“You’re tramp, and your kid will be too!” my husband yelled and kicked us out. One year later…
Step by Step
Chapter One: The Ballroom
The ballroom glittered like a world I was never meant to enter.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling of the Atlanta Hotel, scattering golden light across polished marble floors. Every laugh sounded practiced. Every smile looked expensive.
I stood near the entrance, smoothing the fabric of my emerald evening dress — the one that had taken me three hours to choose. And still, I was not sure I belonged here.
My name is Rebecca Sloan.
Beside me stood Caleb, bright, calm, and unbothered in a simple dark suit. No flashy watch, no cufflinks, nothing that screamed power, even though everyone in this room knew exactly who he was.
Chapter Two: Ghosts in the Crowd
As we stepped further into the room, the energy shifted. Conversations paused, heads turned.
A gray-haired man in a tailored tuxedo rushed toward Caleb, shaking his hand with both of his. Others followed, smiling too quickly, eager to be seen.
No one looked at me.
I was still trying to breathe, trying to remember how a woman who once counted coins for bus fare had ended up here.
Then I saw him.
Lucas Grant.
My ex-husband stood by the bar, a champagne glass in his hand. Hanging onto his arm was a young woman in a tight red dress — Vanessa Lucas.
She smiled confidently, enjoying the illusion that he belonged in this world.
Then our eyes met.
The color drained from his face.
His fingers loosened. The glass slipped from his hand and shattered against the marble floor, the sound cutting through the music like a gunshot.
People gasped. Vanessa shrieked and jumped back.
I did not move.
I just stared at the man who one year ago had thrown me and my one-year-old daughter out into the freezing night.
Chapter Three: Winter’s Edge
One year earlier, my world was very different.
January had been unforgiving that winter. The cold pressed against the thin walls of our rented apartment on the south side of the city, and the heater worked only when it felt like it.
I wrapped my daughter Lily in two blankets and held her close, listening to the wind rattle the windows.
Lily was just over one year old. She had recently learned to stand by holding on to the couch, her small fingers gripping the fabric with determination. Her favorite word was “Mama.” Every time she said it, something inside me softened even on the hardest days.
That night, Lucas came home close to 11.
I heard him fumbling with the lock, cursing under his breath.
The sound alone told me he had been drinking again.
When the door finally opened, he stumbled inside, knocking over the coat rack. Jackets fell to the floor as he laughed to himself.
I stepped out of the bedroom quietly, hoping Lily would stay asleep.
He looked at me with a glassy, unfocused stare.
“This was not the careless drunk I had learned to manage. This was anger.”
“She asleep already?” he said, mocking my voice.
“Of course she is. That kid sleeps more than she breathes. Just like you, Lucas, what happened?” I asked.
He walked into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator.
“What happened is I got fired and it is your fault.”
My stomach dropped.
Fired meant rent we could not pay. Bills that were already late.
Fear wrapped itself around my chest.
“We will figure it out,” I said. “I can take more work. I always do.”
He turned so fast I flinched.
“Who needs you?” He snapped. “A woman with a kid dragging her down. If it were not for you, I would have been successful by now.”
“Do not talk like that in front of Lily,” I whispered.
He laughed.
“She will grow up just like you, weak. Both of you are anchors around my neck.”
I reached for his arm, trying to calm him.
He shoved me backward. My shoulder hit the door frame, pain shooting down my arm.
Lily woke up and began to cry.
That was it.
Lucas stormed into the bedroom
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