After Prison I’m Done Playing Second

My husband, Don Reginald, and my parents threw me in prison on the very night I gave him his heir.

All because my sister, Felicia, set me up.

She claimed I gave her a wild horse at the family races—a horse she knew she couldn't handle. It went crazy. It trampled a senator to death.

With the FBI breathing down our necks, the whole family made me take the fall. Three years.

Reginald didn't care that I'd just had our son. He pushed me. Over and over.

"It was your horse. If you hadn't given it to her, the Feds wouldn't be after Felicia. Just do the time. When you get out, you'll still be my Donna."

Three years later, I came back. Nothing had changed. They still chose her.

Even the son I bled for now calls Felicia "Mama." He looks right through me, his own mother.

I didn't fight. Not like the old me. I just walked away.

But when I finally vanished for good, Reginald lost his mind. He tore the world apart, begging me to come back. To be his Donna again.

In the dead of night, Reginald’s hand snaked around my waist. His thumb brushed the swell of my breast.

"Don't."

I shoved him off, scrambling up like I was trying to escape.

He wouldn't be denied. He loomed behind me, his voice a low growl of possession. "We're married, Rosabella. And besides…"

His breath was hot on my ear, his voice turning slick. "Leo is three now. It's time you gave me another child."

Bile rose in my throat. I stumbled to the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet.

Reginald followed me in. The air in the small room went still. His face was a mask of confusion and frustration.

"What's wrong with you? You've been back a month, and you won't even let me touch you... Are you..."

I gripped the sink, staring at my pale face in the mirror. I cut him off.

"It's nothing. I'm just not feeling well. I used to be so stubborn. Don't worry. I won't be like that anymore."

Right. I was the problem. Always jealous of my perfect sister. Jealous of how she had our parents wrapped around her finger. Jealous that she had her own husband but still needed mine.

But I didn't care anymore. Not even when the child I bore three years ago called Felicia "Mama" right in front of me.

Reginald just stared, like he wanted to say more. But my mind was already gone. Back to three years ago.

The private hospital delivery room.

I had just given birth to Leo. I was weak, lying in bed, the tiny baby bundled in my arms.

"He's beautiful. My son and Reginald's. He'll be the perfect heir." I stroked his soft cheek, my heart overflowing.

The door flew open with a kick. My father, Don Magnus, stormed in, flanked by four of his men.

"Rosabella!" His roar shook the windows. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Papa?" I clutched my baby tighter, confused. "I just gave birth—"

"The race! That goddamn horse!" He pointed a shaking finger at me. "We spoiled you rotten. Now you pay the price!"

I froze.

"What? I don't understand—"

"The horse you gave Felicia was drugged! It went wild and trampled a senator!" Magnus’s face was beet red. "Now the FBI is coming for us!"

"It wasn't my fault!" I tried to explain. "Felicia was the one who insisted on riding my horse. I warned her she couldn't handle him..."

Before I could finish, the world spun.

The world went black. My next conscious thought was the metallic chill of an interrogation room. Reginald sat across from me. Not a hair out of place. Not a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

"Reginald!" I tried to stand. "You're here to save me! Tell them, it wasn't my fault! It was Felicia—"

"Rosabella." He cut me off. His voice was like a winter wind. "You're going to confess."

"What?"

"You owe this to Felicia."

"Why?" I stared at him, my world crumbling. "Reginald, I'm your wife! I just gave you a son!"

"The shock of the fall... Felicia had a miscarriage." His eyes were cold, dead pools of brown. "She lost the baby. She may never be able to have another."

The floor fell out from under me.

"So?"

"So, Leo will be raised by her. As compensation." Reginald stood up, looking down at me. "You can't be selfish anymore, Rosabella. This is a family decision. Do this, and when you get out, you'll still be my Donna."

"No!" I screamed. "He's my son! MY SON!"

But no one listened.

"Rosabella?" Reginald's voice pulled me back to the present.

I blinked, putting my mask back on.

"I'm sorry." I turned to face him, my face a calm blank. "I'm just... still adjusting. It's all in the past now."

His expression was complicated, a flicker of unease in his eyes.

"Are you still mad I gave Leo to Felicia?" he tested. "The Moretti family broke off her engagement after the miscarriage. She's in a lot of pain, and she might not be able to have children..."

"I really don't mind."

My answer just confused him more.

The old Rosabella would have screamed. Thrown things. Cried for days.

This new me was as still as a dead lake.

"We'll have other children," Reginald said, but it sounded forced, like he was trying to convince himself. "When you've recovered—"

His phone rang, cutting him off.

The screen flashed: Felicia.

He glanced at it, then hesitated.

"Answer it," I said calmly.

His eyes widened. He clearly didn't expect that.

He picked up. Felicia's crying voice came through the speaker. "Reginald, I'm at the Gold Dust Casino... I drank too much, can you come get me?"

"I'm on my way." Reginald hung up and looked at me.

"Go on," I said, turning back to my vanity and starting to take off my makeup. "Drive safe."

Reginald just stood there. He went pale.

"You're really not angry?"

"Why would I be?" I met his eyes in the mirror. "Go. Don't keep her waiting."

He stood there for a long time, his face a war of emotions.

Finally, he left.

An engine roared to life outside the manor, then faded into the distance.

I walked numbly to the full-length mirror.

Beneath my nightgown, a jagged scar cut across my lower stomach.

A "gift" from a rival family's woman inside. And the reason I'll never carry another child.

Reginald wants another kid? Felicia can't have one?

I didn't care anymore.

Twenty minutes later, I was back in bed, holding a burner phone.

The screen lit up with a new email.

From: The UN Refugee Agency

I opened it.

Dear Ms. Rossi:

Congratulations on passing your final interview. You have been officially hired as one of our war photographers.

Assignment: Syrian Border Refugee Camp

Report Date: One Month

Looking at the acceptance letter, a real smile touched my lips for the first time in three years.

One more month, and I'd be free of this cage. It felt good.