Chapter 1: Cracks in the Glass

In the third year of my marriage to Ryan Carter—the so-called 'golden boy' among Chicago’s elite—I found out I was pregnant.

I used to think a baby would fix the cracks in our marriage, or at least give me something to hold onto when the nights got too long. The news settled over me like a warm blanket at first, something I’d clung to during all those late nights alone in our penthouse, the city lights winking below. My hands trembled as I touched my belly, hope blooming for just a moment, enough for me to start plotting how to tell him. I was going to bake his favorite red velvet cupcakes, maybe even write a little note. The kind of thing I’d seen in all those Hallmark movies.

I could already smell the cocoa and cream cheese frosting, the way his smile would soften when he tasted the first bite. Just as I was planning to surprise him, I got a photo in bed: explicit, unmistakable.

I’d just set the butter out to soften, humming to myself, when my phone buzzed. For a second, I thought it might be him. It was the kind of image that burns into your retinas and makes your hands go cold, even though your face is hot with shame and fury. My phone buzzed again, and messages popped up, plain as day, each word like a kick in the gut.

"I slept with your best friend."

"Honestly, it felt amazing."

The words swirled on the screen, and for a moment, the air in the room was so thin I couldn’t breathe. I stood in the kitchen, lights flickering on the marble countertops, and just stared. My phone vibrated again—more words, as if the universe wanted to rub it in.

Before I could even process the shock, a flood of comments flashed through my mind, like I was trapped inside some reality show and the internet was weighing in:

In my head, I heard a montage of voices, the imaginary peanut gallery: friends from book club, whispers at the gym, even the woman behind me in line at Whole Foods. Their opinions—real or not—felt like popcorn popping in my skull.

"He didn’t really sleep with her—the guy’s just trying to make you jealous so you’ll fall even harder for him."

"Yeah, you’re always working, you’ve neglected our golden boy. He just wants you to quit your job and depend on him—so you’ll never leave."

"Girl, just cry a little, tell him you can’t live without him—guys eat that up."

But I didn’t want his world. Instead, I went to the hospital.