(Eliana's POV)

I checked my watch for the fourth time. Nearly an hour late. Our sixth anniversary dinner, and Nathan still hadn't walked through the door.

The waiter stopped by again with that polite, pitying smile. "Would you like to order something while you wait, ma'am?"

"No. He'll be here any minute." I kept my voice steady, but my fingers tightened around the stem of my wine glass.

When Nathan finally appeared, phone in hand, eyes on the screen, a small, private smile tugging at his mouth, something cold settled in my chest. He slid into the chair across from me without an apology, thumbs still moving.

"Who are you texting that's so important you can't look at your wife on our anniversary?" I asked.

He didn't even glance up at first. "Don't start, Eliana. You've gotten so pushy these last few years. So controlling. Nothing like Bianca used to be."

The name landed like a slap. I set my glass down carefully. "Bianca. You're still talking to her?"

He finally looked at me, jaw tight. "Yeah. I am. Her marriage in Australia was a nightmare. Husband knocked her around. She finally got out with her daughter and came back six months ago. We've been catching up."

"'Catching up.'" I repeated the words slowly. "You forgot she cheated on you and left you for some rich man? She crooks her finger at you again, and you go running right back to her, tail wagging?"

His face flushed crimson. "She made a mistake. People change. And for your information, we never slept together. Not once. I couldn't even if I wanted to. I don't have normal function down there. You know that."

The words hit harder than I expected. I did know. That was why Oliver existed at all. I had wanted a child so badly it hurt. Nathan couldn't give me one. So I had gone through IVF alone, chosen a donor from the sperm bank, carried every cramp and every hormone shot by myself. Claire had told me a hundred times to leave him. I stayed because he came home every night and played the part of a decent father. I thought that was enough.

Now he was using his impotence as an excuse, as if it were something to be proud of-as if it had kept him from betraying me physically.

"Eliana," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke, "since everything's out in the open now, I'll be direct-let's get a divorce."

I stared at him. "Just like that? After six years?"

"I want to be with her. I'll make it fair on the money. More than fair. Or if you don't want a divorce, that's fine too. Either way, I'm going to take care of them both. If you don't mind, we can live together."

I didn't think. I picked up my glass and threw the red wine straight into his face. It splashed across his eyes, ran down his shirt, dripped onto the white tablecloth.

He jerked backward, swearing under his breath, grabbing napkins. "Jesus Christ, Eliana!"

"Assets split down the middle," I said. My voice came out calm, almost detached. "I keep full custody of Oliver. That's the only deal I'm making."

He wiped his face, eyes narrowing. "You're not thinking straight. I'm on his birth certificate as his legal father. I have money. I can hire the best lawyers in the state. If this goes to court I'll paint you as unstable, broke, and incapable of caring for a sick kid. Who do you think wins that one?"

I leaned forward. "Bianca doesn't love you. She sees you as a walking wallet. She has her own daughter to care for and wouldn't want to be a stepmother to your son."

His mouth twisted. "Don't push me. I'll fight you for him."

"I carried him. I fought for him. I'm not giving him to you."

My phone rang on the table. Mrs. Hudson. I answered without taking my eyes off Nathan.

"Eliana, it's Oliver. His nose started bleeding badly. We can't get it to stop. We're already on the way to the hospital."

I stood up, grabbed my coat and purse.

"What happened?" Nathan asked.

"Oliver is ill and Mrs. Hudson has taken him to the hospital. Are you going?" I said curtly.

"Wait for me, I'll come with you," he said, fumbling to wipe the wine stain from his shirt. Just then his phone rang, and I saw Bianca's name on the screen.

He answered the call quickly, ignoring the red wine stain on his hands. I was deeply disappointed and turned to leave. Nathan reached across the table. I swung the purse and knocked his hand away.

"Go be with your Bianca," I said. "I'm done."

I walked out without looking back.

The hospital room smelled like disinfectant and fear. Oliver lay small in the big bed, white hospital gown stained with dark red streaks from his nose. Dr. Evans, the pediatric director, stood at the foot of the bed with a serious expression.

"His clotting function is abnormal," he said quietly. "We need to keep him for observation tonight."

I sat on the edge of the bed and took Oliver's hand. His fingers were warm and small.

"Mom, don't worry," he said, giving me a tired little smile. "I'm fine."

I swallowed hard and brushed Oliver's hair off his forehead. At least I had chosen the donor carefully. Oliver's eyes were like mine, but the rest of his facial features were sharp and defined-he would certainly be a handsome young man someday. I had done well in that regard.

After the nurses got him settled, my phone buzzed. Nathan. I stepped into the hallway.

"Where the hell are you?" he asked.

"At the hospital with our son. I remember I told you."

A pause. Then a bright, childish voice in the background. "Nathan! Come see!"

A little girl. Bianca's daughter.

I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket.

That night I sat beside Oliver's bed while he slept. If Nathan tried to take him from me in court, I would tell everyone the truth. That Nathan was impotent. That he could never father a child. That Oliver was mine and mine alone.

He never came.

The next morning they ran more tests. Blood panels, everything. Oliver was quiet and brave through every needle. I stayed right beside him.

Late in the afternoon Dr. Evans came in and closed the door. His face told me everything before he opened his mouth.

"The white blood cell count is extremely high," he said. "Dangerously high. I'm concerned about leukemia. We should transfer him to a specialized center for a bone marrow aspiration to confirm."

The word settled over the room like ice. Leukemia. My five-year-old son.