Part 1His Heart

On our fifth wedding anniversary, Josh Mason finally showed up, holding a baby.

“Accept this child,” he said, his voice low and steady, “and you can remain Mrs. Mason.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests. Everyone knew how desperately I loved Josh. Everyone assumed that, just like every other time, I would yield.

I rose to my feet, and with a gentle push, sent the champagne tower behind me crashing to the floor. I stared coldly at the man before me.

“As you wish,” I said, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Let’s get a divorce.”

Josh’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is it really so hard for you to adopt a child?”

Adopting a child wasn’t the hard part.

The hard part was being expected to raise the child he’d had with his old flame.

* * *

Shards of glass and champagne flew everywhere, turning the elegant ballroom into a disaster zone. The fifth-anniversary party I had spent nearly a month planning was ruined.

My husband, Josh, seemed to have completely forgotten what day it was. His eyes were fixed on the baby in his arms. He dismissed my outburst as a tantrum over his tardiness.

After calming the guests, he walked over to me, the baby still cradled in one arm. He reached out and wrapped his other arm around my waist.

“Stop making a scene, Evelyn. You’re scaring everyone.”

I twisted out of his grasp.

“If you’re so set on this, then let’s adopt a different child. I don’t want this one.”

It was the last compromise I could offer, and one final test for him.

“Why not? Evelyn, I know you love children. Isn’t it a good thing for us to finally have one of our own?”

“Evelyn, just look at him. He’s so plump and fair, absolutely adorable.”

Josh held the baby out for me to see, his face earnest. He took my hand, trying to guide it toward the infant, trying to force me to accept this new reality.

The baby in the swaddling clothes was pristine, looking no more than two or three months old. His features favored his mother—Sierra Thorne, the one that got away.

He waved his tiny arms and smiled at me, a cherubic expression that could seemingly heal all the world’s ills.

“See? He’s smiling at you,” Josh beamed. “I told you he was meant to be with us.”

He had failed the test. Utterly.

A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. I snatched my hand back, my patience wearing thin, and took several steps away from him, putting a chasm of space between us. He thought that by ambushing me here, in public, on our anniversary, he could force my hand. He thought I wouldn’t dare to say no.

But I found I could no longer maintain the polished facade of Mrs. Mason.