At the birthday party, my daughter was just about to blow out her candles.

Victor Sanchez leaned in with a smile, his tone light—as if he were telling a joke.

"Talia Abbott, sweetie, Mommy and Daddy are getting divorced. Why don't you make a wish for Aunt Rebecca Harding to give you a little brother?"

The smile froze on my daughter's face. Her eyes filled with tears in an instant.

The next second, she burst into wails, the fork slipping from her trembling fingers.

Victor clicked his tongue in irritation.

I couldn't take it anymore. I scooped Talia into my arms and carried her to the bedroom.

After I finally got her to sleep, I took the divorce agreement and found Victor.

"I signed it."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. After all my desperate clinging before, he hadn't expected me to let go so easily.

But relief washed over his face almost immediately.

"Should've come around sooner. Don't worry—Rebecca's still just a girl at heart. She's not cut out to be a stepmother. The kid's yours."

For six months, he'd done everything to force this divorce. Cut off my living expenses. Gave me the silent treatment. Transferred assets out of reach. Every cruel trick in the book.

And now, at our daughter's birthday party, he said this.

Fine. If he wanted to be rid of us so badly, I'd grant his wish.

I just hoped that when the truth came out, he wouldn't regret it enough to want to die.

——

Victor took the signed agreement, barely able to contain the smile tugging at his lips. He was already dialing the legal department before the ink had dried.

"Yeah, it's done. She signed."

"Draft the announcement immediately. Release it after the market closes tomorrow—minimize the impact on the stock price. And get me an inventory of those vacant properties under my name."

I listened to him arrange everything with cold efficiency. I said nothing.

Instead, I bent down and picked up the birthday crown from the floor. The one he'd crushed underfoot.

It was a cheap plastic thing, half the rhinestones already missing.

It wasn't that we couldn't afford better. Talia had insisted on this one because her daddy made it with his own hands last year, during a craft session at her preschool. She'd treasured it like gold, wearing it even after she'd outgrown it.

And just now, Victor had stepped on it without a second glance.

Something cold and heavy lodged in my chest—like cotton soaked in ice water, pressing against my heart until it ached.

Victor hung up and noticed me holding the ruined crown. Annoyance flickered across his face.

"Stop picking up that junk. We're divorced now, but I'm not going to leave you with nothing. This villa is yours—you and the kid can stay. Talia's used to the place anyway."

"I'll also give you five million dollars. Odette Cox, learn to be grateful. That's enough for you and the child to live out the rest of your lives."

"And I appreciate you being sensible about this. No hysterics like before. You've saved me a lot of trouble."

His phone screen lit up. The coldness in his eyes melted instantly, replaced by a tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

"Anyway, the agreement's signed. I should go."

"Rebecca just called—she's scared of the thunder. You know how timid she is. She can't be alone. If I'm late, she won't sleep all night."

My fingers tightened around the broken crown.

Talia had just cried herself into convulsions because of him. Her own father hadn't spared her a single thought.

But that woman was afraid of a little thunder, and he couldn't get to her fast enough.

Before I could respond, Victor was already at the door.

He changed his shoes. Grabbed his car keys. Adjusted his collar in the mirror.

Every movement smooth and practiced. Not a trace of hesitation. Not a flicker of regret.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The house fell into a silence so complete it felt like death.

The tension drained from my spine all at once. I crumpled onto the carpet, boneless.

I didn't want to cry, but my eyes burned and swelled with unshed tears.

This past year had wrung me dry. There was nothing left to give.

The first breakdown came when I discovered the man who'd once promised to love me forever had betrayed our family—for a fresh-faced intern barely out of college.

When Talia had a fever, one phone call from Rebecca was all it took. He'd dropped us and walked out without a backward glance.

Then came the despair. Victor's cruelty knew no bounds. To force my hand so he could be with Rebecca openly, he'd cut off our household funds entirely.

But what could I do?

I'd refused to leave because I wanted Talia to have an intact family. But tonight, at that birthday dinner, Victor's words had slapped me awake.

A man who could use his own daughter as a bargaining chip to please his mistress—keeping him around would only cast an endless shadow over my child's life.

If he was so desperate to run to his true love, then fine. Let him go.

A dull ache throbbed in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I forced myself to stand, intending to check on Talia in the bedroom.

She'd cried so hard earlier. I was worried she might develop a fever overnight.

But before I reached the door, a heavy thud echoed from inside the room.

Like something had hit the floor.

My heart lurched. A terror I'd never known before seized my throat.

"Talia?"

I shoved the door open and flipped on the light.

My daughter—who should have been asleep in bed—was crumpled on the floor. Her tiny body convulsed violently, her face mottled purple, foam frothing at her lips. Her eyes had rolled back, and her throat produced a horrible rasping wheeze, like broken bellows struggling for air.

