My father-in-law threw me and my six children out into the pouring rain, shouting, “Only real bl00d belongs in this house.” But the moment I mentioned the name on the deed, his expression changed and every person watching suddenly stopped laughing.

“It was Ethan’s because we allowed him to have it,” she said coldly. “But you never belonged here, Claire. A girl from nothing doesn’t become one of us just because she marries a Whitmore.”

My oldest son, Jacob, only fourteen, stepped forward. His eyes were red, not from fear, but from anger.

“My dad said Mom would stay here with us. I heard him.”

Harold raised his hand and struck him across the face. The sound echoed against the metal gate.

Something inside me cracked.

“Don’t ever touch my son again,” I said, holding the baby tighter.

Harold laughed.

“And what will you do? Sue me? With what money? The same loose change you had when my son dragged you out of that poor neighborhood?”

My daughters, Emma and Hannah, cried in each other’s arms. The twins, Noah and Caleb, pressed their faces into my skirt. Little Lily was warm against my neck, still sick with fever.