Chapter 4

"Must be nice being rich. Ms. Sinclair dropped a fortune on fireworks just to make her childhood friend happy, like the money's nothing to her."

"Guess we're lucky enough to catch the show for free."

My eyes burned, and I buried my face in my arms. Tears slipped through my fingers.

'I'm sorry, Mom.'

-

When I stopped trying to find a lawyer to take my case, Camille assumed I'd finally given up. After that, she and Logan stopped even pretending to be discreet. She started carrying on with him in public, and even when reporters picked up on it, everyone decided she deserved better than a useless husband like me.

I didn't fight or argue. I didn't even try to defend myself. I acted like I'd accepted everything completely.

"Wasn't it easier just behaving yourself?" Camille said as she climbed out of bed, looking at my calm expression with something close to contempt.

I quietly set a stack of papers on the table. It was a list of meal plans I'd once put together for her.

"I wrote down everything you can't eat. You've got a sensitive stomach, so go easy on the alcohol. I already talked to Logan. He'll be the one making you a glass of warm milk before bed from now on. Then again, you two have been together for years. He probably knows all this better than I ever did."

I had told Logan everything—every detail, every habit of hers I could think of. I stayed so calm through it all that whatever sharp comment Camille had ready died on her lips.

"And here, this is the protection charm you asked me to get blessed before we got married. The cord's already snapped. It can't be tied back together..."

"What exactly are you trying to do?" Camille cut me off, frowning. Confusion and irritation flashed across her face. "Are you throwing another fit? I already gave you this month's medication. I'm just having a baby. Is that really such a big deal to you?"

She paused, then pulled out a set of divorce papers and threw them down in front of me. "Forget it, let's not get into that right now. It's not fair to Logan to lend me his sperm and get nothing in return. I'm going to give him a wedding to make up for it.

"We'll do a fake divorce first. Once the baby's born, we can remarry. In exchange, I'll cover every cent of Margaret's treatment from now on. I'll bring in the best medical team money can buy..."

Before she could finish, I'd already signed my name without even bothering to read the terms. Camille stared at me, stunned, her mouth opening and closing without a sound coming out.

While she was still frozen in shock, I pulled out a property transfer agreement. The house had been hers before we got married. She had bought it with her own money, but the deed was in my name.

As I flipped through the transfer papers, another document slipped out from between the pages. Camille didn't get a good look at it, only catching the words "assisted death" before it landed face-down on the floor.

Something seemed to click for her, and her expression turned complicated. "Good, I'm glad you finally see reason. It's better to let your mother go in peace than have her suffer through a lifetime of medication."

She didn't sign the property transfer. Instead, she snatched the divorce papers back out of my hands.

"Keep the house. It's just a fake divorce. It's not like we're never coming back. Don't worry, I'll keep my word. Margaret will get the best care there is. And I won't hold this over your head anymore."

As she said it, she called David Smith, the dean of her private hospital.

"Let the medical team know to take good care of Margaret. Make sure she's still alive to see her grandson born."

Her tone dripped with condescension, and she glanced my way like she was expecting me to react. I lowered my head and avoided her eyes, running my thumb gently over the urn in my hands.

The air went cold and still.

On the other end of the line, there was a long silence before the voice finally stammered out an answer, "Ms. Sinclair, didn't Mr. Locke tell you? Mrs. Locke passed away a month ago."