The courthouse smelled of worn carpet and cleaning chemicals. Grant was already there when I arrived.
He looked refreshed—crisp navy suit, hair perfectly styled, radiating the relaxed confidence of someone who believed he had already won.
Beside him stood a woman in a cream dress and high heels, her manicured hand resting on his arm like it belonged there.
Tessa Monroe.
I recognized her instantly. She worked at Grant’s office. The same coworker he once told me not to worry about. The same woman whose “holiday party invitation” I skipped because Grant insisted I was “too tired to attend.”
Grant glanced at my stomach and grimaced. Not concern. Not guilt. Disgust.
“I couldn’t stay with a woman with a big belly like you,” he said flatly.
The words carried farther than he probably intended. Several people nearby turned to look.
