I stood there for a long moment, shivering uncontrollably in my soaked hospital gown. The despair that had driven me to the ledge was still there, but now, a tiny, hot spark of rage had ignited beside it.

I turned and walked back down the stairwell.

When I pushed the heavy door open to my hospital room, Mia and Cheska were still there. Mia was plugging a hot curling iron into the wall outlet by the mirror, touching up Cheska's hair as if my room was their personal salon.

I stopped in the doorway, staring at my younger sister.

For twenty years, I had been her shield. I had taken our father's drunken blows so she wouldn't have to. I had worked three jobs with a shattered pelvis to pay for her first modeling portfolio. I thought we were surviving the world together.

But looking at her now, seeing the genuine, unadulterated disgust in her eyes as she looked at my dripping wet hospital gown, a horrifying realization washed over me.

Mia didn't just sell me out for Roger's money. She hated me.

She had always hated me. I saw it now, clear as day. She resented my sacrifices because they made her feel like a charity case. She was bitterly jealous that I had married into the billionaire Thorne family, while she had to hustle for auditions. She didn't care that my marriage was a gilded cage of abuse; she only saw the gold. And now, by replacing me with her best friend, she finally got to be the one holding the power.

I had spent my entire life protecting a girl who was just waiting for the perfect moment to destroy me.

"Look who decided to come back," Mia sneered, rolling her eyes. "Did you go for a swim in the rain to cool off your temper?"

I didn't answer. I just stood there, staring at them with dead, hollow eyes.

Cheska frowned, clearly unsatisfied with my lack of reaction. She wanted me screaming. She wanted me begging. She looked at the hot curling iron in Mia's hand, and a dark, twisted idea flashed in her eyes.

Before I could even blink, Cheska snatched the iron from Mia. She pressed the scorching hot ceramic barrel directly against her own forearm for a split second, then threw it to the floor and collapsed onto her knees, wailing at the top of her lungs.

"What the hell is going on in here!"

Roger burst through the door, his face pale with panic.

Mia immediately dropped to the floor beside Cheska, playing her part perfectly. "Roger! Save her! Ysabel went crazy! She attacked Cheska with the iron! She said if her baby is dead, yours shouldn't live either!"

"My arm is burned!" Cheska sobbed hysterically, clutching her stomach. "And my stomach hurts so much! Roger, please, save our baby!"

At the mention of the child, Roger's face twisted in terror. He scooped Cheska up into his arms instantly.

He didn't spare a single glance for me. He didn't notice that I was soaking wet, shivering, and bleeding from where I had ripped out my IV. He only spat a cold, venomous warning in my direction.

"Ysabel! Stay right here. When I get back, we are going to fix this for good!"

After the room cleared out and Mia scurried after them, the room fell into a deathly silence.

It took forever for me to find the strength to move. I didn't look for dry clothes. I simply sat on the edge of the bed, numb, waiting.

When Roger finally returned an hour later, he grabbed me by the arm, hauling me up with cold efficiency.

"Cheska has a severe third-degree burn on her arm because of you," he snarled. "She's hysterical, and the doctor says her stress is putting my heir at risk. You have two choices, Ysabel: you either undergo a skin graft for her right now to fix what you ruined, or I will have your son's grave paved over with concrete tonight."

The color had long since drained from my face. I looked like a walking corpse.

I didn't defend myself. I didn't argue that Cheska had burned herself. I just looked into the eyes of the man I had once taken a truck impact for, and whispered through dry lips, "If I give her the skin... will you tell me where he is?"

The words seemed to catch in Roger's throat. After a tense silence, he grunted, "Fine."

That night, I was wheeled into the surgical wing. Whether it was my body's exhaustion or an order from Roger himself, the local anesthesia didn't work. I felt every agonizing, searing second of the scalpel slicing the skin from my thigh.

When I finally came to the recovery room, Roger was standing by my bed. My leg was wrapped in thick, painful bandages.

My first words were a broken rasp. "Tell me... where is my child buried?"

Roger's expression was grim. The air around him became intense. He reached out, gripping my chin hard, his eyes dark and angry.

"If I tell you," he whispered dangerously, "are you just going to go find him and kill yourself?" He tightened his grip until it bruised. "Ysabel, I have already announced Cheska's pregnancy to the board. My new heir will be born soon. Until then, you will not cause another scene."

I froze, then suddenly shoved his hand away, crying uncontrollably. "Roger, you promised! You said you would tell me! You can't take it back!"

"I am his mother!" I screamed, the agony of the last ten years finally tearing out of my throat. "When I still had a womb, he was a part of me! Now that he's gone, what right do you have to keep me from him?"

Roger remained completely unmoved by my tears.

Despair, cold and infinite, flooded my soul. I rolled off the bed, ignoring the blinding pain in my bandaged leg, and fell to my knees at Roger's feet. I had to play the broken wife one last time.

"I'm begging you..." I sobbed, gasping for air. "I just want to know where he is. I won't ruin your plans, I swear. Just let me see him once. I'm on my knees, Roger! Please! Tell me!"

"Enough."

Roger stood up abruptly, yanking at his tie in irritation. He looked down at me with total, absolute contempt.

