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“You’ll suffer naturally because you’re toxic,” my doctor husband sneered, blocking the nurses from performing a C-section for my giant 10-pound baby as revenge for his intern. I writhed in pain, clutching the bed rails until my knuckles turned white. When the grueling delivery finally ended, the heavy delivery room doors banged open. My husband staggered in, his face drained of color as he looked at the newborn chart, fell to the floor, and shrieked, “No… that’s impossible! Whose child is-“

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before tactfully retreating into the corridor. I swiped past a dozen frantic missed calls and dialed the encrypted line of Raymond Finch, a predatory, razor-sharp litigator who had built an empire dissecting high-asset marital dissolutions.

“Raymond. It is Allison,” I stated, the modulation of my voice perfectly flat. “I require you to draft a petition continue reading …

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