Chapter 4

That night, I cried under the covers until morning.

There was still someone in the world who loved me like that. I had to keep living.

Maybe the universe took pity on me. The cancer cells slowly stopped spreading.

A year later, I walked out of the hospital. It felt like a miracle.

To make sure I had the best possible care, Ethan had started a company with a few friends while I was still in treatment.

He got busier. But he still cooked for me every day, reminded me to take my medication, and drove me to every follow-up appointment without fail.

Everyone around me said I was lucky to have found someone like him.

I believed them.

His company kept growing. He proposed. We got married in front of the people we loved most.

In our second year of marriage, I got pregnant. When he found out, he spun me around and around in his arms, laughing, his eyes bright with a happiness that made my own eyes sting.

I thought there was probably no one in the world who could love me more than Ethan did.

Then, in my third month of pregnancy, he cheated.

I drove over and walked in on the woman climbing off him, her skin marked all over. In that moment, my mind went blank except for fury and devastation, and I threw myself at her.

I bit her badly enough to scar her face. And the price I paid for it was —

My three-month-old baby. Gone. Kicked out of me by Ethan in his rage.

Afterward, Ethan apologized again and again. He made promises, over and over.

But I had already changed. I became anxious, suspicious, unable to tolerate any woman near him. I would spiral even when he went to meet a business partner.

The final straw came when I threw coffee in a client's face. Ethan reached his limit. He locked me in the isolation room.

"Serena, you need to calm down."

The darkness warped something inside me. I came out of that room with claustrophobia that never went away.

A month later, I was finally let out. And, just as he'd wanted, I had become quiet. Obedient.

After that, the women in Ethan's life rotated in and out. I learned not to see them.

No arguments. No scenes.

"Why hasn't this patient woken up yet? That doesn't seem right."

Voices cut through the haze. I opened my eyes. I was in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses.

"Ms. Reed, we couldn't reach any of your family members. The security guard who brought you in paid the deposit and then left..."

"Doctor, just tell me directly. I can make my own decisions." My voice came out rough. The ache in my abdomen told me why they were all standing there.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Reed. The baby's heart has stopped beating. Your own body isn't in a suitable state to continue the pregnancy, and we need to perform a procedure to remove the fetus."

The doctor hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

He understood how painful it would be to deliver this news.

"Okay. I understand. Please schedule the procedure."

"...Are you sure you've thought this through?"

"I have."

"Your file shows you're married. Would you like to discuss this with your husband first?"

"No."

After the doctors and nurses left, the room went quiet.

I pulled back the blanket and found myself reaching down, touching the curve of my belly without thinking.

Even though I had no choice, a dull, deep pain kept moving through my chest in slow waves.

This was my baby.

It should have been born safe. It should have grown up healthy.

But now...

The tears came before I could stop them.

The evening before I was discharged, Ethan called. His voice was measured, almost soothing.

"Things have been hectic at the company this week. I'll come pick you up when you're discharged."

I answered the way he liked. "Okay."

But discharge day came and went. I waited from sunrise to dark. He never showed.

I should have known. But there had still been that small, stubborn thread of hope I couldn't quite cut.

I took a cab back to the estate. As I reached the front door, the housekeeper met me with a complicated expression and handed me a small stack of envelopes.

The sender: myself. The recipient: also myself.

I knew immediately. Letters from the girl I had been five years ago.

I folded each one carefully and tucked them into my pocket, then walked toward the door.

I hadn't even made it inside when I heard the sound of shattering glass.

My chest tightened. I moved quickly toward the noise.

Chelsea was standing at the wooden display cabinet. A crystal urn lay in pieces at her feet.

And the ashes I had once gathered, piece by piece, with my own hands — my baby's ashes — were now ground under her heel.

I went completely still. My eyes locked on the floor. My vision went red.