I cried all night. The ache in my chest burned worse than the pain in my abdomen. I had lost my baby. My womb. My pride. But Jackson—he didn’t even come back.

He said he’d return. That he had to “handle things.” But morning came, and I was still alone in that cold hospital bed. No calls. No texts. Just silence.

I reached for my phone, hoping maybe… something. Anything. But instead, I found her.

Candice. A new post. A story from the night before.

She was on a yacht, laughing like a queen in her golden bikini. Music in the background, champagne flutes in the air. And then—there he was. Jackson. Shirtless. Relaxed. Smiling. And kissing her.

My vision blurred. My fingers went numb. I threw the phone, but the pain stayed.

The next morning, a nurse came with my discharge papers. Jackson didn’t even show up. Instead, the driver said he was “preparing a surprise at home.” I almost laughed. I almost believed. But I was too tired to question it.

When we arrived at the estate, I noticed the cars, the music, the voices. It wasn’t just a surprise. It was a full-blown party.

I stepped inside and froze. Gold balloons. Champagne glasses. A massive cake that said “Welcome Home, Candice!”

Candice. Not me.

And then I saw her. In the center of the crowd, radiant and smug. Her hand on the shoulder of a little boy. Around her, people fawned. Jackson’s mother, Janice, was beaming as she raised a toast.

“You should stay here in the estate with your son, Candice,” Janice said. “Jackson will take care of you both.”

Candice gave a soft laugh. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What about your daughter-in-law? She might be upset.”

Janice scoffed. “So? I don’t care about that girl. She was never supposed to marry Jackson. I’ve never liked her. She walks around here like she owns the place, just because she ‘saved’ him once. She’s nothing. Nothing!”

It wasn’t new. Janice had always hated me. From the start.

She used to whisper behind my back, always cold, always watching. She blamed me for her divorce—believing I had something to do with it, just because Jackson’s father once said I reminded him of the woman Janice could never be. As if that was my fault. As if it was my fault that her husband had admired me—not out of love, but out of care as a father. She thought we were having an affair. I was twenty.

Jackson defended me then. Said I was family. That I saved his life. That I was loyal. I believed it. I thought he was standing by me. But now I know better—he needed me. A placeholder. A shield until Candice came back.

“Don’t worry, I will tell Jackson to divorce her soon, so maybe, you two…can be together?”

Candice laughed. “Well, maybe… that was a good idea.”

My breath caught. I had heard enough. I backed away quietly, deciding not to make a scene. Well, they never noticed me, either.

I climbed the stairs slowly, pain still lacing through my body. But just as I reached the landing, something hard hit my head.

A metal can.

I stumbled, clutching my skull. “What the hell—?”

And then I saw him. A little boy. Maybe three years old. Big brown eyes, now brimming with tears. He burst into sobs.

“What’s wrong with you?” a voice shrieked behind me.

Janice stormed up the stairs and yanked my hair so hard I nearly fell again. “You made him cry, you heartless bitch?”

I winced. “He threw something at my head—!”

“So what if he did?” Janice spat. “He’s a child! And you—what kind of woman makes a baby cry? No wonder you lost yours. You’d never be a good mother.”

The words sliced deeper than any scalpel.

“Mom, stop!” Jackson appeared at the top of the stairs. “She’s my wife,” he added.

But Janice snapped, “Wife? I told you to divorce her! She’s damaged now—useless. Can’t even give you a child. She let herself be kidnapped and now you lost an heir”

I stood there, frozen, humiliated—until the boy ran to Jackson and hugged his leg.

“Daddy, I’m scared of her.”

Daddy? Why haven’t I realized they look alike?

I turned to Jackson, my voice barely above a whisper. “Who is he? Why is he calling you daddy?”

Jackson cleared his throat. “He’s Candice’s son. From my cousin. But... he’s going to stay with us. He needs a father figure. I’ll raise him like my own.”

“What?” My heart sank. “They’re staying here? You agree to that without telling me?”

Candice gave a fake modest laugh. “Oh no, it’s really not necessary—”

“Come on, Samantha,” Jackson cut in. “Don’t be dramatic. You just got home. Be nice. Candice lost her husband. Her child needs a home. This is the best thing we can do.”

I stared at him. At all of them. And I swallowed the scream building in my throat. “Do whatever you want,” I said coldly. Then turned to go upstairs.

But I didn’t get far.

Janice grabbed my arm and shoved me—hard. “You ungrateful and rude bitch! You should be thankful!”

My body twisted. My feet slipped.

And I tumbled. Down the stairs.

Pain exploded in my side and I hit the bottom with a sickening thud. Groaning, I tried to move but then I heard the child cry out. He had slipped too, landing roughly beside me.

All attention turned to him.

Jackson rushed over. “Are you okay, buddy?”

No one looked at me. Not one person.

I crawled. My limbs shaking. My heart splintering. I dragged myself up the stairs, every step a reminder—I was no longer part of this family.

I had been replaced.

