BROKEN IN HIS SHADOWS

I endured 121 needle marks on my stomach for the child my husband, Braden, and I desperately wanted.

But as I lay on the procedure table, moments from our embryo transfer, he walked out. He left me for his high school sweetheart, Isabella, who was hysterical over her son's scraped knee.

He paraded her around in public "family" photos while his own family shamed me at dinner for being too "stiff."

When Isabella's son shoved me to the floor, Braden rushed to comfort the boy, not me.

He looked at me with pure disgust.

"How can you possibly think you'd be a good mother when you behave like this?" he spat.

I looked him dead in the eye, my voice shaking but clear. "The funniest part is, Braden? I canceled the embryo transfer."

Then, in front of his entire family, I said, "I want a divorce. And this time, I'm not kidding."

Chapter 1

Clementine POV:

The IVF nurse' s voice was a soft hum in the background. My husband, Braden, was supposed to be holding my hand, but he was across the room, staring at his phone. His face was pinched, his jaw tight. It was a look I knew too well, a mirror of every time Isabella Coleman, his high school sweetheart, had managed to worm her way back into our perfect life.

We had just signed the final consent forms. The ink was barely dry on the paper that promised us a chance at a family, a chance at the child we had both claimed to desperately want. A heavy weight had lifted from my chest, replaced by a fragile, soaring hope. But Braden didn't share that feeling. He barely looked at me.

"I have to go," he said, his voice flat. He didn't even look up from his phone when he said it.

My stomach dropped. I was already lying on the procedure table, my legs in stirrups, the sterile sheet draped over me. My body was prepped, my mind a hazy mix of anticipation and the mild sedative they'd given me. It made his words feel distant, unreal.

"Isabella's son fell at the park," he mumbled, finally glancing at me, then quickly back at the phone. "Minor injury, she said. But she's hysterical."

The nurse, a kind woman named Sarah, gave Braden a look that could curdle milk. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. She didn't say anything, but her eyes screamed volumes.

"Dr. Bennett," Sarah said, her voice stern, cutting through the haze of my sedation. "Your wife needs you here. This is a crucial procedure, and she'll need your support and assistance post-transfer. We've talked about the importance of rest and minimizing stress."

Braden ignored her, his thumb already poised over the screen as another text came through. The sharp chime of his phone rang out in the quiet room, making me jump. He looked up at me, a flicker of something that might have been apology in his eyes, but his face was white, stretched taut with an anxiety that wasn't for me.