Chapter 1 Let's Get a Divorce

Even with painkillers in her system, Sibel Hayes felt like someone was running a power drill at full speed through her upper abdomen.

She lay curled up on a gurney in the ER hallway, drenched in cold sweat.

"Once the pain meds kick in, have your family take you for a scan. We're looking at acute cholecystitis, possibly gallstones too."

The doctor was slammed with patients, and his tone was flat and detached. "Where's your family?"

Sibel's lips moved. She wanted to say they were on their way, but she had no strength left. She couldn't get the words out.

Two sets of hurried footsteps came from the far end of the hallway.

From where she lay, she could see them — her husband Julian Logan and her son Ethan Logan, both running toward her, their faces tight with worry.

Seeing them, Sibel felt some of the pain ease.

Not wanting Ethan to worry, she forced a smile with everything she had, ready to say she was okay...

But they ran right past her.

They didn't even glance at her.

Sibel froze. Fighting through the searing pain, she slowly pushed herself up — and saw it. At the end of the hallway, in a private room, a slender woman was propped up against the headboard, wearing an apologetic smile.

Her again.

Long dark hair, white clothes, pale face, looking fragile and delicate.

But there was a quiet elegance about her that showed no trace of suffering. She was even flashing a bright, easy smile at the two of them — the man and the little boy.

Whatever pain that woman was in right now, it wasn't even close to one percent of what Sibel was going through.

In the end, it was a nurse who wheeled Sibel to get her scan.

By the time Julian and Ethan made it to her bedside, it was well past midnight. The painkillers were already wearing off.

Cold IV fluid dripped slowly into her veins. When she sensed someone sitting beside her bed, Sibel forced her eyes open.

"You okay?" Julian's concern was stiff and measured, his voice carrying the kind of detached politeness you'd use with a stranger. There wasn't a drop of warmth in it — hard to believe they'd been married five years.

Even the random passerby who'd asked if she needed help earlier had sounded more caring than he did.

Sibel gave a quiet hum.

The medical report was right there on the bedside table. If he wanted to know, he could look.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Julian always kept things short and got straight to the point.

"Wendy Logan has been diagnosed with leukemia. Late stage." His voice was heavy, each word deliberate.

Sibel blinked to show she was listening.

"Her family's bankrupt, her parents are in prison. She's been through so much this past year, and then losing the baby..."

Julian rarely let his emotions show, but something in him seemed to sink.

"She wants to feel some sense of family in the time she has left. So I told her she could stay with us."

Ethan stood nearby, listening. He was only five, but he already understood what the adults were talking about.

"Mom." His voice was loud and matter-of-fact. "Your stomach thing will be better by tomorrow morning, right? Then you can make Aunt Wendy your famous chicken noodle soup!"

Sibel almost laughed.

Acute cholecystitis. It was right there on the card at the head of her bed — anyone could read it with one glance.

Far more serious than a stomach bug. She needed to stay in the hospital. If there were stones, she might need surgery.

And she looked it, face white as paper, dried sweat and tear tracks still on her cheeks, a complete mess.

They saw none of it. Just like the past five years, everything she did was expected, taken for granted.

"Julian."

She struggled to prop herself up a little higher with the pillow. "Is Wendy your sister, the one you're not actually related to, or is she your wife?"

"Sibel, stop it." Julian's expression darkened instantly. "The child is right here."

"She grew up in the Logan household. All these years, you told me she had a bad relationship with her birth family. Now that something's happened to them, she's suddenly devastated."

Sibel spoke slowly, her voice weak but steady.

Julian's brow furrowed, his whole presence turning sharp and cold. "No matter what, they're still her biological parents. Of course she's upset. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Her husband went missing. She wanted to mark their anniversary, so she took my diamond ring and had my husband stand in for him."

"On my birthday, you were away on a work trip. On her birthday, you took time off and took her out on a boat. You never remember our anniversary, but the moment she casually mentioned wanting to celebrate more Valentine's Days, you started showing up for her on the fourteenth of every single month."

There were too many things like this to count. Sibel only brought up a few of the smaller ones, but even so, her chest ached with every word.

She had held it in for too long. Everything that happened today was the last straw.

"If you want her to move in, fine. Just pack up my things and send them to me. I'm not coming back."

Julian let out a short, humorless laugh. "Sibel, seriously? You're throwing a tantrum right now?"

"Do you have any idea what late-stage leukemia means?"

His voice was sharp with reproach, like he was scolding a child who didn't know any better.

"You're my wife. I thought we were a team. If I care about Wendy, you should be looking after her too."

The entitlement in his voice was breathtaking. Sibel couldn't help herself. "Then what about me? Who looks after me?"

"What do you mean?" Julian actually paused, looking her over. "What's wrong with you?"

Sibel closed her eyes. She had nothing left to say.

He wasn't stupid. He could see what state she was in. He just didn't care enough to notice — because he didn't love her. That was all.

"You're faking it!" Ethan suddenly grabbed Sibel's shoulder and shook it hard. The pain made her gasp. "You never get sick! When I wanted soup dumplings in the middle of the night, you made them appear out of nowhere!"

"Wendy is so, so amazing!" His face was full of admiration. "Only someone with real taste can appreciate how special she is. Sibel, your taste is just terrible!"

A five-year-old doesn't come up with words like that on his own. There was no mystery about who had put them in his head.

If Julian's words were a knife to the heart, Ethan's were something worse — they took her heart and ground it into dust.

"You're right, I don't have the taste for it." Sibel let out a hollow laugh and opened her eyes again. "If you like her so much, how about she becomes your mom?"

"No!" Ethan said without a second's hesitation.

Sibel thought he might say something that would comfort her. Instead, he announced with complete conviction: "She's sick and she doesn't feel well, so she can't do chores or cook. She can't be a mom. Only you can do that!"

So that was all she was to him. A mom who did the work.

Sibel's heart was bleeding. No matter how much her body hurt, it was nothing compared to what she felt in that moment.

She gestured for Julian to come closer. There were things she didn't want Ethan to hear — whatever had happened, he was still just a child.

Julian looked annoyed, but he leaned in. His profile was sharp and perfectly defined. Cold.

Looking at that face — a face she had never once been able to warm — Sibel's pale, cracked lips parted. When she spoke, her words were quiet but firm.

"If you want Wendy to come home and feel what family is like, then let her in. I'll get out of the way."

"Ethan carries your blood, not mine. But I raised him from his third day of life, and now he's five years old — and he's closer to Wendy than he is to me. I think that says it all. We were never meant to be mother and son."

"And you — you made your choice a long time ago."

"So, Julian. Let's get a divorce."