Five hours of emergency surgery. When I finally came to, my hand drifted to my stomach—flat, hollow, empty. Oliver was nowhere to be found. He'd been with Mamie the entire time, giving her his so-called desensitization therapy.

The video she'd sent still burned behind my eyelids. The two of them tangled together, skin against skin, no space between them.

And beneath it, a message:

"Since you lost the baby, how about I give Oliver one instead? Think of it as my way of thanking him for working so hard to cure me."

The memory alone sent white-hot fury surging through my veins. I swung my leg and drove my foot straight into Oliver's crotch with every ounce of strength I had.

"Oliver, I just had a dream." My voice was ice. "In it, Mamie's allergy was fake. The two of you conspired to kill my baby. Tell me—do you think that was heaven sending me a warning? Exposing what a pair of lying, backstabbing monsters you really are?"

Oliver doubled over instantly, clutching himself, his knees hitting the floor. Panic flickered across his face before he could mask it.

"Bernice, that's insane. It was just a dream. You're clearly having some kind of mental breakdown to even come up with something like that."

Mamie jumped in, her voice trembling with practiced indignation.

"You're slandering us just because you want Oliver all to yourself. He's not your property. The tighter you cling, the faster he'll run."

Then, right on cue, she swayed on her feet, eyelids fluttering, the picture of a woman on the verge of collapse.

"Oliver... I think I'm having another episode..."

He caught her immediately, pulling her into his arms, then turned on me with a snarl.

"Bernice, you've gone too far! Look what you've done to her! She's fragile—if something happens, can you live with that?"

"Mamie's right. You just want to own me. Let me make something clear: I'm your husband, not your possession. Stop trying to guilt-trip me with your little games."

I watched them—the perfect picture of two souls united against a common enemy. My fingertips were cold as stone. Everything inside me had frozen into a single, crystalline emotion.

Hatred.

I locked my gaze on him, and my voice came out flat and lethal.

"Oliver, whether it's real or a dream, you know the truth better than anyone. And everything you owe me? I'm going to collect. Every last cent. With interest."

I turned, pulled the door shut behind me with a sharp crack, sealing Mamie's crocodile tears and Oliver's self-righteous complaints on the other side.

Starting today, I was done. Done being the lovesick fool who forgave everything. Done being the Bernice Barnes who swallowed her pride and called it devotion.

I was taking back everything that belonged to me.

I would make the world see Mamie Winfield for the shameless, scheming fraud she was. And I would make Oliver Delgado realize exactly who the real fool had been all along.

I went downstairs. For the first time in years, I didn't make breakfast. Didn't tidy the living room. Instead, I moved fast—packed my essentials, then pulled the memory cards from the surveillance cameras.

I'd installed hidden cameras in the living room and entryway ages ago, a security precaution. I'd never thought twice about them. Now they were the most critical evidence I had.

I walked out the front door and drove straight to a law firm. I hired an attorney to draft divorce papers, tucked my prenatal exam records safely away, then headed to the hospital to consult a specialist about contact allergies.

The doctor couldn't have been more definitive. Allergic reactions triggered by contact with the opposite sex were extraordinarily rare. Even in documented cases, the patient would never be immune to just one specific man. And the idea of "desensitizing" through intimate physical contact? Medically absurd. The entire premise violated basic science.

Armed with the doctor's professional opinion, I let out a cold, bitter laugh.

Mamie's lie wouldn't survive five minutes of scrutiny. And Oliver—an operations director at a Fortune 500 company, a man who prided himself on his intellect—he hadn't been fooled. He'd known all along. He simply enjoyed the arrangement too much to question it.

I found a computer repair shop and had them pull the footage from the memory cards. Even though I'd braced myself for what I'd see, the tears still came, streaming down my face in hot, relentless lines.

No wonder I'd been sick all the time in my past life. No wonder the dizziness and exhaustion had worsened after I got pregnant—so much so that Mamie barely had to push before I tumbled down those stairs.

No wonder, even after the miscarriage, I'd been bedridden for months, wasting away until I coughed up blood and died.

And through all of it, Oliver had told me it was my own fault. That my mental state was the problem. That I was acting like a lunatic.

I grabbed my bag and headed straight for First General Hospital. An hour later, the test results were in my hands.

The moment I saw the results on the blood panel, my fingernails dug into my palms so hard they drew blood. Droplets fell one by one onto the floor beside my feet.

The doctor's voice echoed in my ears.

"Ms. Barnes, your bloodstream contains dangerously high levels of diazepam, a powerful sedative, as well as immunosuppressants. That's why you've been experiencing chronic dizziness and fatigue."

"These substances cause irreversible neurological damage to a fetus. I strongly recommend you terminate the pregnancy as soon as possible."

My hand drifted to my lower belly. Tears spilled down my cheeks again, hot and relentless.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Mommy thought she could protect you this time around. I'm so sorry I failed you."

"I hope you find your way back up to heaven and pick yourself a good mother. One who can give you a whole lifetime of happiness."

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and forced my voice steady.

