I believed, with every fiber of my being, that this news would be the crescendo of our fairy tale. I was Ramona Chavez, the girl from the barrio who had caught the eye of Sterling Blackwood, the real estate scion with the Midas touch.

The sound of the key in the lock sent a jolt of electricity through me. I hid the test behind my back, my smile stretching wide, ready to welcome the father of my child.

“Sterling, honey,” I called out, my voice vibrating with joy. “You’re home. I have the most incredible—”

The words died in my throat.

Sterling stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the hallway light. His Italian suit was damp from the October rain, but the chill radiating from him had nothing to do with the weather. His eyes, usually dark pools I could swim in, were now flat, opaque stones. He didn’t look like my husband. He looked like an executioner.