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One month before we were supposed to move back to Boston, my husband Sebastian quietly changed our job applications. His best friend Nate called to talk some sense into him. "You secretly accepted the position at Stanford Medical Center just because Lilith Valentine is in Palo Alto? Sebastian, are you out of your mind? Your wife Audrey already has the Chief Medical Officer offer from Avalon Biopharma in Boston. Weren't you two supposed to go back to the East Coast together?" "Didn't you both spend all those years in the Harvard MD-PhD program so you could finally crack that rare disease target the foundations couldn't touch?" Sebastian shook his head. "Audrey loves me. Once she knows my decision, she'll come with me to California." "Lilith is all alone out there. She needs me. Avalon will always have opportunities. But Lilith only has me." I stood outside our apartment door. Ice spread through my chest. I turned and walked away without a sound. If he wanted to chase his so-called love, then I would continue down my own path. One month later, my plane landed at Logan International Airport. His call came through, frantic. "Audrey, are you in California yet?" I stared at the bare oaks outside the terminal, Boston's late-autumn wind cutting through them. A storm churned inside me. "I've been here for a while." *** I stopped in front of the glass doors at Avalon Biopharma's campus. The conversation I'd overheard a month ago was still fresh in my mind. Nate Miller's voice came through again. "Sebastian, are you really sure about this? At least tell Audrey in person. What if she genuinely doesn't know you pulled the applications..." Sebastian shook his head. "She's talked about that Avalon position for years. She's more invested in it than anyone. There's no way she doesn't know I withdrew our joint application." "And if I tell her face to face, she'll blow up. You know her temper. Why deal with that?" Nate ......

“You won.” I sent the message to my husband's first love, Sloane, then rose to my feet in court. Under the gaze of the judge and everyone else, I spoke slowly and clearly. “Your Honor, I request to withdraw the joint adoption petition filed with Mr. Noah Whitaker. I will adopt my daughter alone.” A hush fell over the courtroom. Beside me, my daughter, Lily, was staring at her father’s empty chair, tears sliding silently down her face. My husband, Noah, was not there. Of course. He was with Sloane, because she was having another “panic attack.” This was exactly what Sloane wanted. She had made a bet with me: if Noah missed seven important events for her, leaving an empty chair in his place, I had to get out of his life. Today, at our daughter’s final adoption hearing, was the seventh time. She had won. And she hadn't wasted a second sending me a message to gloat: “Seven. You lose.” She thought I would fall apart. She thought I would cry and beg Noah to come back. What she didn’t know was that after calmly replying, “You won,” I immediately sent a second message to my lawyer. “Send the divorce agreement. And file for a restraining order. I don’t want him near my daughter again.” … The courtroom erupted. Even the judge’s usually impassive face registered surprise. He pushed his glasses up his nose and studied me, as if to gauge my sanity. I ignored the whispers around me. I only bent down and gently wiped the tears from Lily’s face with my handkerchief. Taking her cold little hand in mine, I said softly, “Let’s go home, sweetheart.” Then I straightened my back and, under countless looks of sympathy, shock, and barely hidden delight, walked out of the courtroom meant to decide her future, my daughter at my side. Behind us was the seventh empty chair. And the last. On the drive back to the Back Bay apartment, Boston’s streets blurred past the windows. Lily had already fallen asleep in the back seat, ......