Chapter 1

The pregnant woman next to me holds up a lipstick and asks the room if her husband is cheating.

I recognize it. It's mine.

"Found this in his coat pocket last night," she says, holding it up between two fingers. "Be honest with me, ladies. Is he cheating on me?"

My eyes lock on the tube. The casing is scuffed and worn, and there—right on the side—is the Hello Kitty sticker I pressed on five years ago.

That's my lipstick.

Before I can breathe, another woman laughs and points at the lock screen of her phone—a wedding photo.

"Mrs. Chase, stop it. You and Sterling have been married almost three years. He treats you like you're made of glass. There's no way he's cheating."

I follow her finger to the screen.

The groom in the photo is my husband.

My delivery-driver husband. The man I've been married to for five years.

Sterling Chase.

The room goes underwater. Their voices sound miles away.

The pregnant woman catches my elbow. "Hey—you okay?"

I nod. I can't speak. My eyes drop to her left hand, and the diamond on her ring finger nearly blinds me.

She catches me looking and smiles, holding her hand out a little farther.

"Pretty, isn't it? My husband flew it in from overseas. There's not another one like it in the country."

"Of course it's pretty," another woman chimes in, voice thick with envy. "An six-million-dollar piece. You said you liked it, and Sterling bought it on the spot. He is obsessed with you."

Six million. I don't even dream about it.

Because I argue with cashiers over two bucks of vegetables.

This is the man who couldn't make rent? The man I've been married to for five years?

"Obsessed? That's an understatement," another mom-to-be says. "Their wedding three years ago cost two million. The day they signed the papers, he transferred every asset he owned into her name."

"And since she got pregnant? Forget it. He's got nurseries set up in three rooms—boys' clothes, girls' clothes, bottles, toys, you name it. Through age ten. The man is dying to be a dad."

The whole room laughs.

I'm freezing. My fingertips are shaking.

For five years, Sterling has refused to give me a baby. He said we couldn't afford it. He said he didn't want me or the child to suffer. He said wait, just wait a little longer.

Three years ago, when I got pregnant the first time, he begged me for three nights straight. I cried the whole way to the clinic. Alone.

I thought he was scared of the cost. I thought maybe he just didn't like kids.

Turns out he has money. Turns out he loves kids.

He just doesn't want them with me.

My nose burns. I tip my head down before the tears come and pull out my phone.

I text the only friend I have at the courthouse.

[Can you check something? Is my marriage to Sterling Chase legally on file?]

The reply comes quickly:

[Yes. It's real.]

I should feel relieved. Instead my chest caves in.

So what if it's real? This woman in front of me—even if her marriage to him is the fake one—she has everything I don't. The Mrs. Chase title. The six-million-dollar ring. The two-million-dollar wedding. The man who treats her like glass.

And me?

I have nothing.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

Incoming call: Star

I stare at the screen. I can't make my thumb move.

And then, beside me, her voice goes sharp.

"Star?"

She's looking right at my screen.

"Your husband's name is Star too?"