Ten years ago, the Harrington family went through a home invasion. My mother, a maid, shielded Liam with her life.

Holding my hands tight, Liam promised, "Andrea, don't worry. I'll protect you forever."

I believed him. Our bond grew naturally, and we had a beautiful daughter together.

Then, she was diagnosed with leukemia.

In her last days, all she wanted was to spend one birthday with her dad.

I called him, desperate to make it happen.

"Millie doesn't have much time left. All she wants is one birthday with you. Can you come?"

His voice on the other end went icy. "Really? This your latest stunt? Using your dead mom wasn't enough, now it's our daughter for pity? Disgusting."

I tried to deny it, but he cut me off. "Don't mess with her head. Learn from Vivian—she's got a real heart."

That night, our daughter passed away.

Later, Vivian posted on social media: [Finally taking that couples' trip someone promised me!]

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just texted Liam: [We're done.]

Two days. That's all it took to plan my daughter's funeral.

After leaving the cemetery, I gathered every last thing Liam Harrington had ever given me, sold it all, and put the cash on a card.

I didn't expect him to be right there the second I walked into his office.

The sneer on his face said it all. "Thought you were done? Here you are, crawling back like a dog."

I bit down hard and shoved the card at him. "We're done. For good."

He slapped it out of my hand, and I, running on empty, stumbled to the floor. He just looked down like I was trash. "What's with the attitude? I missed Millie's birthday—she'll have plenty more."

My throat tightened.

While he'd been off with his lover, Millie was in the ICU, tangled in tubes. And while they held each other, she'd slipped away, leaving nothing but ashes.

"There won't be any more birthdays," I said, barely holding back tears.

Liam's face twisted with anger, and he ground his heel into my hand. "I had to cut my trip short by three days for this. Satisfied now? You should be thanking Vivian—she's the only one kind enough to deal with your drama."

I looked up, my voice barely a whisper. "Millie is dead."

He smirked. "Andrea Atwood, you'll say anything these days. Why not just claim you're dead too?"

Then he tried calling the preschool. The phone just kept ringing—no answer.

Right then, Vivian Beech walked in, her voice all sweet and soothing. "Liam, don't worry. We'll pick up Millie together later. Andrea's just upset. I'll apologize to Millie myself."

Liam gave her an approving pat, then looked at me with pure disgust. "See the difference? That's why Vivian's better than you. Millie's staying with my parents—I'm not risking her picking up anything from you."

I didn't say another word. I just turned and walked away.

I should've woken up a long time ago.

Liam changed ages ago, but I didn't see it.

My mom worked as a maid for the Harringtons. Ten years ago, during a break-in, she gave her life to protect Liam. The family showered me with gratitude.

"Sweet child, without your mother, we wouldn't be here today."

Even Liam, usually all cool and reserved, took my hand and promised, "Andrea, don't worry. I'll protect you forever."

Turns out, I was the only one who believed it.

Back then, he treated me well, and I fell hard. I had Millie before we even got married, sure that love and marriage would follow.

But once he took over the company, another woman started creeping into his life.

Vivian's name kept popping up. He'd go on about her intelligence, her "understanding nature." He couldn't even hide the grin on his face when he talked about her.

Once, I couldn't help it and asked, "Liam, could we just... not talk about Vivian tomorrow?"

He looked surprised, then chuckled. "Are you jealous?"

I brushed it off, telling myself it was all just business.

But then there was a smudge of makeup on his suit, the strange perfume in his car. He missed Millie's kindergarten activity because he was "walking dogs" with Vivian. And when I had a fever, he barely glanced at me before running off to tend to Vivian's "terrible cramps."

The signs were all there. I couldn't keep pretending.

"Liam, what's really going on between you and Vivian?"

He didn't even try to lie. "You're not my wife. What right do you have to question me? I support you and Millie—be grateful. I don't owe you anything."

I bit my lip, swallowing the shame. To him, I was just a hidden lover, a secret to keep quiet. His kindness had always been charity.

Then Millie was diagnosed with leukemia, and her health started slipping. By then, Liam had stopped coming around entirely.

