The night before our son Jason Campbell's birthday celebration, I found a prenatal exam report on Lucas Campbell's phone.

A woman had sent it, along with a tearful voice message. Every month, she would drain half his income.

Instead of overlooking it, I put the phone in front of him and asked for an explanation.

Lucas sat in the study all night.

At dawn, he came out and told me, "I admit I owe her, but there's nothing going on between us.

"I'll take care of it after Jason's birthday celebration. Don't make a scene in front of our guests."

From college till now, we'd been together for a decade. He was a top criminal defense lawyer while I was a forensic doctor. To everyone else, we were the perfect match.

I couldn't give up our family just because of a baby that wasn't even his.

So I put on my dress, and the celebration went on as planned.

Halfway through, however, one of Lucas' friends burst into the hall with a blood-smeared incubator.

His face was pale as he shouted, "Luke! Bella miscarried after she found out about the party! The baby's gone!"

The wineglass in Lucas' hand slipped and shattered on the floor.

Face blanched, he ran for the door.

Through tears, I shouted after him, "If you walk out that door today, you're no longer Jason's dad!"

He froze for a second, then dashed out without looking back.

I stood there, holding our sleeping son, who had no idea his father had just walked away.

The music stopped.

And the guests fell silent.

Even the emcee stood frozen on stage with the microphone in hand, not knowing what to say.

Caleb Campbell and Clara Campbell—Lucas' parents—walked up to me.

Caleb snarled with a scowl, "Julia, I'll break that jerk's legs!"

I shook my head and handed Jason to the nanny. "Caleb, Clara, just let him be."

My parents rushed over, too.

"How could he do this at his own child's celebration! He's turning our entire family into a joke!" my mom snapped, tears welling up in her eyes.

I stepped down from the stage and said, "I'll take you home first."

The banquet was in chaos.

Zachary Buckner, Lucas' friend who had barged in, looked guilty.

"I'm sorry, Julia. Things got out of hand. Her condition was critical... The baby was already formed..."

I stared at him in silence.

Zachary had grown up with Lucas, so he also knew about the case three years ago.

Lucas' only client to ever lose a case was a man named Oliver Mendoza, who died in prison soon after.

And that "Bella" was Oliver's sister, Isabelle Mendoza.

When Lucas said he owed her, he meant he had to take care of her for Oliver's sake.

But that didn't mean Zachary could just crash our baby boy's celebration, holding a dead fetus like some tragic offering.

I picked up my bag and walked out of that farce.

My phone buzzed inside my purse again and again, but I ignored it.

I knew it was Lucas.

He would explain himself and say sorry, telling me Isabelle was dying and that he had to be there.

I used to believe that.

But tonight, I finally understood that such care had long since crossed the line.

When I got home, I changed out of my gown and slipped into casual clothes. Then, I drove straight to the hospital.

As a forensic doctor, I needed to know the truth about this "miscarriage."

Outside the ob-gyn's ER, Lucas was slumped against the wall.

His suit was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot.

Isabelle lay unconscious on the hospital bed as they wheeled her out.

An IV needle was taped to her wrist; her face drained of all color.

Lucas immediately followed, holding her hand.

I walked over.

He straightened up when he saw me, guilt clouding his eyes.

"Julia, you came. I'm sorry about today—"

"How is she?" I cut him off, looking at Isabelle on the bed.

"The doctor said she lost a lot of blood. The baby's gone, but her life's not in danger. Her emotions are unstable, though."

I nodded.

"Glad to know she's okay," I said softly.

Then, I turned around, ready to leave.

Lucas grabbed my wrist. "Julia, come on. I lost Oliver's case. I owe them. I can't just abandon her. She's lost her last bit of hope."

Just then, Isabelle opened her eyes.

Tears streamed down her face as soon as she saw me.

"Juliana, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I didn't mean to ruin the big day. I just saw the pictures from your baby's celebration and thought about Ollie..."

Her sobs came in gasps.

"I just lost it. I'm sorry about the party."

Lucas immediately sat back down beside her, his voice soft and careful.

"It's okay. Don't think about it anymore. It's over. Just focus on getting better."

Then he turned to me, eyes full of reproach. "Can't you see how pitiful she is? Can't you show a little understanding?"

I pulled my hand free.

"The doctor said her life's not in danger," I snapped, meeting his eyes. "And that child isn't yours."

When I walked out of the hospital, the cold wind hit my face.

That was when I realized my hands were shaking.

The next day, Lucas came home with a stack of papers in his hand.

When I opened the door, I didn't let him in.

He held out the documents. "Julia, I'm here to apologize on Bella's behalf. She lost control yesterday. She didn't mean it."

"Can't she apologize herself?" I asked.

He hesitated.

"She's too weak right now."

"Let's not talk about her then," I said. "Let's talk about us. What about Jason's birthday celebration? How do we explain this to our families?"

He fell silent.

After a long pause, he said, "Once things calm down, we'll host another one."

"Another one?" I stared at him. "You think something like that can just be redone?"

"What else can we do?" His tone hardened, edged with impatience.

"What's done is done. I know you're upset, but Bella's lost her brother and baby. Can't we show her a little compassion?"

There it was again—compassion.

I took the document from his hand. It was a share transfer agreement.

He had signed over 20 percent of his law firm's equity to me.

"This is compensation," he said. "Please don't stay angry."

When I accepted the papers, he exhaled in relief, assuming I had forgiven him.

"You've always been softhearted. Don't worry. Once she recovers, I'll make it up to you and Jason."

Then he left.

I tore the agreement into pieces and threw it in the trash.

The next morning, I went to work and had my colleague pull the hospital records from the day before.

Isabelle, pregnant at 24 weeks, had undergone induced labor.

