Chapter 1

I'm an OB-GYN, and I've pulled more than a few mothers back from the brink of death.

Until the day Derek Rowe walked his thirty-four-weeks-pregnant wife into my exam room.

The intern murmured, "Mr. Rowe really is a model husband. He comes to every prenatal checkup himself."

I calmly finished the examination, giving only three lines of medical instruction the whole time.

The intern was puzzled. "Doctor, you've said hardly anything today."

I took off my mask, my tone flat.

"He's my ex-husband, and the woman beside him is the adopted daughter who stole my parents and my husband and then, in the end, sold me to a lawless border region."

"I survived there for three years."

The intern's chart hit the floor with a slap.

Just then Derek came back, holding up the ultrasound report and asking anxiously.

"The umbilical cord is wrapped around the neck twice—can she still deliver naturally? Delia's very frightened."

I answered by rote.

"She can try the knee-chest position, but it depends on whether the baby is willing to turn back."

Derek frowned, his displeasure obvious.

"You're a top OB-GYN. Don't you have some other option?"

"Delia is your sister, after all. Can you really stand to see her left with a scar across her belly?"

I looked up and calmly met his eyes.

"I'm only speaking to the facts. And besides, I've cut ties with the Dickersons. I don't have a sister."

"If Mr. Rowe doesn't trust my diagnosis, he's free to transfer to another doctor anytime."

The words had barely left my mouth when Delia's shrill voice exploded in the corridor.

"Dorothy Dickerson, you're just holding a grudge!"

"My son already has the cord around his neck twice, and you say it's nothing? If I can't deliver naturally and I'm left with a scar on my belly, I will never let you off."

She rushed into the room, grabbed Derek's arm, and tears instantly poured out.

"Derek, look at her—she's clearly doing this on purpose."

"Some top OB-GYN. If you ask me, she's a butcher."

I closed the chart, my voice clear and calm.

"Ms. Dickerson, a nuchal cord is very common in late pregnancy."

"The fetal heartbeat is normal right now, and there's no problem."

Delia jabbed a finger at my nose. "Quit pretending to be the professional here. Don't think I don't know what you're thinking."

"You're just jealous of me—you're getting your revenge!"

I looked at the woman in front of me who had once shoved me into hell, and suddenly I laughed.

"Revenge on you? You think far too highly of yourself. I just don't want to waste my energy—after all, there are plenty of mothers still waiting for me to save them."

Derek's face changed abruptly. "Dorothy, let bygones be bygones."

"Delia is your family too. Talking like this is going too far."

This was the man who once swore me undying love, the man who handed me over to a lawless border region with his own hands.

And even now he could say something like that to me and feel completely justified.

I told the intern, "Take Mr. Rowe and Ms. Dickerson to handle the referral paperwork."

Delia stood there with her belly out, her face twisted.

"Fine, fine. Derek, let's go. I wouldn't let her look at me anyway."

"I must have been blind to ever come to you for a checkup. Who do you think you are?"

Derek stayed where he was, his eyes conflicted.

"Dorothy, can we talk alone?"

I picked up the next chart. "There's no need. Please, both of you go ahead. There are other mothers waiting."

As I watched them turn and leave, a stabbing pain ran through my calf—an aftereffect of the comminuted fracture.

My real name is Dorothy Dickerson. I went missing at eight and was taken in by an orphanage.

Delia is my cousin. Her parents died young, and my mother—Rita, my birth mother—brought her home to raise.

I was reclaimed at sixteen and met coldness at every turn. After I grew up, I got engaged to Derek, who went to the same school.

He was good to me, ached over my past, and gave me a grand fireworks confession when I was twenty.

Even now, I still remember the way my heart pounded back then.

He kissed my lips possessively and declared, "It's sealed now—you're mine."

I scoffed. "Does that vow of yours actually count?"

He said, "I'll love you my whole life, and if I ever betray this, I'm willing to pay any price."

I thought we were kindred spirits. I thought he understood how hard things had been for me, that he ached over my situation.

But two years into our marriage, all of it changed completely.

On our second wedding anniversary, Delia showed up covered in bruises, pointing at me and accusing me through her tears.

"It's all because of you. You had someone violate me, ruined my good name. You destroyed my life."

"I admit it—I love Derek. But he already turned me down. So why won't you let me go?"

I still vividly remember the look in Derek's eyes then—shock, cold fury.

He shoved me off the raised platform and pointed at me, cursing.

"Dorothy Dickerson, I never imagined you could be this vicious."

"The evidence is solid. What more do you have to say? Those people admitted you put them up to it. The bank transfers, the chat logs—they're all right here. What else is there to argue?"