“The clerk at the DMV looked at me like I was stupid, or perhaps just clinically insane. She slid my paperwork back under the thick glass partition, her expression flat, and said the words that ended my life: "Ma'am, I cannot renew a license with your married name. Your marital status in the system is listed as 'Divorced.' It has been for three years." My husband, Jackson, had just kissed me goodbye, yet the clerk revealed he remarried three years ago, having a son with his new wife, Candida. My entire marriage, our five years, was a monstrous lie. Stunned, I'd lived a cruel charade, trying for a baby with a man who already had one. Pregnant, Jackson pushed me at a gala, publicly choosing his new family. My pregnancy tragically ended. Every tender word he'd spoken was a performance. He kept me as a "PR shield," letting me mourn a future he'd already built. His betrayal was absolute. With nothing left, I chose to die. A death certificate was arranged, my past cremated. Lena Rose was born in France, ready to paint my pain into power, authoring my own story.”