It was not a miscarriage but a deliberate termination.

I called a friend in the emergency department.

"Do you remember a patient named Isabelle Mendoza? The one who came in yesterday with heavy bleeding?"

He thought for a moment. "Oh, her. A man carried her in, panic written all over his face, saying she had miscarried."

"How was she really?"

He sighed. "Honestly? It was standard post-procedure bleeding. Nothing dangerous. We all knew what it was—just a show for the guy."

My stomach sank.

She'd played it perfectly by choosing the day of our baby's celebration to induce labor, faking a hemorrhage.

That night, Lucas came home late, looking pleased.

He said Isabelle was stable now.

"I booked a restaurant. We'll make up for your birthday and Mom's together."

In the car, he reached for my hand.

I pulled away.

"Lucas, how much do you give Isabelle every month?"

He froze.

"It's not that much... Just half my income."

Lucas was one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the city. Half his income was an astronomical amount.

"She doesn't work?"

"She's not in good health. After Oliver's case, she fell into depression and hasn't been able to hold down a job."

"So you're supporting her?"

His brows furrowed.

"Julia, what kind of question is that? I'm just taking responsibility for Oliver!"

His tone rose, defensive and sharp.

"He died in prison because I lost that case! Is making sure his sister has food and shelter a crime?"

I didn't reply.

The air in the car turned cold.

We barely spoke through dinner.

On the way back, his phone rang.

It was Isabelle.

He answered immediately, his voice softening.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?

"The power's out? Don't move. I'll be right there."

When he hung up, he forced a smile at me.

"Julia, I'll drop you off first, then head over to Bella's place. She's alone and afraid of the dark."

I looked straight at him.

"Lucas, what exactly is she to you?"

His smile froze.

"She's my client's sister, the victim I failed to protect."

"So now you're responsible for her meals, her bills, and fixing her circuit breaker?"

"Juliana!" He snapped, his patience gone. "Can you not twist everything? She's a patient! She just went through an induced labor. Her place is pitch black! You expect me to ignore that?"

"You could call building maintenance."

"It's not the same! She doesn't trust anyone else!"

I laughed. "Right. She only trusts you."

I opened the door.

"No need to drop me off. I can go back by myself. Go on. Your 'responsibility' is waiting."

I stepped out and shut the door behind me.

His car idled for a long moment, then finally turned around and drove off in the direction of Isabelle's apartment.

We stopped speaking.

Neither of us reached out first.

Our new home, the one we bought after getting married, was already ready. It was right in the best part of the city.

Now, I lived there alone with Jason.

The place was big and painfully quiet.

A week later, Lucas called.

His voice sounded exhausted.

"Julia, can we talk?"

We met at the apartment.

He had lost weight, and the dark circles under his eyes were deep and heavy.

"Julia, I'm sorry," he began. "I haven't been a good husband these past few weeks.

"Bella's emotions have been unstable. She needs someone with her."

I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"I know you're upset. But Julia, it's been ten years. Don't you know me by now? What I feel for Bella is just guilt and responsibility. Nothing more."

"I know," I said.

He exhaled in relief.

"I knew you would understand me best."

He stepped closer, trying to hold me.

But I moved away.

"Lucas, I asked you to come here today to talk about the apartment. I'm selling it."

He froze.

"What do you mean?"

"The place we bought after we got married is registered under both our names. I want to sell it and divide the assets."

"Why? This is our home!"

"I'm just afraid that one day, when Isabelle's power goes out again or her plumbing breaks, you'll decide she needs this home more than your wife and son do."

His expression darkened.

"Juliana, do you have to talk like this? Do you have to cut so deep every time?"

"I'm just stating facts."

"It was just a small favor!"

"Running out on Jason's birthday celebration was also a small favor? Was giving her half your income also a small favor? Lucas, your 'small favors' never seem to end."

He was speechless.

After a long breath, he said tightly, "Fine, Juliana. If that's what you think, I'll do as you say."

He looked at me, voice cold and deliberate. "In the next few days, I'll have Bella move in. She can take the guest room."

For a moment, my mind went blank.

"What did you just say?"

"I said Bella will move in," he repeated, louder this time, as if he was trying to convince me, or maybe himself..

"She's alone. I worry about her. She keeps getting into trouble. If she lives here, under our roof, I can keep an eye on her, and it'll give you peace of mind too. That's fair, isn't it?"

I stared at him as if he were a stranger.

"Lucas, you've lost your mind!"

"I haven't!" he shot back. "I'm perfectly clearheaded. I can't just let my client's sister get hurt!"

Each word landed hard—deliberate, final.

And suddenly, I felt utterly exhausted.

A bone-deep kind of weariness that drained everything inside me.

"Fine," I said softly.

"Let her move in."

He froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.

I opened a drawer, took out the divorce papers I had already prepared, and set them on the coffee table.

"Sign them," I said evenly.

"From now on, this will be you and Isabelle's home.

"I wish you both happiness."

Then I stood up, picked up the sleeping Jason from his crib, and walked out of the home I had once dreamed about.

The moment I closed the door behind me, I heard the sound of something shattering inside.

That was when my tears finally fell.

Our ten-year relationship was over.

I told my parents I was divorcing Lucas.

They didn't ask questions. They just said they supported whatever decision I made.

Lucas didn't come looking for me.

Maybe he was busy helping Isabelle move in.

In his eyes, I was probably just throwing a tantrum.

Life went on. I went back to work.

But I couldn't let it go.

I needed to know who that dead child really belonged to.

I asked a friend at the hospital to retrieve the preserved fetal tissue sample.

Without telling anyone, I sent it for a DNA test.

When the results came back, I stared at the report—my hands shaking.