man in his forties was standing with a manila envelope. "Damon Sterling?" "Yes." "You've been served." He handed me the envelope and a clipboard. "Sign here confirming receipt." I stared at the envelope. At my name typed across the front in bold letters. My hand didn't want to move. Didn't want to take it. Didn't want to make this real. "Sir, I need you to sign." I took the pen and scrawled my signature. The man nodded, tore off a copy, and left. I stood there holding the envelope, feeling the weight of it. K
I stared at the message. Unknown: Eve, this is Catherine. We need to talk about what you're doing to my son. This divorce nonsense has to stop. Of course. Catherine Sterling, now using unknown numbers to reach me because I'd blocked everything else. Fighting Sophia's battles for her. I should have been surprised, but I wasn't. This was exactly the kind of thing she'd do. Reach out on Sophia's behalf, frame it as concern for Damon, make it seem like I was the problem. I deleted the message without responding. Blocked that number too. Set my phone face down on the table and tried to breathe through the anger building in my chest. They weren't going to leave me alone. Not Sophia. Not Catherine. Not any of them. They were going to keep pushing, keep reaching, keep trying to control the narrative until I either broke or gave them what they wanted. But I wasn't breaking. Not anymore. I'd already survived the worst of it. The lawsuit. The humiliation. The marriage falling apa
My phone buzzed again, and this time I didn’t need to look to know it was her. There was a certain timing to these things. A way the past crept back in right when everything else was already falling apart. Still, I reached for it. Unknown number. I opened the message. It’s Mom. We need to talk. I stared at it longer than I should have, like the words might rearrange themselves into something easier to deal with if I gave them enough time. Mom. Which made it worse. Because if it had been anyone else, I could have ignored it without thinking twice. I could have blocked the number, moved on, kept my focus exactly where it needed to be. But my mother had always had a way of getting under my skin without even trying. Of making everything feel heavier than it already was. I locked my phone and set it down beside me. No response. Not tonight. I had already asked my husband for a divorce. Already made it clear I wasn’t changing my mind. Already dealt with Sophia reminding me ex
I was pacing the living room when Damon walked in.He took one look at my face and stopped dead. "What happened to your cheek?""Your mother happened.""What?""She hit me. At lunch. Slapped me across the face in the middle of La Bernardin."He just stared. Like he couldn't process what I was sayin
"We don't have to go."Damon was standing in front of the mirror fixing his tie. Again. Third time in five minutes."You're nervous," I said."I'm not—" He stopped. Dropped his hands. "Okay, yeah. I'm nervous.""It's just brunch with your parents.""Sunday brunch. At the club. Where my mother will
Two weeks.It had been two weeks of this weird new thing where we were kind of dating but also married but also still pretending in public that we were just business partners.It was exhausting and confusing and somehow the best two weeks I'd had in years.Damon made me coffee every morning. We had
La Bernardin was the kind of place where the silverware probably cost more than my rent used to.I showed up five minutes early because I didn't want to give Catherine the satisfaction of me being late. She was already there. Corner table. Perfect posture. That same string of pearls she probably sl







