Too Late, Mr. Potts: You Lost Us Forever

“As a kept woman-a trophy wife-I had reached the height every woman supposedly desired: married to a billionaire and pregnant with his child. That was until his first love returned. My husband brought her child home and ordered me to get an abortion the next morning. "A newborn will take your attention away and ruin Jaxon's adjustment," he said in a businesslike tone, casually handing me a twenty-million-dollar compensation agreement and the deed to a Manhattan penthouse. He expected me to quietly dispose of my own flesh and blood. I glanced down at the appointment slip, then looked up and said, "Okay." He froze, waiting for me to cry, to beg. I refused. The day I married into the Potts family, I understood the rule: a trophy wife only cares about money, not love. He makes an offer, I comply. Tears aren't in the contract. Soon after, he paraded his first love around our home, playing the flawless family man while treating me like a disposable ghost. He truly believed I was just a spineless, decorative wife who would willingly butcher her own child to satisfy his twisted savior complex. I watched him reserve all his tenderness for that mother and son, not even bothering to pretend anymore. I didn't want to stay in this house for another second. I handed him a forged abortion record, took the money, signed the divorce papers, and flew to Boston to attend Harvard Law School and gave birth to my daughter there alone. He thought he was dealing with a nuisance, completely unaware that from the abortion slip to the divorce agreement, every single step was a trap I had set for him.”