“Take my mother—she’s your problem now,” Ethan sneered, tossing me $5,000 like I was trash in a divorce café. My cheek still burned from his mistress’s smile, my son wouldn’t look at me, and his helpless mother clutched my arm. But the “burden” he dumped on me had a USB full of proof.

Synopsis

“Take my mother if you want her so badly,” Ethan said, sliding the divorce papers toward me. “But don’t come crawling back when that old woman ruins your life.” He said it in a quiet coffee shop in Lincoln Park, wearing a navy Tom Ford suit and the same smug smile he wore when he closed business deals. Not when he gave away his mother.