I thought the worst was over. I had bandaged myself up from the fall earlier—arms scraped, knees bruised, ribs aching but at least I had a few hours of sleep. I told myself to rest. That I just needed silence. Peace.

But peace never lived in this house. Because before dawn, I was yanked out of bed.

My back hit the floor with a sickening thud and a sharp stab of pain shot up my spine. I gasped, vision swimming, and tried to sit up—but the weight of the fall made my body tremble.

A giggle. A high-pitched laugh filled the room.

I blinked up to see him—the child. Nathan. The same child who hit my head with a can earlier. The one they all adored like some royal bloodline. He was now bouncing on my bed as if it were his.

“I want to sleep here!” he squealed, throwing pillows around like it was a game.

“This is my bed,” I said through clenched teeth. I tried to make my voice kind—he was just a child, wasn’t he? But then again… he was the reason I was bleeding. He was the reason I was sleeping alone. He was the son of the two people who betrayed me.

Still, I tried again. “Go back to your room, sweetheart.”

But he ignored me, dancing in circles, shouting and shrieking. Until his little feet slammed into the stand that held my father's last remaining gift to me—an antique ceramic vase he crafted before he died.

It shattered.

I froze.

The shards scattered across the wooden floor like echoes of my heart. And without thinking, I grabbed Nathan’s arm. “Do you know what you’ve done?” I hissed. “That was the last thing I had from my father!”

The boy blinked at me, stunned, before bursting into tears.

Footsteps thundered outside, and then Candice barged in. Her eyes widened when she saw me holding Nathan’s wrist. “What did you do?! You hurt my son!”

“I didn’t—he broke something important—”

“You know we’re trying to adjust, Samantha! We know you hate that we’re here but this—this is a child! How could you?!”

“I didn’t even—” I stammered, but it was too late.

Jackson appeared in the doorway. His eyes didn’t scan the broken vase. Or the blood on my hand. No, they locked on Nathan’s tears.

Then his palm cracked across my cheek.

I stumbled back, breath stolen, eyes wide. Jackson had never laid a hand on me. Never raised his voice in violence. But now…?

“You slapped me?” I whispered. “Because of him?”

“He’s not just any kid!” Jackson growled. “He’s my heir! I’m adopting him. He’ll carry my name.”

I let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “Adopting? Really? And what’s the truth, Jackson? He’s yours, isn’t he?”

He didn’t say yes.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Instead, his silence lingered—loud, heavy, confirming everything without needing words. His jaw tightened. His gaze dropped to the floor for just a second, and that was all I needed. The truth was already etched in every glance, every unspoken word, every time he touched that child like he was his.

And just like that, my heart broke all over again.

I remembered the ultrasound photo I used to carry in my purse. The name we had chosen together. The way I used to press my hand to my belly and imagine the soft coos, the tiny feet, the bedtime stories. Our daughter.

Gone. Ripped from me.

And now here he was, parading his son in front of me—the child born from lies and betrayal—claiming he’d carry his name like some badge of honor, while mine never even got to breathe.

He stepped closer, his voice colder now. “I will not let you hurt him. You can’t even carry a child anymore. Don’t take your jealousy out on an innocent—”

Jealousy?

My knees buckled slightly, but I stood tall. What he didn’t know—what he would never understand—was that I wasn’t jealous.

I was grieving.

And he was the one who buried my future.

“Jealousy?!” My voice cracked. “I didn’t choose to be kidnapped! I didn’t choose to be butchered—you made sure of that!”

“Watch your mouth,” he warned, then grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Apologize to Candice. Now.”

“No—”

“Apologize!”

He pushed me down into the broken vase shards. Pain tore through my knees. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Candice stepped forward and reached for me with a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

But as she leaned down, she whispered into my ear, “Now you know. Nathan and I… we aren’t nothing in this house. So maybe it’s time you disappear quietly.”

I met her eyes. My voice barely a breath. “Don’t worry. I will.”

I turned to leave, but Candice let out a fake gasp and flung herself backward—slamming into the floor with a scream.

“Jackson!” she wailed. “She pushed me!”

And of course, he came running. Not to me. Never to me.

He checked her arms for bruises, cursed me under his breath, and stormed out with her in his arms while I bled on the glass alone.

But I didn’t cry.

I couldn’t. I had no tears left.

Later that night, a notification blinked on my phone. A new email from the lawyer I contacted.

The divorce is filed. Just needs his signature.

I stared at it for a long while. And then I printed it.

I found Jackson in the lounge, sitting beside Candice, who was draped in silk and sipping wine like she hadn’t just ruined my life. He kissed the back of her hand like they were in some fairytale.

“I need you to sign this,” I said calmly.

He looked up, annoyed. “Don’t you know how to knock? After everything you did to her?”

“I just need your signature,” I repeated. “It’s about the hospital. From when… when we lost the baby.”

He rolled his eyes, snatched the pen from my hand, and scribbled his name without reading it. “Now go.”

