At the same time, there was a commotion outside my door. Whitney Taylor, dressed in a hospital gown, was kneeling outside begging for my forgiveness. By noon, she was rolling on the ground, wailing loudly. The nursery, where the babies were supposed to be napping, was now filled with her cries, and the staff were clearly overwhelmed.

This postpartum center, popular among wealthy women, saw those who recognized Whitney Taylor rush to help her up. They glanced at me with disdain as I stood with my arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.

“A cheating bitch like her doesn’t deserve any sympathy. Just looking at her makes me feel disgusted!”

“Zoe Lancaster, aren't...