Chapter 1

“Congratulations and welcome to the family!”

The room erupted with laughter and cheers, clinking glasses, and the sound of celebratory chatter. The scent of fresh roses and expensive wine lingered in the air, mingling with the aroma of a just-unwrapped fruitcake. The living room, where May had spent countless evenings with her in-laws, now looked like a scene from someone else's celebration — strangers in familiar clothing.

“I can’t believe my son got someone pregnant,” her mother-in-law continued, voice practically glowing with joy. “I always knew you were not the problem. It was that woman with bad luck you got married to. Now that you are with a better woman, you see what’s happening!”

In the hallway, just outside the room, May clutched a small box wrapped with a golden ribbon, the cake she had personally ordered earlier that day. Her heels clicked softly against the marble tiles as she stepped closer, her heart fluttering with excitement — and confusion. Her second wedding anniversary. She thought they forgot. Maybe this was all a surprise?

She stepped into the room with a soft smile.

“Hello Mom,” she said brightly, trying to match the mood in the room. “What’s the cause of this joyous mood, is it because of our 2nd wedding anniversary that’s today?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. As if a spell had been broken, heads turned. 

Her mother-in-law scoffed, slowly turning toward her, face curled in distaste.

“Who is your mother?” she snapped. Her voice was ice dipped in venom. “Don’t ever call me mother.”

May’s breath caught. Her hands gripped the cake box tighter as her chest began to rise and fall unevenly. She blinked rapidly, the warmth in her eyes now prickling with confusion. Pain.

She was about to speak, to ask what was going on — but before she could utter a word, she heard a voice.

A tiny, smug voice.

“Mother, don’t get so worked up, remember you still have to play with your grandchildren.”

May’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. And her blood ran cold.

Chrissy.

Her best friend. Her confidante. The one she had poured her soul out to. Sitting on the same couch May had sat on countless times during family dinners. Sitting like she belonged.

Her belly — swollen. Her eyes — unapologetic.

Why was Chrissy in her house?

What is she saying about grandchildren?

The questions raced through her mind faster than she could think of them, each one heavier than the last. Her knees felt weak.

She opened her mouth to demand answers, to scream even — but her mother-in-law cut her off with another sickeningly sweet remark.

“I know right, my very good daughter-in-law. Don’t worry, I'll live long enough to take care of my grandchildren.”

Grandchildren.

The word echoed in May’s ears like a cruel joke. Her heart pounded. Her lips quivered.

Her best friend — the one she always stood behind so she could shine — was now glowing in her place. In her house. Carrying a child that wasn’t hers.

Chrissy stood slowly, one hand protectively cradling her stomach, the other pressing into the lower part of her back like the weight of the secret she’d been hiding finally settled.

“May,” she said, voice soft but laced with arrogance, “can you please excuse us? You are increasing mother's blood pressure and disturbing my baby as well with your presence.”

May could feel the heat rising behind her eyes. Her vision blurred with unshed tears.

Then, as if on cue, her husband — the man she had loved, fought for, prayed with — stepped forward from Chrissy’s side and held her waist. The intimacy of that touch was deliberate, possessive.

“Sorry, babe,” he said to Chrissy.

Babe.

That word — once hers — now belonged to someone else.

Before they could all continue with their farce, May suddenly screamed — voice sharp, voice trembling, voice real.

“Can everyone just stop?! What’s going on here? Which grandchildren?! What is this whole drama going on?!”

She turned fully to face her husband.

“Chrissy, why are my husband’s hands around your waist?! What the f*ck is going on?!”

The room stiffened. No one moved. No one offered an explanation.

Her husband slowly let go of Chrissy and stepped forward.

“May,” he began, voice calm in the most violent way, “we both know this whole marriage charade isn’t working anymore.”

The words sliced her open. She hadn’t even noticed the cake box slipping from her fingers until she heard it — a soft thud, followed by the muffled squish of icing against marble.

The white frosting, once pristine, was now smeared across the floor. Flowers bent. Crushed.

She staggered back, tears now flowing freely, her voice cracking under the weight of a breaking heart.

“I know… but we can make it work,” she whispered.

Images flashed through her mind — the early days of her marriage, when they were inseparable, when he held her like she was the only woman in the world. His mother had once adored her. Everything changed after six months. No pregnancy. No progress. Just pressure.

Still desperate, she walked over to her mother-in-law and gently took her hand, kneeling.

“Mother… I’m taking some really good supplements,” she said, voice hopeful. “Recommended by my mom. In a couple of weeks, I'll be pregnant, Mom.”

Her mother-in-law snatched her hand away like May’s touch had burned her.

“Son,” she said coldly. “Issue her the divorce letters now.”

May’s head whipped toward her husband. She shook her head frantically, lips trembling.

“I have tried to love you,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “But I just can’t. It isn’t about the whole barren issue. I don’t love you anymore.”

Her legs gave way. She fell to her knees, chest heaving, as if the words knocked the air from her lungs.

She looked up, eyes bloodshot and pleading.

“We can rekindle it. We can start over. I can be better.”

She turned to Chrissy, voice raw.

“Chrissy… why? Why??”

But Chrissy simply looked away — not a flicker of remorse.

And that’s when the memories came rushing back. All the times May had dimmed her light so Chrissy could shine. All the times she had stood behind her best friend so she wouldn’t feel small. All the secrets she shared. The late-night phone calls. The trust.

Gone.

A shuffle of paper brought her attention back.

Her husband threw the divorce documents in front of her. The echo of the folder hitting the floor sounded like a door slamming shut.

“Sign this and let’s end things peacefully.”

May didn’t reach for the papers. Her fingers trembled as she held her chest instead, trying to calm the storm inside.

“Please… reconsider,” she said softly. “I don’t mind Chrissy. Having a baby mama is the norm nowadays. I’m fine with it.”

Her husband’s tone hardened.

“May. Sign this while I’m still being calm.”

Chrissy added coldly, “May, this is the end of this chapter.”

Still, May refused. She shook her head, sobbing silently.

Her husband turned to the guards stationed by the door.

“Throw her out of this house. Make sure she signs the papers by force.”

May gasped. “Wait, please—no, no, don’t do this!”

But everyone looked away. Like she was invisible. Unwanted.

The guards moved toward her. Two strong arms lifted her up like she was nothing. She kicked, screamed, and begged. One of them grabbed her hand, dipped her thumb in an ink jar, and stamped the divorce papers.

A permanent goodbye.

She was dragged through the hallway — the same hallway she used to walk hand-in-hand with her husband — and tossed out the front door like trash.

The sky had darkened. A gust of wind scattered flower petals from the bouquet she dropped earlier.

She sat on the pavement, trembling, mascara streaking her cheeks.

Just like that, May was bundled out of her matrimonial home into the cold streets — with a strict warning to never return again.

Or risk a lawsuit.