When I learned that Gwyneth Sullivan planned to take Bryan Thatcher on a trip three days later to help sell the lie that his child was really her firstborn, I called my mother-in-law, Hilda Brunt."Mrs. Sullivan, I want a divorce."Hilda let out a long sigh on the other end of the line. "Oh, dear child, it was Gwen who wronged you."Ever since Gwyneth told everyone that our child, Prudence, was some bastard I had brought home after fooling around outside, a child I had forced her to raise, we had fought more fiercely than at any other time in our seven-year marriage.When she realized I intended to take our daughter and leave, she had people lock me inside the villa.Even when I took Prudence out for a checkup, a dozen bodyguards followed me every step of the way."She is our child," she had said. "I can't abandon her."So she knew. She knew Prudence was her child. Yet with one careless sentence, she had nearly destroyed both our lives, even though she knew perfectly well that o
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