Then a corporate trip to Chicago.

Then dinner photographs with a familiar man’s jacket around Vanessa’s shoulders.

I recognized it immediately.

Her following climbed past one hundred thousand.

To them, Vanessa was a glamorous executive slowly winning the heart of some mysterious businessman.

One follower asked,

“Don’t you have any competition?”

Vanessa replied,

“I’ve seen her. Competing with her would mean lowering myself.”

That night, I stood in front of the mirror.

The fertility treatments had made my face swollen.

My body had changed so much that I barely recognized myself.

Our housekeeper entered holding another cup of the remedy Diane insisted I drink.

I swallowed once.

Then became violently ill.

I ended up at the hospital.

The very next day, Diane arrived with another cup.

“Drink it. If you can’t give Ethan a child within the next year, there are plenty of women who can.”

I took the cup.

Walked into the bathroom.

And poured it away.

Diane’s face went white.

“What did you just do?”

“I’m finished. I’m never drinking that garbage again.”

“We gave you a life you never could have had on your own.”

I laughed.

“Ethan was the one who begged me to marry him.”

Her hand moved instantly.

But by then, I already knew exactly where the cabinet was behind me.

I stepped backward.

My body hit the corner.

A moment later, a red stain spread across my clothes.

Diane screamed.

When Ethan arrived, the scene looked exactly as I had expected.

His mother was shaking.

I was pale.

And his first thought was that we had lost a pregnancy.

For the first time in months, Ethan turned against Diane.

“Claire has spent six months putting herself through treatments because of this family! Do you really think she would deliberately do anything to hurt herself?”

That same week, Ethan and I moved into an apartment overlooking the lake.

He canceled dinners.

Started coming home early.

Even began cooking.

But I had already made my decision.

I stopped the fertility treatments.

I started exercising again.