The candle flame trembled just like my hands. I stared at it, unblinking, as I whispered the name no one would ever call. My daughter. No legal record. No grave. No lullabies. Just a name buried in my heart and a tiny blanket now placed beside the flame. The only thing she ever touched.

I prayed even though I didn’t believe God listened to women like me—wives turned into ghosts, mothers without children, hearts split open and stitched shut by lies.

And when the wick burned steady, I stood up. I had things to do.

I walked into our walk-in closet and grabbed every gift Jackson ever gave me. The perfumes, the shoes, the bags, the dresses. Everything that once made me feel loved—chosen. They were all lies now. Souvenirs from a life that was never really mine.

I dragged out the suitcases. Began to pack everything, like I was burying pieces of myself.

The zipper was halfway closed when I heard his voice behind me.

“What are you doing?”

I turned, calmly. “I’m burning them.”

His brows furrowed. “Burning what?”

“Everything. Everything that came from you. Every trace of us.”

His eyes widened in panic. “Samantha… is this because of what happened yesterday? Please. I didn’t mean it like that.”

I said nothing. I didn't have the energy to pretend anymore.

He crossed the room, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “I’m sorry. Okay? I was scared. Confused. Nathan—he’s my cousin’s son. And now that my cousin’s dead, I’m responsible for him and Candice.”

I stiffened. “And does that responsibility include hurting me for her and her son when I am your wife?”

He flinched. Didn’t say a word.

“Thought so,” I muttered.

“It’s not like that,” he whispered. “Candice is vulnerable. She has no one. And Nathan… he needs someone stable. He will be my real son soon.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean by real son?”

I already knew. But I needed to hear him lie again.

“I mean…I’m going to adopt him, so… Can’t you just be nice to her?” he asked, like it was the simplest thing. “She’s been through a lot.”

I looked him dead in the eye. My voice turned razor-sharp. “What if I don’t want to?”

His jaw clenched. “What is wrong with you lately?”

I almost laughed. But there was no humor left in me.

“Nothing,” I said coldly. “I’m just hurting. Maybe that’s the part you forgot.”

Because how could I not hurt? When the child I once cradled in my dreams was stolen from me—cut from my womb while I was wide awake—while this man, this liar, was playing house with the woman who replaced me. Candice. The one he claimed was just someone he was “helping.” The one whose child he now proudly paraded as his “adopted son.”

Adopted? What a joke. He could’ve at least respected me enough not to lie so poorly. I saw the way he looked at Nathan—with guilt, with love, with a possessiveness that went beyond mere responsibility.

That was no cousin’s child.

That was his.

And he knew I couldn’t give him another child—not after what he orchestrated. After what he did to me. I’d lost my womb. My baby. My entire future. Because of him.

He rubbed his face like he was the one exhausted, then forced a smile. “Okay. I get it. How about dinner tonight? Just the two of us. Let me make it up to you.”

He always did that—used apologies like duct tape, trying to patch the gaping holes in everything he'd broken. But I wasn’t fooled anymore.

I paused. Then gave him a small nod. “Sure.”

But in my head, I already knew the truth.

Nothing he planned tonight would change the fact that he destroyed me.

And I would never forget.

Dinner was held in one of those candle-lit restaurants Jackson loved. The ones where the waiters whispered, and the wine cost more than my rent before I met him. He was all charm—smiles, soft eyes, flirting like the old days.

But I wasn’t the same woman anymore.

He talked. I nodded. He complimented me. I gave a half-smile. My phone buzzed under the table.

Inigo: Everything’s ready. Surveillance footage from the yacht. Audio from the hospital. His empire is going to fall. I’ll pick you up in two days.

Justice. It felt cold and necessary.

“What are you smiling at?” Jackson asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing,” I said and slipped the phone back into my lap.

He reached across the table and snatched it. “Who the hell are you texting while I’m talking to you?”

“Give it back.”

“Open it.”

I stared at him. “It’s our anniversary.”

He grinned smugly. “Of course it is. Why is it not working? May 11, right?”

“Wrong.” I smiled coldly. “Maybe it’s the anniversary you have with your mistress.”

His face twitched.

“What are you talking about?” he said, trying to laugh it off. “You’re the only one I love.”

He dropped the phone, leaned closer again like nothing happened. But then his phone rang. His smile disappeared.

“What? Nathan? What do you mean he’s gone?”

He stood up so fast the table rattled. No explanation. No goodbye. Just ran.

I sat back, watching the empty seat across me. He always runs when things go wrong.

I finished my wine. Then went home.

The next morning, I was sipping lukewarm coffee in the kitchen when the front door burst open.

“Samantha Reid?” a police officer barked.

I stood frozen. “Yes…?”

Two officers stormed toward me, grabbing my arms.

“What is happening? Why are you taking me out?!”

And then I saw him. Jackson. Standing near the door, face tight with disgust.

“Her,” he told the officers. “Bring her to the station.”

“Jackson?!” I gasped. “What are you talking about?!”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he snapped. “You had Nathan kidnapped!”