I’m Not Emily: Your Ass Is Toast!
Joy Brown
When I opened my eyes on the operating table at Boston General, I'd somehow been sucked into that trashy novel—becoming Emily, the doormat everyone walked all over!
My snake of a husband Michael was shoving divorce papers in my face, demanding I "step aside." His mistress Sarah hung on his arm with that smug smile, while my monster-in-law joined their chorus, trying to steal my son Noah away.
But the most vile part? The "insulin" they were injecting into Noah wasn't insulin at all—it was an una...
My snake of a husband Michael was shoving divorce papers in my face, demanding I "step aside." His mistress Sarah hung on his arm with that smug smile, while my monster-in-law joined their chorus, trying to steal my son Noah away.
But the most vile part? The "insulin" they were injecting into Noah wasn't insulin at all—it was an una...