The voice on the phone was Cyrus, my childhood neighbor. Growing up, he often joked about my looks and playfully claimed he would marry me someday. But life took a turn when he was incarcerated for some questionable activities, and by the time he was released, I had already married Damien. He didn't say much afterward, just sent me a hundred dollars through a mutual friend and disappeared for a year.

Recently, his friend handed me a note with Cyrus's number, explaining that he had become a small business owner and assured me that I could reach out to him if I faced any challenges. After a brief pause on the other end of the line, his voice was clear, “Wait for me—ten days.”

I walked with my child under the blistering sun for what felt like hours, my face flushed from the heat, yet my heart remained cold and weighed down. Before I realized it, I found myself outside my parents’ apartment building. They were sitting by the window on the second floor, gazing out at the world beyond.

Quickly, I ducked into a corner, letting my tears fall silently. In the past, my mother had fervently opposed my relationship with Damien, often using both harsh words and stern actions to express her disapproval. Her anger once filled me with resentment, leading me to question our bond. It wasn’t until the fire broke out that I understood the depth of her love.

As the burning beams came crashing down, she pushed me out of harm's way without hesitation. My father ushered me toward the door, only to return to her side. Through tear-filled eyes, he implored, "Sweetheart, I can’t let your mom face this alone. She fears being alone. Don’t mourn for us. Your Aunt Alice and Uncle Arturo are your real parents; we adopted you. Be good and live well."

But the exits were locked; there was no escape. In the end, the flames consumed us all. My poor decision to marry Damien led them to this tragic end, sacrificing themselves for a daughter who wasn’t truly theirs.

Ashamed and unable to face them, I clung to my child and cried my way back home. As I pushed open the gate to the courtyard, there was Damien's gang of rowdy friends setting up a table for drinks. Jalen was dressed in a leather jacket and flared pants, belting out tunes on his guitar in the yard, frightening my daughter into immediate, uncontrollable tears.

Damien, visibly annoyed, snapped, “Make her stop crying; it’s ruining the vibe.”

Jalen added with a grin, “How about some snacks, sis-in-law? I love your stew. Make plenty!”

Damien continued, “And cook some chicken soup for Gwendolyn to help her recover. Get inside; the kid’s crying is giving me a headache.”

I bit my lip and, without a word, carried my child inside.

Damien worked at a seed company, technically employed, but he often shirked his duties, rarely showing up for his shifts. He possessed a remarkable artistic talent; the mural at the train station in our small town was his creation, painted with care and earning quite a bit of attention and the introduction to those so-called artists.

In reality, these meetings were just excuses to hit the nightclubs, drinking and dancing, mingling freely without a care. During this time, he met Gwendolyn Ellis, a singer at one of the clubs. Since then, his friends would regularly invade our home, treating it like their personal dining hall, with me playing the role of the hostess.

I grumbled to Damien about it, but he dismissed me, saying, “You don’t get art at all; it’s like a symphony of souls working together for the good of the family. When I become famous, you’ll be living the high life.”

Once, my love for him made me put up with everything in hopes of a bright future together. But now, I had no reason to endure such humiliation any longer.

I stepped into the kitchen and quickly made myself a simple chicken noodle soup, retreating to my room to eat. They waited for a long time, and when no food was served, Damien came in looking for me. He saw me eating alone and, frustrated, shattered the bowl.

“So, you’re just looking out for yourself, huh? Leaving all of us hungry?”

I comforted my crying daughter, my gaze cold as I met his eyes. “Damien, we’re getting divorced tomorrow. I’m done serving you and your friends.”

He was taken aback. Since we started dating, I’d never spoken to him so bluntly. He seemed to grasp something was wrong, his tone mellowing a bit. “Didn’t we agree that after Gwendolyn has the baby, we’d get back together? It’s not like we’re truly separating.”

Before I could speak, the crew walked in, stirring up trouble. “Hey, what’s with the attitude? Are we not welcome anymore? Damien, aren’t you going to step in? You’re such a pushover.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes filled with tears quickly, “She’s not pushing you guys away; it’s me she doesn’t want here. Damien, don’t let me spoil your friendships. I’ll just go and… end the pregnancy.”