"Doctor, please schedule the procedure. I consent to the termination."

He nodded.

Two hours later, I lay on the freezing surgical table, feeling the sharp instruments scrape inside me, stroke after agonizing stroke, taking my baby away.

A sour, stinging pressure flooded my eyes. I squeezed them shut and forced it back down.

By nine that evening, the IV drip was finished. I dragged my hollow, trembling body home.

The instant I pushed open the door, a flicker of surprise crossed Oliver's face. It vanished just as fast, replaced by a scowl.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum?"

"Look at yourself. Getting pregnant has made you even more impossible. Paranoid, controlling, lashing out at everyone. Do you have any idea how upset Mamie is because of you?"

I looked at Mamie, nestled against Oliver's chest, eyes red-rimmed with perfectly performed hurt.

I laughed. A low, hollow sound.

I walked over slowly and slapped the surgical discharge form onto the coffee table.

"Oliver, your child is gone. And here you are, fussing over your little mistress. Don't you even want to know why?"

Oliver's eyes narrowed. The second he read the words on that paper, the color drained from his face. He shoved Mamie aside, seized my shoulders, and roared.

"Bernice! How could you be so heartless? Just because you were jealous, you went and killed our baby? Are you even human?"

"You've completely lost your mind. I'm having you committed!"

He lunged at me, hands reaching for my arms. I laughed again, that same empty laugh, and swung my palm hard across his face the moment it got close enough.

"I'm the one who's lost her mind? Why don't you ask your precious little mistress what she's been putting in my soup?"

I pulled the lab report from my pocket and hurled it at his face.

"Read it, Oliver. Read every line. Then tell me who's heartless. Tell me who killed this baby."

He stared at me, bewildered, then bent down and picked the report up off the floor.

Three seconds. That was all it took. His pupils blew wide, and disbelief flooded his expression.

"You... how are you poisoned? How is your immune system this destroyed?"

I shifted my gaze to Mamie.

"Miss Winfield. You know exactly what's in my system. Don't you?"

Every drop of color vanished from Mamie's face. Her eyes darted between me and Oliver in open panic.

"Oliver, this has nothing to do with me! Maybe she's been eating junk food on her own and that's what caused it?"

She squeezed out a few tears on cue, her voice trembling with rehearsed fragility.

"Bernice, how could you do something so cruel? Just to get rid of me, you poisoned yourself with God knows what, and now you're pinning it on me?"

"Even if you hate me, the baby was innocent! That was Oliver's child too. Can you imagine how much pain he's in right now?"

Oliver's gaze snapped back to me, darkening with renewed anger. I didn't flinch. Not a single flicker of emotion crossed my face. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and held the screen up where they could both see it.

The surveillance footage played in crystal clarity.

"Mamie Winfield. The cameras caught everything. You slipping something into my food, again and again. You're the reason my body was full of toxins. You're the reason I've been dizzy, exhausted, and falling apart."

Oliver stared at the screen, stunned into silence.

In the footage, Mamie was snapping tablets from a blister pack and dropping them one by one into my gourmet tonic soup.

"Worthless bitch. You think you can steal Oliver from me? Go ahead and die."

The living room went deathly still. The only sound was Mamie's venomous voice hissing from the surveillance feed.

Mamie's composure shattered. She let out a shrill, panicked scream.

"Bernice, you're despicable! When did you install cameras? You had no right to spy on me!"

I let out a cold laugh and slapped her across the face so hard the crack echoed off the walls.

"You're a shameless tramp who threw herself into another woman's husband's bed. You think you're worth spying on?"

"This is my house. I don't need your permission to put up a camera."

Mamie's body swayed sideways, and she collapsed against the coffee table. Glass exploded across the living room floor with an ear-splitting crash.

She pressed her palms into the shards, blood welling between her fingers, and turned those pitiful, doe-like eyes toward Oliver.

"Oliver, it's not what it looks like. I only did it because I love you so much. I just wanted us to be together openly..."

"Shut your mouth!"

Oliver stood frozen, his gaze locked on my stomach. A long, terrible silence passed before his eyes drifted to the lab report.

Then he seized Mamie by the collar and hauled her up to his face.

"You poisonous bitch. I went out of my way to help you with your so-called treatment, and you repaid me by poisoning my wife and killing my child? Do you even have a soul?"

His hand closed around her throat.

"Why, Mamie? Why would you do this to me?"

"You were the one who abandoned me to go study abroad. I finally found someone who genuinely loved me, and you couldn't stand it. You had to destroy everything."

Oliver's eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging along his forearms. As his grip tightened, Mamie's eyes rolled back. Her tongue jutted out, and her body convulsed with violent, choking coughs.

Seconds later, her face turned a mottled purple. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes as she wheezed out a desperate plea.

"Oliver... I... I love you... truly... please..."

The instant her eyes fluttered shut and her body went limp, Oliver released her. He flung her away like something rotten, and she crumpled to the floor. He collapsed onto the sofa, all the fury draining out of him, replaced by something raw and wretched.

"Bernice, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't know."