When I married Wyatt, I thought I was stepping into a love story. Instead, it unraveled. His infidelity shattered our marriage, and while he walked away unscathed, I was left rebuilding my life.
Then came the package—keys, an address, and a note. Inside the sleek apartment, Jill, my ex-mother-in-law, waited. “This apartment is my gift to you,” she said, then added the catch: “A grandson.” Disgusted, I refused.
Years later, I built a life without them—successful, married to Daniel, and raising our son, Ethan.
One day, I saw Jill, broken. “Wyatt lost everything,” she admitted.
I let her go. “Ready to head home?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah. Always.”