For her fifth birthday, Millie wished for one thing—to celebrate with her dad. But on the day, Liam chose a trip with Vivian, leaving her wish unanswered.

Desperate, I begged him over the phone. "Millie doesn't have much time left. She just wants one birthday with you. Please."

He laughed coldly. "Really? This your latest stunt? Using your dead mom wasn't enough, now it's our daughter for pity? Disgusting. Don't mess with her head. Learn from Vivian—she's got a real heart."

"Please," I begged, holding back tears. "I'm not lying. Millie really is dying."

He sneered. "Then let her die."

That night, Millie took her last breath in my arms.

That morning, I'd dressed her in her favorite dress. She was so thin, barely a wisp, but she stood on her tiptoes, touched my face, and tried to comfort me. "Don't cry, Mommy. Do I look pretty?"

Before they wheeled her into the ER, she clutched my hand tight. "I haven't seen Daddy yet... I don't want to go in. Mommy, Daddy's coming, right?"

Swallowing my tears, I promised her he'd be there when she came out.

The doors closed, and I broke down.

Later that night, Vivian posted: [Finally taking that couples' trip someone promised me!] with a photo of their hands intertwined.

How could I tell Millie? Her dad was miles away, wrapped up in his trip with Vivian.

In her last moments, Millie managed a tiny smile and whispered, "Daddy's late. I'm so tired, Mommy. I'll just take a nap... Wake me up when he gets here, okay?"

Back home, I found myself saying, "Millie, be good. Mommy's making your favorite for dinner tonight—baked ribs."

Silence answered me.

That's when I remembered—Millie was gone.

Just like my mother before her. Everyone I love slips away, leaving me alone.

My strength gave out, and I collapsed onto the bed, clutching Millie's favorite doll, holding it tight as if her scent still lingered on it.

Millie had always been so easy to reassure; she believed anything I told her. Every birthday, she'd sit on her little stool, waiting for her dad. And every year, Liam never showed.

When she was diagnosed, I called him over and over as her birthday came up, but he never answered. So I put on a smile and said, "Daddy's on a secret mission and can't be here, but he sent you a special gift." Then I handed her the doll.

Millie hugged that "gift from Daddy" right up until her last breath.

I used to tell myself Liam just wasn't one for remembering birthdays. But one day, I saw him post a picture celebrating Vivian's niece. The room was packed with plush toys, covering every inch of the place.

So he did remember birthdays. He just didn't care about ours.

Then I heard the front door code beep.

I barely made it out of the bedroom before Liam grabbed me by the throat, slamming me against the wall. Pain shot through my back.

"Where are you hiding Millie?" His voice was like ice. "Why did the school say she hasn't attended in over six months?

"Your mother gave her life for me, and for ten years my family's looked after you. Wasn't that enough?

"I put up with you using Millie to cling to me, and now what? Trying to force me to marry you by hiding her?"

The pain in my chest and throat was crushing; I couldn't even gasp for air.

My Millie—she could barely stand, let alone go to school. She waited for him until her last breath, and he never showed.

I remembered her birthday, just a week before she died. Liam had promised to visit, and she sat by the window, her face lighting up when she saw him heading toward the building. She clapped, smiling—right as he turned and walked away.

Later, I learned why. Vivian had called him, drunk and crying. "Liam, I know I shouldn't love you, but I can't help it," she'd sobbed.

He didn't even bother apologizing for breaking his promise, brushing it off with, "Millie has you, doesn't she? Just give her extra vitamins or something. Vivian was on the roof—I couldn't risk her doing something reckless."

Hot tears blurred my vision, and his grip loosened. For a split second, he lifted his hand, like he might actually wipe away my tears.

But then Vivian's cold gaze cut between us, freezing his hand midair. "Liam, can't you just talk things over calmly?

"Andrea, did he hurt you? Don't blame him—he's just worried sick about Millie.

"I know you don't want to let her go with him, but hiding her isn't the answer."

A bitter laugh slipped out. I turned to Liam. "Why is she even here?"

His expression turned steely. "You should be grateful she is. If it weren't for Vivian, I might've choked you to death tonight. Now, tell me—where is Millie?"