Chapter 2

Skyler gave birth to twin boys. Ethan called me at the Vermont spa, his voice a strange mix of pride and anxiety.

"They're healthy, Ava. Two boys."

I said nothing. The silence stretched.

"My parents are... thrilled. They want you here. For appearances."

Of course. Richard and Katherine, Ethan's cold, elitist parents. Their concern was always legacy, heirs. My infertility, a result of saving their precious son, had always been a quiet disappointment to them. Now, they had their heirs, conveniently bypassing me.

I returned to New York, to the sterile, hushed atmosphere of the private hospital wing.

Richard and Katherine were cooing over the incubators. Katherine barely glanced at me.

"Ava, dear. So glad you could make it." Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

Skyler was in her private room, looking radiant, the picture of beatific motherhood. Ethan hovered nearby, looking stressed but also... relieved.

She held out a weak hand to me. "Ava. Thank you for coming. It means so much."

Her eyes, though, held a glint of something else. Triumph.

"Ethan has told me how supportive you've been," she murmured, loud enough for his parents to hear.

Supportive. I felt a bitter laugh rise.

Later, when Ethan's parents were briefly out of the room, Skyler asked to see me alone with one of the twins.

"He's so beautiful, isn't he?" she cooed, holding up a tiny, swaddled baby. "Ethan is such a natural father."

She then made a show of being weak, her hand trembling as she held the baby towards me. "Could you...?"

As I reached out, she stumbled slightly, a small, almost imperceptible movement, making it look as if the baby was about to slip.

"Oh!" she gasped.

I instinctively tightened my grip, securing the child.

Ethan rushed back in at that exact moment, drawn by her gasp. Skyler looked at him, eyes wide with feigned terror.

"Ava... she almost... I don't know what happened."

Ethan's face hardened. "Ava, what the hell?"

"Nothing happened, Ethan. She just..."

But Skyler was already crying softly. "I'm just so tired. Maybe Ava is... stressed."

That evening, Ethan "advised" me to move to their Hamptons beach house.

"Just for a while, Ava. To recover. You're clearly not yourself."

Exile. That's what it was. Packaged as concern.

The Hamptons house was beautiful, isolated, filled with ghosts of happier summers. I walked through the empty rooms, the silence pressing in. My luggage, meticulously packed by Maria, our loyal housekeeper, sat in the hall. Maria had pressed my hand before I left the city, her eyes full of pity. She knew. She'd seen everything.

I thought of the skiing accident again. The pain, the surgeries, the doctor's gentle words: "I'm so sorry, Ava. Your injuries were severe. Carrying a pregnancy to term will be impossible."

Ethan had been devastated then, or so he'd said. He'd held me, promised it didn't matter, that we had each other.

Now, he had his heirs. And I was out in the cold.