Damien, ever concerned about appearances, couldn’t handle the pressure from the group. In his anger, he slapped me, knocking me off the chair onto the floor, my daughter falling with me, crying out loud.

Panicked, I picked her up, noticing her flushed face. I was immediately worried, “Damien, her crying doesn’t sound right. I need to take her to the hospital!”

I scrambled to my feet, ready to bolt, but they blocked my path. Jalen scoffed, “Kids fall and get bumps all the time; it’s normal. Don’t be so dramatic.”

I glared at Damien. “Get them to move! Damien, she’s your daughter too. Can you really stand by and let this happen?”

My daughter’s cries weakened, her face turning from red to a dark blue. Desperate, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the table, pointing them at Gwendolyn's neck. “Move, or I’ll do it!”

Gwendolyn’s face went white with fear as she clutched her belly and backed away, “Damien, I’m scared; my stomach hurts.”

Damien reacted instantly, viciously kicking me in the stomach, sending me sprawling, my daughter falling silent on the ground. But he quickly picked up Gwendolyn, cradling her, “I’ll take you to the hospital; I won’t let anything happen to our child.”

The group quickly followed him out. Despite the pain, I clutched my daughter and rushed to the hospital with every ounce of strength I had.

After examining Brynleigh, the doctor scolded me with evident frustration, “What kind of mother are you? Your child’s fever has turned into pneumonia! Why didn’t you come to the hospital sooner? We’ll do everything we can, but it might be too late.”

My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the floor.

Tears streamed down my face as I thought about losing my little girl.

In that moment, Damien and Gwendolyn, accompanied by their group, emerged from the next room. He was gently supporting Gwendolyn, saying, “The doctor advised against alcohol during pregnancy. I’ll make sure Ivory prepares chicken soup for you daily. Soon, you’ll give us a healthy baby boy.”

Unable to hold back, I ran over, shouting, “Damien! Your daughter is critically ill, and you don’t even care?”

His friend sneered, “If a girl dies, she dies. Gwendolyn’s expecting a son; you know it’s different.”

Damien shrugged, irritated, “Will fussing about it change anything? Aren’t there doctors handling this? Anyway, Gwendolyn is starving; let's get her something to eat, and we'll discuss this later.”

With that, the group departed without a backward glance.

Some of the doctors, aware of the situation, looked at me with eyes full of pity.

I stationed myself at my daughter’s bedside, whispering prayers, pleading for a miracle to save her.

After fasting all day, fatigue claimed me, and I drifted into sleep by her side as dawn arrived.

Upon waking, terror gripped me.

The hospital bed in front of me was empty, Brynleigh was gone.

Frantic, I dashed to find a nurse, “Where’s my daughter?”

“Oh, I thought you knew. A couple took her, saying she needed to be moved to another hospital. They presented her birth certificate; the woman had long, wavy hair.”

Shortly, Damien sauntered in nonchalantly.

“Time to get the divorce finalized.”

With reddened eyes, I seized him, pleading, “Where’s my daughter? Bring her back!”

“Relax. It’s only a fever. Gwendolyn’s looking after her. Let’s sort out the important stuff first.”

I realized he was using Brynleigh as leverage against me.

Left with no choice, I went along to finalize the divorce proceedings.

As we handled the paperwork, he added, “Let’s switch the property ownership to my name. It’ll make it easier to explain why we’re living together.”

Grinding my teeth, I agreed, “Fine, just take me to see my child!”

Besides a few days needed for property transfer, everything else was quickly settled.

He eventually took me to a rural cottage.

Gwendolyn, her eyes brimming with tears, rushed to Damien.

“I don’t know how she stopped breathing. It terrified me.”

Shaking with dread, I approached my daughter. Her body was cold and her face ashen.

Damien didn’t give her a second glance, “We’re young. We can have another child. Let’s go.”

He left with Gwendolyn.

Outside, I overheard their conversation, “Damien, what if she reneges and won’t give you the house?”

“No chance. She's damaged goods now. Who would want her after me? Don’t worry, she’ll stay with us.”

Holding Brynleigh’s lifeless body, I silently vowed to make sure they all endured suffering in this lifetime.