Eight Years of Maybe One Day of I Do—Bride Swapped Deal With It novel Chapter 80

Chapter 2

“Get away from my dad, you crazy bitch!”

Simon’s voice echoed through the courthouse lobby, bouncing off the marble floors and high ceilings.

Every conversation stopped. Every head turned.

“My dad’s marrying my real mom now! Why don’t you just leave them alone and stop being a homewrecker?”

Heat flooded my face so fast I thought I might pass out.

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

The fucking irony of it all.

I’d spent months losing my mind over this exact situation-crying myself hoarse, screaming at Derek in our bedroom, begging him to explain why I had to be the one to give everything up.

We were married. Legally married. Why did I have to divorce him so he could marry her?

Why couldn’t Simon just come live with me, his actual mother?

The Connor family could buy out an entire school board without blinking. Getting one kid enrolled couldn’t possibly be that complicated.

But Derek had his answer ready every single time:

“Simon won’t budge on this. He refuses to be registered under your name. As far as he’s concerned, Nina’s his mother.”

Then he’d pile on the guilt:

“Nina wants him in public school so he learns what real life is like. She’s not even his biological mother, and she’s already thinking about his character development. Meanwhile you’re stuck obsessing over our relationship status. Annie, you need to focus on what’s actually best for him. That’s what mothers do.”

I’d just stood there, completely blindsided.

Focus on what’s best for him?

My son was ripped away from me the moment he was born. I never held him. Never saw his face.

They told me I’d delivered a stillborn and I believed them for seven years.

Nobody gave me the chance to focus on anything.

And now because I wouldn’t play along with their deranged little theatrical production, I was the selfish one? The other woman trying to break up their happy family?

“Simon Matthew Connor!”

Derek’s voice cracked across the lobby like a gunshot.

“You do not speak to your Annie Mom that way! Where did you even learn that language? That’s it-I’m taking your iPad for a month.”

He glared at the boy with this manufactured parental fury that would’ve been convincing if I hadn’t known him for nine years.

16:03

Eight Years of Maybe. One D

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Nina swooped in immediately, pulling Simon behind her skirt like I was about to backhand him across the face.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry-” She kept bowing her head, almost folding herself in half. “He’s only seven, he doesn’t understand what he’s saying. I should’ve been watching what he streams online. Please, please don’t be upset with him.”

Each apology came with another little bow, another tremble in her voice.

The whole performance screamed helpless devoted mother protecting her child from the monster.

Like I was the unreasonable psycho who’d shown up to terrorize a kid at his parents’ wedding.

Nina Laurent-Georgetown’s former ice princess, the girl who once made grown men nervous at charity galas-now practically prostrating herself in public to protect her son.

It was actually a brilliant performance.

I could see people’s expressions softening.

Derek’s certainly did.

His anger evaporated into pure sympathy as he watched her grovel on Simon’s behalf.

He cleared his throat and turned that familiar patronizing frown on me.

“Annie. Come on. You’re better than this. It’s supposed to be a celebration, not a scene. Can you just… not make this harder on Nina than it already is?”

I literally hadn’t said one word, and somehow I was the one causing problems.

Amazing how once someone decides you’re the villain, reality just bends itself into knots to prove them right.

I opened my mouth, ready to finally defend myself-

“Nina, what are you doing?”

The new voice cut through the lobby.

Victoria Connor came clicking across the marble in Louboutins and a cream Chanel suit, her helmet of highlighted hair not moving an inch.

Derek’s mother. Old money personified.

“I will not stand here and watch my grandson apologize to anyone.”

She looked at me like I was something unpleasant she’d stepped in.

“Especially not to someone who clearly doesn’t know when she’s overstayed her welcome.”

Without missing a beat, Victoria pulled Simon flush against her side, one manicured hand gripping his shoulder.

Grandmother and grandson stood there in perfect solidarity, both looking at me like I was something dangerous that had wandered in off the

street.

The absurdity of it would’ve been funny if it didn’t hurt so much.

The Connor family built their entire identity around legacy and bloodlines, yet they’d tolerated me as Mrs. Connor for nine full years without ever pushing for an heir.

16:03

Turns out they’d had their insurance policy the whole time.

The real kicker? When I delivered Simon, I bled out so badly on that table that my body just… gave up. No more children. Ever.

Victoria knew that but it never stopped her from turning my “failure” into dinner table entertainment.

Every holiday, every family gathering, she’d find some way to bring up how I couldn’t even manage the one job nature gave women, how I’d trapped her son in a barren marriage, how Derek could’ve done so much better.

Derek’s response was always the same:

frown, get uncomfortable, leave the room. He never once told her to stop.

Later he’d find me crying in our bedroom and hold me while he explained it away:

“She’s just frustrated about grandkids. It’s not personal. She doesn’t really mean it.”

Then he’d tip my chin up and look at me with those earnest eyes:

“I married you, not your uterus. I don’t need kids. I just need you to be happy.”

I’d believed every word.

I’d actually felt grateful that he loved me despite my broken body.

Eventually I stopped thinking about children altogether.

For seven years, that was our truth.

Then they casually informed me that my son had been alive this entire time.

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