The nurse placed my newborn in my arms… and the first thing my husband did was glance at his phone.

Then Daniel looked straight at me and said, “Take the bus home tomorrow. I’m taking my family out for hotpot.”

For a moment, the room went completely still—except for my baby’s soft, uneven breathing against my chest.

I thought I had heard him wrong.

“What?” My voice came out weak.

His mother, Elaine, adjusted her bracelet and sighed, as if I were the problem. “Claire, don’t create a scene. You’ll be discharged in the morning. The bus stop is right outside.”

“I gave birth six hours ago,” I whispered.

Daniel shrugged. “My parents are here. We already booked dinner. You don’t expect us to cancel just because you’re tired, do you?”

His sister Melissa laughed. “Women give birth every day.”

I stared at them—their expensive clothes, their cold expressions, the car keys in Daniel’s hand… a car I had paid for.

My baby whimpered, and I held him tighter.

“Daniel,” I said quietly, “you’re really leaving me here alone?”

He leaned in close, his voice low. “Don’t look at me like that. You should be grateful my family accepted you after everything.”

Everything.

That meant my modest lifestyle. My silence about who I really was. Letting him believe I was just an ordinary accountant with nothing to offer.

Elaine peeked into the diaper bag and smirked. “Cheap things. We’ll replace them—if the baby looks like Daniel.”

Something inside me shifted.

Not pain.

Not shock.

Clarity.

Daniel kissed the baby’s forehead like it was a performance, then turned to leave.