Divorcing The CEO To Save My Baby

Emma watched Denton guide Beverly down the hallway toward the guest suites. Their shadows disappeared around the corner.

She didn't cry. She turned around, walked into the kitchen, pulled a bottle of room-temperature water from the fridge, and chugged it to force the nausea down.

The next morning, Emma changed into a low-profile gray business suit. She pulled her hair back into a tight, severe bun.

She dug her old leather briefcase out from the back of her closet and shoved several freshly printed resumes inside.

She walked out of the apartment building and stopped at a Starbucks on the corner to order a hot milk.

When it was time to pay, she handed over her black card. The POS machine let out a loud, obnoxious beep. DECLINED.

The barista looked at her awkwardly. The line of businessmen behind her began to shift and sigh in annoyance.

Heat rushed to Emma's cheeks. She dug frantically through her wallet, pulling out crumpled bills and loose quarters until she had enough. She grabbed the cup and hurried out.

At ten o'clock, she sat in the sleek office of a top-tier PR firm on Madison Avenue.

The HR Director was smiling, clearly impressed by her Ivy League credentials. He opened his mouth to discuss salary.

The internal phone on his desk rang. He picked it up. Within seconds, the blood drained from his face.

He hung up the phone, his smile entirely gone. He slid the resume back across the desk to Emma. "I apologize. The position has been filled."

"What?" Emma gripped the edge of the desk. "You just said—"

"Please leave, Mrs. Chaney," the Director interrupted, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "I cannot afford to have Chaney Media destroy my firm."

Emma snatched her resume. She walked out of the building, the bright midday sun stabbing at her eyes.

By two in the afternoon, she had visited three more media and advertising agencies. All ended in sudden, unexplained rejections.

The final interviewer didn't even pretend. He tossed her resume straight into the trash can.

"I apologize, Mrs. Chaney. Your name just appeared on the 'Griffin List'—it's an informal blacklist shared among the top media execs in the city. No one will touch you," the man sneered. "High-risk, unhirable. Whatever you did to piss off your husband, it worked."

At five o'clock, Emma collapsed onto a cold wooden bench in Central Park.

She slipped off her right heel. The skin on her heel was rubbed raw, a burst blister oozing blood into her pantyhose.

A gust of freezing wind swept off the lake. She shivered violently, crossing her arms tightly over her stomach to protect the baby from the cold.

The baby. Always the baby. Every decision she made now passed through that single, immovable filter. She could not afford to fall apart. She could not afford to give up. There was a tiny life depending on her—a life that Denton would crush without hesitation if he knew it existed.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Alex, Denton's assistant.

Mr. Chaney says if you return to the penthouse and sign the papers now, he will allow you to keep one of the cars.

Emma stared at the glowing screen. Pure, unadulterated rage burned in her chest.

She hit delete. She blocked the number.

A sharp cramp of hunger hit her, followed by the dizzying drop of pregnancy-induced hypoglycemia. Black spots swarmed her vision.

She opened her wallet. She had exactly eighteen dollars in cash left, having deposited her emergency funds into a now-frozen account just yesterday. Even worse, she had tried to pawn her diamond earrings earlier, only to find that every reputable broker in the diamond district had been warned by the Chaney family not to accept her pieces.

She had to calculate whether to buy a cheap dinner to feed the baby, or save it for subway fare tomorrow.

Despair crashed over her like a physical weight. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over her, blocking the glare of the streetlamp.

A steaming paper cup of decaf latte was pushed gently into her line of sight, accompanied by a warm, familiar voice.

"You look like you could use this."