When I married Wyatt, it felt like I was stepping into a whirlwind romance with a man who was so unlike anyone I'd ever met.

At least, that's what I told myself.

He was charming and unpredictable, always full of big dreams and bigger promises. But charm doesn't keep a marriage afloat, does it? A year later, that whirlwind turned into a storm, and I found myself alone, betrayed, and shattered after discovering his infidelity.

Our divorce was swift and sterile. There were no kids. No shared assets to fight over. But emotionally?

It left me gutted. Financially, it was even worse. Wyatt left me drowning in legal bills, trying to rebuild a life from the wreckage he caused.

I moved into a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city, took on a second job at my lawyer's firm. To be honest, I think the man just felt sorry for me when he offered me the job. I canceled every unnecessary expense. It was exhausting.

Lonely.

Every day felt like an uphill climb. But I pushed through.

Then, one cold afternoon, a package arrived at my door.

No name. No return address.

It was just a set of keys and a note with an address, a date, and a time. The courier had disappeared before I could ask questions.

I held the keys and note to my chest, my heart racing. Was it Wyatt? Had he come to his senses and wanted to apologize? I wasn't naïve enough to think we could get back together, but closure?

That, I desperately wanted.

Maybe this was his peace offering.

The address led me to a sleek apartment downtown, the kind of place I used to dream about when I was younger. The key turned smoothly in the lock, and when I stepped inside, I found someone waiting for me, but it wasn't Wyatt.

It was Jill, my ex-mother-in-law, perched on a plush white sofa. Her pearls glinted under the soft light, and her smile felt more like a performance than a welcome.

"I'm glad you came," she said, motioning for me to sit.

"What is this?" I asked, holding up the keys.

"This apartment is my gift to you," she said smoothly. "Of all the women my son has been with, you were the best. The most deserving."

My stomach twisted.

The apartment could change everything, no more scraping by, no more endless nights worrying about rent. But Jill's generosity wasn't exactly her signature trait.

I didn't trust this, and I didn't trust her.

"On one condition," she added.

Of course.

"A grandson," she said, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world.

My jaw dropped.

"What do you mean?"

Jill tilted her head, calm and businesslike.

"Wyatt is my only child, and I doubt he'll ever become a family man. We need a grandchild to carry on the family name. You deserve this, darling. You've been through so much with Wyatt. Let me make it easier."