"My husband chose my sister’s wedding rehearsal over my stillbirth delivery—then he returned 3 days later with my family and an outrageous demand."

In stepped my mother, Patricia Whitmore, wearing an elaborate lavender silk suit, holding a massive designer handbag. Behind her marched my sister, Chloe, still glowing from her high-society wedding, wearing a massive diamond ring, followed by her new husband, Richard.

And walking right beside them, wearing a sleek navy suit with an arrogant, unbothered smirk on his face, was my husband, Owen.

None of them brought flowers. None of them wore expressions of grief or reverence. They entered the room like a delegation of landlords inspecting a delinquent tenant.

"Well, Natalie," Patricia began loudly, resting her handbag on the foot of my bed. "You certainly made a grand drama out of the weekend. Walking out on the rehearsal, refusing to attend Chloe's wedding... do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to explain your absence to two hundred guests?"

I sat propped up against the pillows, wearing a dark green silk robe, my face pale but composed, my hazel eyes cold and unreadable. I said nothing.

Owen stepped forward, putting his hands in his pockets, shaking his head with patronizing pity.

"Nat, I told you you were overreacting," Owen chimed in smoothly. "Look, we're all sorry about what happened with the baby, but life goes on. Chloe’s wedding was a once-in-a-lifetime event. You can always try for another child in a year or two."

A toxic, suffocating rage flared in the room, but I kept my posture perfectly still, locking my eyes onto Owen’s face.

"A once-in-a-lifetime event," I repeated softly. "And delivering our dead daughter was just an inconvenient distraction for you?"

Chloe rolled her eyes, adjusting her diamond bracelet. "Oh, please, Natalie! Don't make this about you! You’ve always been jealous of my success. The point is, the wedding was fabulous, but the catering and venue bills came out a bit higher than expected—about eighty thousand dollars over budget."

Patricia stepped closer to the bed, sliding a thick legal folder onto my tray table.

"Which brings us to why we're here," Patricia announced flatly. "Your father left several real estate parcels and corporate proxy accounts in his personal name. Owen told us that under your marriage agreement, you have administrative proxy over his estate assets. We need you to sign these liquidation authorizations today so we can clear Chloe’s wedding debt and transfer Owen to the Vice President position at Calloway-Marlowe Logistics."

Owen pulled a expensive Montblanc pen from his pocket, clicking it open, and holding it out toward me.

"Just sign the papers, Natalie," Owen commanded casually. "It’s time for you to pull your weight for this family instead of sitting here moping."

I looked at the pen in his hand.

Then I looked at my mother’s cold, demanding face.

Then I looked at Chloe’s arrogant smirk.

I took a slow, deep breath, reached into my robe pocket, and pulled out a small, velvet box containing Mia's silver keepsake rattle. I set it gently on the tray table beside the legal papers.

"You want me to sign these papers, Owen?" I asked softly.

"Yes," Owen answered, smirking. "Let's get this over with."