Part 1
I was still weak and recovering when my husband stepped into my hospital room with another woman beside him. She carried a black Birkin as if it were a prize, her red nails tapping against the leather while my pain seemed to mean nothing to either of them.
Our three newborn boys slept in clear bassinets next to my bed, wrapped like tiny miracles. I had not rested in over a day. My body felt shattered, my face was puffy, and damp strands of hair stuck to my forehead.
And there stood Adrian Vale, the man I had been married to for five years, smiling as though he had just won something.
