Chapter 2

An hour later, Jenny' s car screeched into the driveway. She stormed into the house, Wes trailing behind her like a shadow. He had a look of feigned concern on his face.

"A divorce? Are you serious?" Jenny threw her purse onto the couch. "You're throwing a tantrum because I made a joke about babies? Grow up, Ethan."

"It's not about the joke, Jenny," I said, my voice flat.

Wes stepped forward, placing a hand on Jenny's arm. "Jen, calm down. Ethan, honey, what's this all about? You know how much she loves you. We were all just so excited about the award."

He called me "honey." The condescension was so thick I could taste it.

"This is between me and my wife, Wes," I said, looking directly at him.

Jenny scoffed. "Don't be rude to Wes. He's been my rock. And if you must know, he's the reason I'm so happy right now. We're creating a family."

She said it with such arrogance, as if she were announcing a new marketing campaign.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. I wanted to hear her say it.

"Wes's family is very conservative," she explained, her tone shifting to one of a patient teacher explaining a simple concept to a slow child. "They've been pressuring him. So, as his best friend, his loyal friend, I agreed to be a surrogate for him. We did IVF. We're going to have a modern family together."

She looked at me, expecting me to applaud her generosity.

"You're carrying his child," I stated, not as a question.

"Yes! I'm helping my best friend. And you're so narrow-minded and selfish that you can't support my act of kindness? This is who I am, Ethan. I'm a generous person. You should be proud of me."

Wes nodded sagely. "It's a beautiful thing, really. A testament to our friendship."

I looked at them, this perfectly rehearsed duo. The twisted logic, the shameless gaslighting. It was breathtaking in its audacity. They weren't just liars; they were proud of it.

A wave of disgust washed over me, so pure and strong it felt like a physical force. It cleansed me of any remaining doubt, any lingering sentiment.

"The divorce is final," I said, my voice like ice. "And I'm selling the house. You have twenty-four hours to get your things."