"Look at yourself, Ysabel. You're pathetic. Do you think your dead son would even want a mother as miserable and broken as you?"

I went still, my hands pressed against the cold floor, shaking uncontrollably. Just as I felt my heart was about to stop from the sheer weight of his cruelty, Roger's cold, thin voice drifted down from above.

"Angelique Church Cemetery. Plot 278."

"Angelique Church Cemetery. Plot 278."

The words echoed in my mind like a sacred chant as the cab pulled away, leaving me standing alone before the towering wrought-iron gates. I didn't care about the agonizing pain shooting up my bandaged leg. I didn't care that I was still wearing a thin, blood-stained hospital gown under my coat.

I limped through the rows of grey headstones, the freezing winter wind biting at my skin, until I reached the small, lonely corner of the grounds.

Plot 278.

It was a tiny, unmarked slab of stone. No name. No date. Just a cold, forgotten piece of earth.

My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the freezing dirt, my trembling fingers tracing the rough edges of the stone. Ten years. For ten years, my baby had been out here all alone in the dark.

"My sweet boy," I whispered, my voice breaking as a violent sob tore through my chest. "Mommy is here. I'm so sorry it took me so long. I'm so sorry."

I unzipped my coat with shaking hands, pulling out the ruined, muddy blue blanket Cheska had stepped on. I carefully folded it and laid it gently over the cold stone, trying to keep him warm.

I didn't leave. I lay down on the freezing earth right next to the grave, curling my body around the stone as if I were holding him in my arms. I talked to him through the night, singing the lullabies I had kept locked in my heart, crying until my voice was completely gone and my tears ran dry.

When the pale, grey light of morning finally broke, my body was entirely numb.

I forced myself to sit up and dragged my battered body to the cemetery warden’s office. The old man behind the desk looked at me in shock—a pale, shivering woman looking like a ghost.

"I want to buy the plot directly next to 278," I rasped, my throat raw.

"Ma'am, those plots are expensive, and you look like you need a hospital—"

I didn't let him finish. I reached down to my left hand and violently twisted the massive diamond wedding ring off my finger. The symbol of my ten-year nightmare. I slammed the glittering diamond onto his desk.

"This ring is worth over a hundred thousand dollars," I said, my eyes dead and hollow. "I don't want any change. I just want the dirt next to my son. And I want it now."

The warden swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

With the deed in my hand, I walked back out to the gravesite. The sky had turned a bruised, angry purple, and suddenly, the heavens opened up.

A torrential, freezing Seattle downpour crashed over me. The rain soaked through my clothes in seconds, chilling me to the very marrow of my bones. But I didn't seek shelter. I fell to my knees in the mud, right on top of my newly purchased grave.

"Take me," I cried out to the empty, weeping sky, the rain washing away my tears. "Please, just let me stay here. Let me be buried right here with him."

I lay my head on the muddy earth, closing my eyes as the freezing rain beat down on my back. I stayed there, unmoving, as the afternoon bled into evening. My heartbeat slowed. The cold stopped hurting, replaced by a heavy, peaceful numbness.

I just wanted to sleep.

And as total darkness finally fell over the cemetery, the world faded away completely.

Two days later.

The VIP maternity suite at Seattle Grace Hospital was filled with the piercing, relentless wails of a newborn baby.

Roger rubbed his temples, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. Cheska was lounging on the hospital bed, scrolling through her phone, completely ignoring the red-faced infant screaming in the bassinet a few feet away.

"Cheska, make him stop crying," Roger snapped, his patience wearing thin. "My mother and the board members will be here in an hour to see the heir."

"I'm exhausted, Roger!" Cheska whined, not looking up from her screen. "I just pushed a baby out. I'm not ruining my recovery to rock him. Where are the nurses?"

"They're busy," Roger growled. He stared at the crying baby, feeling a sudden surge of irritation. He didn't want to deal with dirty diapers and screaming fits. He just wanted the title of a father.

Suddenly, a thought struck him.

Ysabel.

She had been quiet for days. Too quiet. She should be here. She was supposed to be serving them, making sure Cheska was comfortable, taking care of the messy parts of raising a child so they didn't have to.

"That useless woman," Roger muttered, pulling his sleek phone from his pocket. "She's probably throwing another pity party at the house. I'll have her down here in twenty minutes to act as the nanny."

He dialed Ysabel's number, tapping his expensive leather shoe impatiently against the floor.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, there was a click.

"Ysabel, where the hell are you?" Roger barked instantly, his voice dripping with venom. "Get your ass to the hospital right now. Cheska needs you to watch the baby, and if you aren't here before the board arrives, I swear to God I'll—"

"Hello."

Roger froze. It was a man's voice. Deep, cold, and entirely unfamiliar.

Roger's grip on the phone tightened, a strange unease crawling up his spine. "Who is this? Why do you have my wife's phone? Put Ysabel on the line right now."

There was a heavy, chilling silence on the other end. Only the faint sound of rain and wind could be heard in the background.

Then, the man spoke, his tone completely devoid of emotion.

"I'm sorry, sir. But the owner of this phone is buried dead."