The day I buried my daughter, I thought I was done crying. But when I knelt in front of that small grave, my world tilted.

She was only six. My little girl. My everything.

And then she came. Cerise.

The woman who killed her.

She walked right up to me. Everyone started whispering. I couldn’t even look up. I thought maybe she’d come to apologize. But no. She took what she was holding: a small, decayed cat crawling with maggots and threw it right onto Amy’s tombstone.

People gasped. Someone screamed. I just froze.

And Cerise said, smiling like a saint, “Don’t be mad. I’m just worried little Amy’s soul might get lonely. I brought her favorite pet to keep her company underground.”

My body went numb. My teeth were shaking. I wanted to grab her by the throat and smashed her face, but my legs wouldn’t even move. All I could do was kneel there, feeling the dirt soak through my dress, watching that rotting thing slide down my daughter’s name.

But the next morning, I sued her.

People warned me not to. They said she had a powerful backer. Someone untouchable.

I didn’t care. My husband was a lawyer. He would make sure she'll ended up in jail.

Turns out, I was the biggest fool in the room.

The trial was a joke. We had everything: footage, witnesses, reports. Still, the judge ruled in her favor.

Cerise walked out free.

And me? I was charged with killing my own child.

When I looked up at the bench, I saw who delivered the verdict.

The judge was Cerise’s older brother—the man whose love confession I once turned down.

And right beside her, smiling faintly, was my husband.

Justine Halley.

The man I’d built my life with. The man I thought I knew.

Everyone used to call us the perfect couple. The devoted doctor and the brilliant lawyer. But when I saw his face that day, I understood. He was the one protecting her instead of protecting me.

....

Ten years in prison taught me what pain really meant.

They starved me. Beat me. Broke me.

But the worst part wasn’t the bruises. It was the silence. The not knowing why.

When I finally got out, I walked for hours. I don’t even remember how I ended up there... standing by the glass doors of the ballet school where my daughter used to dance.

That’s when I saw him.

Justine.

He was leaning against his car, smoking. Then Cerise appeared, dressed in soft pinks and pearls, her hair pinned perfectly as if she’d never known a sleepless night.

Beside her was a little girl in a white leotard and ballet slippers, ribbons tied around her small wrists. She couldn’t have been more than ten.

The child’s face lit up when she saw him.

“Daddy!” she run straight into his arms.

Justine smiled and crushed his cigarette underfoot. He bent to lift her, “Sofie, did you dance beautifully today?”

The girl giggled. “I did! Teacher said I’m ready for the recital!”

Cerise laughed, “Of course she did. Our daughter’s always the star.”

Our daughter.

The words sliced through me like glass.

Because my marriage with Justine was never over.

And our real daughter Amy was dead.

Dead because of her!

So who was this child calling him Daddy?

And how could he smile like that, as if nothing had ever happened?

The scene in front of me felt too real.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. It was the only way to stop myself from crying out.

So that was it.

He helped her destroy me so they could live happily together. Husband and wife.

But why?!

Why did he have to ruin me to do it?

If he’d just said he wanted a divorce, I would’ve let him go. I wouldn’t have begged. I wouldn’t have fought. I would’ve walked away quietly.

My phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down and there it was. Our old picture.

Me and Justine, grinning outside the campus gates. We looked so young. So stupidly hopeful.

We both came from nothing. Dirt roads. Cheap uniforms. Empty stomachs.

But Justine had it worse.

His mother died giving birth to him. His father was a soldier who never came home from the war. After that, Justine was sent to live with his uncle and aunt... a house that looked decent from the outside, but inside was nothing short of hell.

They made him scrub floors until his hands bled. Beat him for spilling water. Locked him out when they had guests.

I still remember those days, how pale and thin he looked, how carefully he tried to hide the bruises. I used to give him half my lunch every day.

Once, I made the mistake of standing up to his uncle. The man nearly killed me for it. I ended up in the hospital for a week.

Justine came to see me there. He stood beside my bed, “Emily, when I grow up, I’ll become a lawyer. I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

And he did.

He worked his way up, got into a top law school, became a respected attorney. Everyone admired him for it the poor boy who made it.

I became a doctor. We thought we’d beaten the odds.

That same year, we both got jobs, got married, had a child, and moved into our first home.

