Chapter 1

I'm ten hours into labor when my husband finally walks in. He's the top OB-GYN at this hospital.

First thing out of his mouth: "Chloe just went into labor. I need to go deliver her baby. A resident can handle yours."

Chloe. My parents' foster daughter.

I grab his fingers. It takes everything I have.

"Ethan, I'm your wife."

He pulls his hand free without blinking.

"That's exactly why I can't stay. People will say I'm pulling strings for you."

"If I stay in your room, it looks bad. You know how this hospital works."

I don't let go. I'm begging him to stay.

That's when my parents walk in. My dad puts his hand on my shoulder. My mom takes my other hand.

She leans in close. "Sophia, we need to tell you something. Chloe's baby is Ethan's."

My whole body goes cold.

"He didn't want to stress you out while you were pregnant. Do you know how hard that was for him?"

"For once in your life, just let this go. Let him deliver his own child."

I stare at the surgical light above me. There's a ringing in my ears that won't stop.

I don't know how much time passes. Could be minutes. Or hours.

Then they put her in my arms.

My daughter. So tiny.

My voice is shaking when I whisper to her.

"Baby, it's gonna be just you and me from now on. Okay?"

I come out of the delivery room.

No flowers. No one waiting.

Just my phone glowing on the side table.

A text from my mom: "If your dad and I show up, the nurses will feel pressured to give you special treatment. We can't have that."

A group of nurses walk past, gossiping like they don't care who hears.

"Oh my God, did you hear? Dr. Lawson's foster daughter had her baby today."

"Dr. Lawson told everyone on this floor to give her the VIP treatment. Went room to room telling everyone."

"She even sent this massive bouquet to her room."

"They're not even blood related. Honestly she treats that girl better than her own daughter."

I close my eyes.

This hurts worse than anything that happened in that delivery room.

The rooms are all full. The head nurse recognizes me and calls Ethan directly.

"Dr. Ethan Mercer, hey, it's the head nurse. Listen, your wife's here. I'll get her into a private room, don't even worry about it."

His voice comes through the speaker. Cold.

"Treat her the same as everyone else."

"There's no reason she should get special treatment while everyone else suffers."

I just went through hell to give him a child.

And he kicks me aside.

I press my face against my daughter's tiny red cheek. Tears run down my face. I'm shaking from rage.

After arguing with three different nurses, I end up on a bed in the hallway.

Ethan walks right past me with a stack of patient files.

My daughter cries out from hunger. Weak, barely there.

He slows down for a second. Then he keeps walking.

The med students trailing behind him are laughing about something.

"Bet you he's heading to see his wife."

"Oh yeah, she's in the private suite upstairs. He literally went to the chief and begged for that room."

I'm curled up in this loud, cramped hallway.

So who exactly are they calling his wife?

Chloe. It's Chloe.

This man never begs anyone for anything. But for her, he begged.

My stitches start seeping. A sharp pain shoots through me.

I can't let myself think about this anymore.

My daughter's face is bright red from crying.

I have nothing to give her. No milk.

I press the nurse call button and beg for a meal. Anything to get my milk going.

I wait and wait.

Finally a nurse comes back with a few dry pieces of bread.

She looks embarrassed.

"Dr. Mercer said all postpartum patients are on the same meal plan. He specifically said no special treatment. His exact words."

I take the bread without a word.

A few minutes later, I open Instagram. Chloe's latest post.

"Hubby made me a strict meal plan and says I have to finish every bite. I'm gonna get so fat lol."

The photo shows gourmet food prepared by a private nutritionist. Fish. Shrimp. Everything.

Her son is sleeping peacefully in an expensive bassinet. Pink cheeks. Healthy.

My daughter is wrapped in a yellowed old blanket. Her tiny face is turning purple.

So that's what "avoiding favoritism" means. It only applies to me.

I've put up with it long enough. But now my baby has to suffer the same fate.

I'm done.

I can't stay in this family anymore.