Standing beside him was a woman in a cream dress and heels, her manicured hand resting on his arm like she had every right to be there.
Tessa Monroe.
I knew her instantly.
She worked in Grant’s office. The same coworker he once told me not to worry about. The same woman whose holiday party invitation I never used because Grant had insisted I was “too tired” to come.
Grant glanced at my stomach and made a face.
Not concern.
Not guilt.
Disgust.
“I couldn’t stay with a woman who looked like that,” he said flatly. “A huge belly like yours? It’s depressing. I want my life back.”
His voice carried farther than he probably meant it to. A few people nearby turned their heads.
The baby kicked hard inside me, as if he could hear the cruelty in his father’s voice.
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