Four dreams in one year.

I remember the night we moved in. Justine, who almost never cried, suddenly broke down.

He held me and our baby close and whispered, “Wife, meeting you is the greatest blessing in my life.”

I believed him.

I thought we’d made it through the storm.

I thought that was the end of all the pain.

But happiness doesn’t break slowly. It shatters in an instant.

My daughter, Amy, died under Cerise’s car.

And the man who promised to protect me fell into her arms.

Now they had another child together, like Amy never even existed.

Cerise’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“Hubby, I think today’s the day Emily gets released. Don’t you care at all?”

I froze. I didn’t even breathe. I just watched him.

“She knows her own way home. Why should I care?”

His words hit harder than the prison walls ever did.

I didn’t realize I was clenching my fists until I felt the sting. My nails had dug into my palms, deep enough to draw blood.

They got into their car, the three of them. The picture-perfect family.

And I just stood there, watching the taillights disappear, feeling like someone had buried me alive all over again.

My hands were shaking when I pulled out my phone. I pressed Lila’s name. It took me a few tries before the call went through.

When she answered, my voice came out barely a whisper.

“Lila… I need your help.”

“What is it?” Lila’s voice snapped through the line.

For ten years, she was the only one who ever came to see me. The only one who still looked at me without disgust. The only person I could trust.

I took a deep breath. “I want to overturn the verdict. I want to clear my name.”

Silence. I thought she’d hang up. I thought maybe she'd given up on me.

“Emily, I’ve been looking for evidence all this time. I just need seven more days. Seven days, and I’ll get you justice.”

Something in me cracked. My chest hurt, but it wasn’t pain, it was relief. “Thank you.”

When the call ended, I looked around. The streets were empty. The sky was dark. I had nowhere to go. No home. No family. No one was waiting.

Except him.

And the house we once shared still had pieces of my daughter in it. Amy’s shoes. Her drawings. Her laughter buried in the walls.

So I walked. For hours. Until my feet went numb and bleeding.

When I reached the house, I stood at the gate for a long time.

Justine hadn’t even changed the lock.

My hands were trembling when I press the code. The door opened easily.

Inside, everything looked the same. The furniture. The curtains. Even the smell.

The only thing missing was the family photo that used to hang in the living room.

For a second, I almost believed I’d just stepped out yesterday and come back today.

Then I heard a sound behind me.

My heart froze. When I turned around, he was standing there.

Justine.

He was holding an umbrella, rain dripping from his coat. His dark eyes locked on me, unreadable.

We didn’t speak. We just stared.

I was expecting Cerise to appear behind him, but she didn’t. He was alone.

After a moment, he set the umbrella aside and said quietly,

“When did you get back? You should’ve called me. I would’ve picked you up.”

I didn’t answer. I just watched him walk into the bathroom, moving like nothing was wrong, like none of it had ever happened. He came back with a new towel, holding it out to me.

I didn’t take it.

“I know the way... So I came back myself.”

He didn’t even flinch. He just turned and poured tea, the way he used to after long days at the firm.

“Drink some hot water. Don’t catch a cold.”

Steam rose from the cup, fogging the space between us. I took it, holding it tight in both hands,

“Justine, don’t you think it’s time we talked about what happened ten years ago?”

“What happened back then is already settled. You’ve been released. Isn’t that enough? Why keep digging into it?”

I stared at him.

Why bother pursuing it?

My daughter died. I was locked up for ten years for something I didn’t do. And now I wasn’t even allowed to ask why?

The room tilted. My vision blurred. I felt myself losing balance when I heard his voice.

“Emily!”

He rushed toward me.

For a second, I thought he might actually care. But then his phone rang.

“Hello?” His voice changed immediately. “Sofie’s crying? I’ll be right there.”

That sound pulled me back years ago to when Amy was still alive. Justine used to be strict with her. Too strict.

He loved her, but he never showed it the way a father should. He always said, “Girls should be strong. Don’t cry.”

So even when Amy fell and scraped her knees or hit her head, she’d bite back the tears, trying to earn her father’s praise.

And now, Cerise’s daughter only had to cry once, and Justine came running?

I gripped the armrest just to stay standing, refusing to fall in front of him.

“I have to go,” he said softly. “Something urgent came up. You should rest here. Don’t think too much. Call me if you need anything.”

