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!”

“Please… please just let me go,” I begged, my voice hoarse from hours of crying.

My fingers clutched the cold iron bars, my knees numb from kneeling too long. No one answered. No one listened. The guards just stood still—unmoved, unfeeling—as if I were nothing more than a nuisance. A criminal.

But I wasn’t.

I hadn’t done anything. I didn’t even know that Nathan was kidnapped. Yet they were all blaming it on me?

The clang of heels against the tiled floor echoed down the hallway—and then I saw her. Candice. Her face painted in rage, lips curled like a snake ready to strike.

She stepped closer, eyes glinting with cruelty, voice sharp as glass. “You think you still matter? Jackson was never yours. He’s always been mine.”

I flinched, but she wasn’t finished.

“You were just a convenient replacement,” she sneered. “A stand-in. He needed someone when I married his cousin. But now that he’s gone…” Her lips curled in triumph. “Jackson’s mine again. As he always should’ve been.”

My breath hitched.

“And Nathan,” she added, lifting her chin, “he’s not just some poor orphan. He’s Jackson’s son. His real one. His blood. His heir.”

I staggered back as if struck again.

“So maybe instead of trying to kill him out of jealousy,” she snapped, “you should start preparing yourself. Because the only thing you’ll be to this family now is irrelevant.”

My mouth opened, but no words came. Just pain. Just silence.

“And don’t even think about crawling back to him,” Candice spat. “Because no matter what you do, you’ll never be enough. Not as a wife. Not as a woman. And definitely not as a mother.”

Jackson followed behind her, face tight with fury. “You’re the reason he’s in the hospital,” he said coldly. “Do you think the kidnappers were lying? They confessed that it was you.”

“No!” I shook my head violently. “I didn’t plan anything! I never wanted that boy hurt!”

Jackson added. “Because you're jealous, right? Because your own child died? So now you want my son dead too?”

I looked at Jackson—straight in the eye. “So you're admitting he's your son?”

He froze, but only for a moment. “Don't change the damn topic!”

I was still reeling when a staff ran up to us. “Sir—Mr. Smith—Nathan needs a blood transfusion. Immediately. But the hospital's out of supply for his rare blood type.”

Jackson looked at me. “What’s your blood type?”

I took a step back. My vision blurred. “I’m anemic. If you take blood from me—”

“She can do it,” Jackson said firmly. “She will do it. It’s the least she can do for what she’s done, so make her blood match! Bring her to the hospital now!”

“Jackson…” I gasped. “Please. I’ll faint. I might not—”

“If my son dies,” he growled, stepping closer, “I’ll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

I was dragged to the medical room. I didn’t even resist anymore. Worse, I am indeed a match. The needle slid into my vein, and blood drained from me until my lips turned pale and the world tilted. My last thought before I blacked out wasn’t of pain—it was that he had said my son again. No more lies. No more pretending.

He had replaced me. And made me bleed for it—literally.

When I woke, the lights above me flickered. My arms ached. My vision still hazy when Jackson entered again.

I braced myself. He didn’t waste time.

“Did you send men to hurt Candice this time?”

“What?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’m locked in a hospital room. How could I?”

His face twisted in rage. “Was that what you were planning during dinner? Who were you texting? What was in your phone?!”

“No one!” I cried. “It was nothing, I swear—”

He didn’t believe me. He never did.

“Guards,” he said sharply. “Make her pay.”

The next minutes were a blur of fists, pain, and screaming. I stopped begging. What was the point?

“Let me go,” I whispered once more. “Please… just be happy with them. Let me go.”

But Jackson only glared. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay here. You’ll suffer until I decide you’ve paid.”

He slammed the door behind him.

They locked me inside. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

All I could do was curl into myself, arms wrapped around my stomach, where my baby had once been. Where a child would never grow again. A place Jackson had destroyed, and yet still punished me for not being enough.

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Until I heard footsteps—rushed, heavy. Not Jackson’s.

I flinched. My body recoiled in fear. Not again. Please not again.

But then—arms. Warm. Gentle.

“Samantha.”

That voice. My eyes shot open.

“Inigo…” I choked out.

He was here. My savior. My only chance.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he whispered, holding my face between his palms. “But I’m here now.”

I nodded, barely believing he was real.

He wrapped a blanket around me and helped me to my feet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

We moved fast—quiet through hallways, into a van, into the night. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t need to know where we were going. All that mattered was that we were leaving. That I wasn’t going to die in that place.

As the plane took off, I looked at the city lights shrinking below me, each one a false promise Jackson had ever made. And I whispered goodbye.