"Good morning, Ma’am Catherine."
"Good morning, Lily," Catherine replied softly as she entered the kitchen. The early morning light was just beginning to touch the windows, casting long, lonely shadows across the marble floor.
"You’re up very early," Lily noted, already busy with the morning preparations.
"I woke up suddenly and couldn't find my way back to sleep," Catherine admitted. Since the night before, her mind had been a broken record, replaying the scene in the foyer.
Trash.
The word felt like a physical weight in her chest. He had called the first image of their child—their flesh and blood—trash. She understood his hatred for her. She was the villain in his eyes, the woman who had stolen his future with Lianne. But why blame the baby? Why turn his back on a life that carried