An asthma-induced seizure.

Talia had congenital asthma. The doctors had warned me over and over—no major stress, no intense crying.

"Talia! Don't scare Mommy! Talia!"

I lunged forward and scooped her up, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

Her body was burning hot. Her breathing had faded to almost nothing.

Raw terror shattered every rational thought.

I fumbled for my phone to call 911 while frantically tearing through the medicine cabinet for her emergency inhaler.

It wasn't there. The spot where the inhaler should have been was empty.

Then I remembered—two days ago, Victor had ransacked the first aid kit looking for bandages, scattering medications everywhere. I hadn't had time to reorganize it.

No inhaler.

The movements in my arms grew weaker by the second. I didn't stop for shoes. I grabbed my daughter and ran for the stairs, dialing Victor's number with trembling fingers.

Thunder rolled outside. Rain hammered down in sheets.

We lived in the suburban villa—the ambulance would take at least twenty minutes. But Victor had left less than five minutes ago. If he just turned around, if he drove us to the nearest hospital, it would only take ten minutes.

This was a life.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times...

Finally, a split second before it would have gone to voicemail, someone picked up.

I clutched at it like a lifeline, my voice cracking into a desperate scream.

"Victor! Come back! Please, come back now! Talia's having an asthma attack—she's going into shock! Come back and take us to the hospital! I'm begging you!"

But the voice on the other end wasn't Victor's frantic response.

It was a woman's voice—soft, syrupy, laced with drowsiness and mockery.

Rebecca.

"Oh my, if it isn't Odette."

"Victor left this phone at my place."

"So you really signed the divorce papers?"

"Yes, I signed them. Can you reach him now? Tell him to come back—something's happened to Talia—"

I fought to keep my composure.

A soft laugh came through the phone.

"Talia's having an asthma attack? Please. You'd do anything to save this marriage—cry wolf enough times and no one believes you anymore."

In my arms, my daughter let out a feeble whimper. Something inside me snapped.

"Make him come back! She needs help! This is his own daughter! Rebecca, you'll pay for this!"

Rebecca just laughed, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Honestly? It'd be better if she died. Victor's going to have a new child anyway."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stood there in the bitter wind, clutching my daughter as her body went limp in my arms. The hatred that surged through me in that moment—it eclipsed even my terror.

Victor. Rebecca.

If anything happens to my daughter tonight, I will bury your entire family with her.

In the end, that ambulance with its flashing blue lights became the regret I would carry for the rest of my life.

The doctor emerged from the ER, pulled down his mask, and shook his head.

The world didn't collapse. It simply went silent. Completely, utterly silent.

I didn't cry. I just felt something blunt push into my chest and start sawing back and forth until the pain turned to numbness.

I went through the motions mechanically—paperwork, selecting a burial plot, arranging the cremation.

Every form required a family member's signature. The pen trembled so violently in my hand I could barely write.

Somewhere in that haze, I called Victor.

I wanted to tell him our daughter was gone.

I wanted him to see Talia one last time.

First call—rejected.

Second call—rejected.

The third time, my phone buzzed with a text notification.

Victor: Stop calling to harass me. Talk to my lawyer if you have something to say. When you've come to your senses, meet me at the county clerk's office.

I stared at those cold words until my eyes burned dry. Not a single tear fell.

I typed back: Fine. Monday. County clerk's office. I'll be there.

This time, he replied instantly—a voice message.

I pressed play. His tone was mocking, impatient.

"Odette, you'd better not be stalling. If you stand me up, I have ways to make you regret it."

I didn't respond. I just turned off my phone.

The days that followed passed in a blur. I drifted through the empty villa like a ghost.

The funeral was simple—just a few bouquets of lilies, Talia's favorite flower.

I knelt before her casket, burning paper offerings through the endless nights.

Victor never came.

Not a single text asking what happened. Not one phone call.

Nothing.

On the day of the burial, the sharp click of heels echoed from outside the funeral home.

Crisp. Grating.

I looked up.

Rebecca stood in the doorway wearing a crimson dress, a designer bag dangling from her arm, sauntering in like she owned the place.

Her gaze landed on the black-and-white portrait at the center of the room. She pressed a hand to her lips in mock surprise, but her eyes glittered with undisguised satisfaction.

"Oh my. She actually died?"

She walked over and stood above me, looking down at where I knelt, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.

"I was worried this little brat would fight my son for the family inheritance someday. Well, problem solved. Saves me a lot of trouble."

She tilted her head, a saccharine smile spreading across her face.

"Don't be too sad, Odette. It's called survival of the fittest. She was just making room for a child who actually deserves to be blessed."

My fingers tightened around my phone until my nails broke the skin of my palm. Blood seeped through the gaps between my fingers and dripped onto the floor.