Chapter 1

1.

I was seven months pregnant, but because I refused to donate my bone marrow to his ex-girlfriend, my husband, the tech mogul Jackson "Jax" Sterling, threatened me with the one thing I held dear: Havenwood, the group home where I grew up.

He forced me to sign the consent form for the bone marrow donation.

"Look, it's just some marrow. You might lose the baby? So what. At least Vivian will live."

The transplant was a success. But as I lay on the operating table, weak from premature labor and the massive hemorrhage that followed, my husband Jax was celebrating with his recovered ex-girlfriend, Vivian Sloane, on a yacht in the Greek Islands.

Six years after I died from a post-operative infection, Vivian's leukemia relapsed. That's when Jax finally remembered me.

But he couldn't reach me.

After repeated failures, he furiously made a dozen calls to the group home's director, Rose Delgado.

"Get Evelyn on the phone. Now. Or I swear to God, my legal team will destroy that place."

On the other end of the line, my daughter, just home from kindergarten, answered with a small, trembling voice.

"I... I don't know who you are, sir. My mommy... she died a long time ago."

…

"I'm not asking about your mother! Put Rose on the phone. Tell her to get Evelyn out here to see me!"

Jackson Sterling's brow furrowed, his voice filled with impatience.

My daughter fought back her fear and whispered cautiously.

"But... Auntie Rose said my mommy's name is Evelyn Ramirez..."

I could "see" Jax gripping his iPhone, his knuckles white from the pressure. A cold sneer crossed his face.

"Did Evelyn teach you to say that?"

"I've heard this bullshit for six years. I'm done."

"You have until tomorrow. Show up, or my lawyers will tear that place to the ground."

The next morning, Jax rolled up to the Havenwood Group Home in his black Land Rover.

The place, once filled with laughter, was now desolate. A thick layer of fallen leaves covered the driveway, and the front desk was empty.

Pushing down a flicker of confusion, Jax stormed directly to the room I used to live in.

He kicked the door open impatiently, just in time to see my daughter, all dressed and ready for kindergarten with her little backpack on.

"What is this, some kind of performance? You hired a child actor?"

He roared into the room, though his voice was unconsciously lower.

"Evelyn, stop hiding. Get out here!"

But I didn't run out to jump into his arms as I always had before.

The room was silent.

Jax's face darkened. He shoved my daughter, who was blocking the doorway, and strode into the room.

He saw it then―the black-and-white memorial photo of me in the center of the wall. I was much thinner in the picture, my smile a little forced.

Jax scoffed when he saw it, ripping the frame from the wall.

"Nice Photoshop work. Trying to make yourself look half-dead?"

With that, he smashed the frame on the floor and ground his thousand-dollar leather shoe into the glass.

"Stop it! Don't hurt my mommy!"

My daughter cried, trying to pick up my picture, but the broken glass sliced her hand. Blood instantly welled up on her small, pale skin.

Only then did Jax look closely at my daughter's face. He realized she looked exactly like me as a child.

"Was Evelyn Ramirez really your birth mother?"