One year after the ink dried on the divorce papers, I ran into my ex-husband at the clinic, and when he gloated about having a one-year-old son with my former best friend, I smiled and asked, “Is that so?” — exactly five minutes before a man walked through the doors and caused her to drop the baby bottle.

A week passed. The lawsuit hit the local news like a tidal wave. Prominent Socialite Sued for Forging Ex-Wife’s Medical Records to Hide His Own Sterility. The scandal was delicious, and the high-society circles that Julian so desperately craved immediately excommunicated him.

I was walking to my car in the hospital parking garage after a grueling twelve-hour shift when a figure stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.

It was Sarah.

I stopped, my hand resting on the pepper spray in my pocket.

She looked entirely ruined. Her designer clothes were wrinkled, her hair was unwashed, and she had dark, heavy bags under her eyes. She pushed the stroller with little Leo in it.

“Elena, please,” Sarah begged, her voice hoarse. “Please don't walk away.”

I crossed my arms, maintaining a safe distance. “You have exactly thirty seconds before I call security, Sarah. Choose your words carefully.”

“Julian kicked me out,” she sobbed, tears spilling over her cheeks. “He threw all my things onto the lawn. He canceled my credit cards. He took my car.”

“He has a habit of discarding women when they stop serving his ego,” I replied coldly.

“Nathan won't return my calls,” she continued, weeping openly now. “He says he wants a paternity test, but he doesn't want to be a father. He told me to go to a shelter. Elena, I have nothing. I don't have money for formula. My parents are furious and won't speak to me. You’re the only one who knows me. You’re a doctor, you’re a good person—”

“Stop right there,” I commanded, my voice slicing through her pathetic display.

She flinched.

“You don't get to invoke my goodness after you spent two years mocking me behind my back while sleeping with my husband in my own bed,” I said, stepping closer, my eyes locked onto hers with absolute zero sympathy. “You sat at my dining table, drank my wine, and watched me cry over negative pregnancy tests, knowing you were actively dismantling my life. You are a parasite, Sarah.”

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I was stupid! He manipulated me!”

“No, he just offered you a shortcut to a wealthy life, and you took it without a second thought for the collateral damage,” I corrected her.

I looked down at the baby in the stroller. Leo was chewing on his plush giraffe, completely innocent, a victim of the two most selfish people I had ever met.

I reached into my purse, pulled out my wallet, and extracted a hundred-dollar bill. I dropped it into the cup holder of the stroller.