The day Dominic Harrington drove me to a prenatal appointment, his young assistant, Ivy Walker, deliberately sped up and rear-ended our car. For three months, I'd heard him complain constantly about Ivy, saying she was careless and botched even the simplest tasks. He even claimed that she would be fired sooner or later. Yet after the crash, he ran straight to Ivy and carried her into an ambulance, even though she'd only scraped her forehead. He forgot I was still trapped in the passenger seat, four months pregnant. He forgot we'd been married for seven years and had spent two of them longing for this baby. Since he'd chosen someone else, my baby and I were done with him.