When the door closed, the house fell silent. Too silent.

I sat there for a while before finally standing up. My body still felt heavy, but I wanted to see Amy’s room. Maybe I could find her photo album. Something. Anything.

When I opened the door, my breath caught.

The room was empty. Completely stripped. Even the little drawings she used to make on the wall were painted over.

There was nothing left. Not a single trace of her.

He erased our child.

I slid down the wall, shaking. My scream came out broken, raw, echoing through the hollow room until my voice gave out.

When I could finally move again, I went to the master bedroom. My head was spinning, but a small part of me still hoped Justine had kept something—maybe a ballet shoes, or a photo, hidden somewhere.

But when I walked in, I froze.

Everything here looked exactly the same. My clothes were still in the closet. My perfume was still on the dresser. The sheets were neatly folded, like I’d never left.

Why erase our daughter’s memory but keep mine?

I started opening drawers one by one, not even sure what I was looking for. Then I saw it: a box of condoms, freshly opened, tucked inside the bedside table.

My stomach twisted.

So that was why. He’d kept this room for their games. Maybe it thrilled him to touch her mistress in the same bed we once shared, surrounded by my things.

I felt sick. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left in me.

My whole body hurts. My chest burned. I couldn’t stand it anymore. The tiles felt cold against my skin as I fell to the floor, the edges of the room fading into black.

When I opened my eyes again, the light was already creeping in through the curtains. My head felt heavy, and every part of me ached. I was lying on that same bed I used to share with him.

Justine was standing next to the bed. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, watching me. His face looked calm, too calm, but there was something in his eyes I couldn’t name. For a second, I thought I saw pity. Maybe even love. But I knew better than to believe that.

“Since we’ve come to this point, why don’t you just throw my things away? Let Cerise move in. Isn’t that what you both want?” I tried to sit up, but my body felt weak. “Is this your idea of excitement? Sleeping with her in the same bed, surrounded by my things?”

His face changed instantly. I could tell he was furious, “You know about Cerise?”

“I saw you both yesterday... I saw her holding your hand. I saw the kid.”

He didn’t even flinch. “We do have a child.”

Something in me broke again.

My hands shook, “I remember when we first got married,” my voice trembling. “You used to keep me up all night, saying you couldn’t get enough of me. You said you wanted me so much you could lose your mind.” I laughed bitterly. “You said if you could, you’d keep me inside you forever. That way, I’d always belong to you.”

He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, looking away.

“The man who said that… now belongs to someone else,” I whispered. “Tell me, Justine. If you’re so happy with her, why not divorce me? Why make me live through this?”

He finally looked at me. “Divorce you? In a week, the Judicial Council will announce the new appointees. I can’t risk it, Emily. I can’t give them a reason to doubt me.” He paused, then added quietly, “Once this week is over, we’ll get the divorce.”

I stared at him. Suddenly everything made sense. Why Cerise and her daughter never stayed here. Why were my clothes still in the closet... Why did he still pretend this was a home... He didn’t keep them for love. He kept them for his reputation. Pathetic.

He was still the same coward.

Cerise’s father had been his mentor. Her older brother was his close friend, too. I still remember the day he told me about her. “She’s my teacher’s daughter, and my friend’s sister,” he said. “She’s young, immature. Don’t take her seriously.”

And when I got jealous, when I wanted to confront her, he held me close and whispered, “Her father’s done so much for me. I don’t want to ruin our relationship over petty things. Trust me. I’ll keep my distance from her.”

I believed him.

That night, after Justine left for work, I went to my daughter’s old room.

It was the only place left that still felt like mine.

When I opened my eyes that morning, I felt something warm over me. A blanket. Thin, rough, but tucked around my shoulders.

For a second, I just stared at it, trying to figure out where it came from. Then I realized—it had to be Justine.

I pulled the blanket off and threw it to the floor. It felt filthy against my skin.

My phone buzzed. A message from Lila.

“I’m trying to hurry up here. You can also look for clues.”

Clues. I stared at the screen for a moment, then turned toward the master bedroom. The door was still half open.

Then I heard laughter.

Soft, sweet laughter that didn’t belong here.

When I reached the bottom, I saw them. Justine and Cerise, standing together in the open kitchen.