Chapter 1
The sound of my baby's bag hitting the marble floor was so loud that I thought something had broken.
Then my husband pointed toward our front door.
"TAKE THE BABY AND GET OUT!"
I froze on the cream-colored sofa.
My newborn daughter was sleeping against my chest, wrapped snugly in a white blanket.
She was only twelve days old.
Twelve days.
And the man who had cried when she was born was throwing us out of our own home.
"Marcus?"
My voice barely came out.
He stood over me in his navy suit, his white shirt open at the collar.
His face was twisted with anger.
Behind him stood his mother, Evelyn.
She wore a pale-blue blouse, her hair pulled neatly away from her face.
And she was smiling.
That smile frightened me more than Marcus's shouting.
Because I knew exactly what it meant.
She had finally gotten what she wanted.
"Did you hear me, Nia?" Marcus demanded.
I tightened my arms around my daughter.
"Please lower your voice. You're going to wake her."
He pointed at the door again.
"Then leave before she wakes up!"
My eyes filled with tears.
I looked at Evelyn.
She folded her arms.
"This house needs peace, not your constant drama."
I stared at her.
"Drama?"
She tilted her head.
"Ever since that baby arrived, you've acted like nobody else matters."
My stomach tightened.
I had given birth less than two weeks earlier.
I was still recovering from a difficult delivery.
I barely slept.
My body hurt every time I stood.
And somehow, Evelyn had convinced Marcus that my exhaustion was disrespect.
That morning, she demanded that I stop breastfeeding and let her take our daughter to her house for a week.
I refused.
Not rudely.
Not angrily.
I simply said the baby was too young to be separated from me.
Evelyn called me selfish.
Marcus told me to apologize.
I wouldn't.
Now my baby bag was lying on the floor.
And my husband was ordering us out.
I looked up at him.
"You're throwing us out because your mother told you to?"
His jaw tightened.
"Don't twist this around."
"Then tell me what I did."
"You've been disrespectful."
"Because I won't give her our newborn?"
Evelyn stepped forward.
"There you go again."
I looked at her.
"She's my daughter."
"And Marcus is my son."
Her voice became cold.
"I won't watch you turn him against his own mother."
I felt something inside me break.
For eighteen months, I had tried to please Evelyn.
I invited her to dinner.
Bought her birthday gifts.
Listened to her advice.
Ignored her insults.
When she criticized my cooking, I smiled.
When she complained about my clothes, I changed.
When she called me ungrateful, I apologized.
But becoming a mother had changed something inside me.
I could tolerate being insulted.
I couldn't tolerate someone treating my daughter like property.
I looked at Marcus.
"Please think about what you're doing."
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Just go."
I stared at him.
Then I asked quietly,
"Where exactly do you expect me to take a twelve-day-old baby?"
He shrugged.
"Call your father."
The words struck me.
My father.
The man Marcus had insisted should stay out of our marriage.
The man Evelyn called arrogant because he refused to let her manage my finances.
I looked down at my sleeping daughter.
Her tiny hand rested against my sweater.
She had no idea her father had just abandoned us.
I began crying.
Then I reached for my phone.
Marcus immediately stepped closer.
"Who are you calling?"
I looked directly at him.
"The person who actually owns this house."
Silence.
Marcus stared.
"What?"
Evelyn's smile disappeared.
I pressed my father's number.
He answered almost immediately.
"Nia?"
The sound of his voice nearly broke me.
"Daddy."
His tone changed.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
I swallowed.
"Marcus wants me and the baby out."
For a moment, I heard nothing.
Then Dad asked,
"Is my granddaughter safe?"
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. Just scared."
"Where are you?"
"In the living room."
His voice became calm.
"Stay exactly where you are."
I closed my eyes.
"Daddy—"
"Security is already on the way."
Marcus looked confused.
"Security?"
Evelyn took a step backward.
I slowly stood, keeping my daughter securely supported against my chest.
My knees trembled.
But I refused to sit down again.
I looked at my husband.
"My father bought this house before our wedding."
Marcus blinked.
"What?"
"He paid for it. He kept the deed in his name."
Evelyn's face drained of color.
I continued.
"Neither of your names was ever added."
Marcus stared at me.
"You never told me that."
I almost laughed.
"You never asked."
He looked around the beautiful living room.
The marble floors.
The enormous windows.
The expensive furniture.
Everything he had spent months showing off to his friends.
He always called it his house.
His achievement.
His reward for working hard.
I had never corrected him.
Because I thought marriage meant sharing.
I thought the difference between ownership and love didn't matter.
Until he tried to throw me out.
"You never asked before choosing your mother over your wife and child," I whispered.
Marcus looked at Evelyn.
For the first time, he seemed uncertain.
"Mom?"
She swallowed.
"Nia is lying."
I shook my head.
"No."
My father's voice came through the phone.
"Marcus, the property records are public. You can check them."
The room went silent.
Then the electronic front-door lock clicked.
Evelyn turned sharply.
Marcus stepped backward.
I heard heavy footsteps outside.
My father continued,
"And Marcus?"
My husband stared at the phone.
"What?"
Dad's voice became colder.
"Our attorney found the document your mother forged."
Evelyn froze.
Her hands began trembling.
Marcus slowly turned toward her.
"Mom?"
She said nothing.
I looked from one face to the other.
Suddenly, I realized something.
May you like
My husband wasn't the only person who had been lying to me.
And whatever Evelyn had forged was important enough to make her forget how to breathe.
