Chapter 3

Chloe and Mia were twins, six years old. Leo, our youngest boy, was an unplanned blessing, currently three.

I first uncovered Julian’s betrayal on the exact day I intercepted his graphic Snapchats with his assistant.

That morning, I had been gripping the toilet bowl, violently throwing up from stress and morning sickness. Chloe had padded into the bathroom in her tiny socks, gently patting my back with her little hands.

"Mommy, are you sick?"

Looking at her big, innocent eyes, a knot tightened in my chest.

"Chloe, let me ask you something. If Mommy and Daddy lived in different houses, who would you want to live with?"

Without a second's hesitation, she replied, "Mommy. Daddy’s never home anyway. Mommy is always with us."

My eyes welled with tears as I pulled her into my arms.

"What about Leo? Leo is still a baby, he needs Mommy."

Leo didn't understand what was happening. He just waddled over, climbed into my lap, and wrapped his chubby arms around my neck. "Mommy smells nice. Hug Mommy!"

Right then and there, my resolve solidified into steel.

This divorce was happening. And my babies were staying with me.

---

Three days after the paperwork was served, Julian showed up at my front door to take the kids.

He brought two high-powered corporate lawyers and four burly bodyguards.

"Evelyn, my legal team received your petition," Julian sneered from the threshold. "But until a judge rules, I have full paternal rights. Today, I'm taking the children to my family's estate in the Hamptons."

I blocked the entrance, crossing my arms. "Do you honestly think I'm going to let you walk out of here with them?"

"What choice do you have? I’m their biological father. I have the legal right to see them!"

Just then, six-year-old Chloe came scampering down the grand staircase holding her iPad.

"Mommy, Daddy is lying."

Julian faltered, plastering on a fake, patronizing smile. "Chloe, sweetie, Daddy would never lie to you. Daddy loves you more than anything."

Chloe shook her head and tapped the screen.

An audio recording blasted through the foyer speakers. It was Julian’s voice, speaking to his secretary:

*"Babe, once I seize control of the company assets, I’m dumping that washed-up housewife. The kids? They’re just dead weight. I'll let her keep them. A stay-at-home mom won't last six months trying to afford three kids on her own."*

The room plunged into dead silence. Even his bodyguards looked awkwardly at the floor.

Julian turned an ugly shade of red. "You… you taught our daughter to wiretap me?!"

Chloe retreated behind my legs, peeking out timidly. "Mommy didn't teach me. I did it myself. My teacher said if Daddy says bad things that hurt Mommy, we should record it."

I knelt down, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. "You did great, baby."

Mia ran down the stairs next, clutching a small stack of printed photographs.

"Daddy, these are the pictures of you kissing that other lady at the hotel. I already sent them to Grandpa and Grandma on WhatsApp."

Julian looked like he had been struck by lightning. "You… you little—"

Three-year-old Leo didn't grasp the adult drama, but he clearly sensed the hostile vibe. Hugging my knee, he pouted his chubby lips and pointed his finger. "Bad Daddy! Hit bad Daddy!"

Then he toddled forward and slapped Julian’s knee with his tiny palm.

It didn't hurt physically, but the psychological humiliation was absolute.

Julian stood there, his face flushing crimson and then draining to a ghostly white. Without muttering another word, he turned around and stormed off.

His embarrassed lawyers and hired muscle scrambled after him.

I wrapped my arms tightly around my three children, feeling a profound sense of peace settle over my chest.

"Mommy, did we do the right thing?" Chloe whispered.

I kissed the top of her head. "Yes, sweetie. Mommy protects you, and you protect Mommy. That’s what real family does."

---

*Late Night in the Laboratory*

At 2:00 AM, I was still inside the Apex Genomics research facility.

The sequencing centrifuges hummed softly in the quiet darkness, and lines of code flickered across the monitors.

This place was my sanctuary. My battlefield. My empire.

Here, I didn't need to put on a brave face. I didn't need to pretend everything was fine. I only had to face sterile equipment and honest data.

Data never lies.

A genetic sample yields an absolute result. It isn't like a human heart—treacherous, unpredictable, and rotten at its core.

I picked up an analytical dossier under the soft glow of my desk lamp. It was a comparative sequencing match between Julian and his assistant’s prenatal blood test: 99.9999% match.

I stared at the numbers until my vision blurred.

Seven years ago, in this exact laboratory, I had held a different report. It was the paternity test confirming Julian was the father of our twins. Back then, my heart had been overflowing with hope and adoration. I genuinely believed I had found my soulmate, the man I would grow old with.

Looking back, I had been impossibly naive.

Romance is the most fragile illusion in the world, and marriage cannot survive when built on venomous lies.

I shut down the monitors and walked out into the chilly night. A light drizzle was falling over Manhattan, the scent of damp asphalt filling the air.

Leaning against my car, I lit a slim cigarette.

I had quit smoking years ago to prepare for pregnancy and breastfeeding. And afterward, taking care of three babies left me no time for vices. But tonight, just for a few stolen minutes, I needed the bitter taste of nicotine to numb the dull ache in my chest.

Through the drifting smoke, memories came rushing back.

I remembered our wedding day, Julian slipping a platinum band onto my finger, whispering, *“Evelyn, I will spend the rest of my life cherishing you.”*

I remembered the day Chloe and Mia were born. He had sobbed like a child outside the delivery room, clutching my hands.

I remembered the day Leo came into the world. Julian had held me close, swearing he would never let me suffer again.

Lies. Every single word was a calculated lie.

I ground out the cigarette beneath the heel of my Louboutins and turned back toward the lab.

I had work to finish. Reports to certify. Three children to raise, and a multi-billion-dollar enterprise to command.

I had no time for self-pity. And I had zero permission to be weak.

By dawn, the last batch of data was compiled. The sun rose over the skyline, casting golden light through the floor-to-ceiling glass.

A brand-new day had begun.

I washed my face, applied fresh lipstick, and drove home to cook breakfast for my babies.

Life moves forward, no matter what kind of hell you walked through the night before.

***