But no. He ruffled our son's hair and said with a smile, "This time, Momma Mitch will definitely give you a sister."

At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to leave that hell for good.

I was about to head to the bedroom to grab my things, but Jonas blocked the door.

He gave me a disapproving look. "She's tired right now. Don't disturb her."

Then, as if nothing was wrong, he pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on my head.

"Andy, I didn't tell you earlier because I was afraid you couldn't handle it," he began to explain.

He reasoned, "Mitch just wants someone to love her. She's depressed. Can't you give her some space?"

And he had the nerve to promise, "Once she's better, I'll divorce her and marry you."

The scent of lust lingered on him, making me want to throw up.

I shoved him away and snapped, "If she needs someone to love her, she can just find someone else! Why does it have to be you?"

"Listen," he said, "I'm the only one she trusts."

That made me laugh so bitterly that tears began to well up. "So, sleeping with her in my bed—was that part of her therapy too? Did she also want a kid with you, huh?"

Before Jonas could reply, Ashier stepped forward. "It's me! I'm the one who wants Momma Mitch to have a baby sister for me!"

Right then, Mitch walked out of the bedroom, rubbing her sleepy eyes, wearing my pajamas.

"What's going on?" she asked groggily.

Jonas and Ashier rushed to her side, speaking in unison. "Nothing. Go back to sleep. We'll handle this."

From behind them, Mitch shot me a smug, triumphant look.

At that moment, I didn't even bother packing. I just rushed straight out the door.

I didn't want him or our son anymore.

I went straight back to my parents' place.

It had been 10 years since I'd seen them, and the moment they saw me, they hugged me with tears in their eyes.

Mon and Dad asked me over and over if I was sure about this—if I'd really thought through the decision to marry someone else.

They assured me that if I didn't want to, they wouldn't force me.

But I nodded firmly.

Not long after I left, Jonas sent me a message.

[Andy, come back as soon as you've thought things through.]

And then another message, a warning this time:

[But don't dare come back on my wedding day. Mitch doesn't like being disturbed.]

As if I'd go to his wedding just to make a scene.

Mitch also messaged me—a photo of my luggage dumped in a trash can.