The guest room felt like a prison cell, its pale blue walls closing in around me as I stared at the divorce papers spread across the small desk. Three days had passed since I'd discovered the truth about those pills, and I hadn't spoken a word to Grayson beyond the bare necessities.

"Mrs. Dean, I need you to understand that proving intentional deception regarding fertility will strengthen your case significantly," my lawyer, Janet Morrison, had explained over the phone that morning. "Do you have any documentation of the medication he gave you?"

I'd gathered every piece of evidence I could find—the prescription bottles, medical records, even photos of the pills he'd handed me each morning with his lies disguised as loving concern. The betrayal cut deeper each time I looked at them.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. "Elizabeth?" Cataleya's voice drifted through the door, sickeningly sweet. "I brought you some tea."

I didn't answer, but she entered anyway, carrying a tray with delicate china cups. Her other hand rested on her growing belly in that practiced gesture that made my stomach turn.

"I know this is difficult for you," she said, setting the tray down and pulling something from her purse. "But I thought you should see these."

Ultrasound photos. Three of them, scattered across my divorce papers like breadcrumbs marking the path of my destroyed marriage. The grainy black and white images showed a tiny form, undeniably real, undeniably growing inside the woman who'd stolen my husband's loyalty years before I even knew I was competing for it.

"Twelve weeks tomorrow," she said, her voice filled with manufactured sympathy. "Gray is so excited. He says the baby has strong bones, just like him."

My hands clenched into fists, crumpling the edge of one ultrasound photo. "Get out."

"I understand you're upset, but—"

"Get. Out." The words came out low and dangerous, surprising us both.

Cataleya's mask slipped for just a moment, revealing something cold and calculating underneath. Then she smiled again, gathering the photos with deliberate slowness. "Gray finally has the family he always wanted, Elizabeth. I hope you can find peace with that."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with the bitter taste of her words and the lingering scent of her perfume. I swept the tea tray off the desk, watching the delicate cups shatter against the hardwood floor. The sound was satisfying, final.

Two hours later, I was strapping myself into the cockpit of the Cessna 172 at Meridian Flight Testing, grateful for the familiar routine of pre-flight checks. Flying had always been my escape, the one place where I felt completely in control.

"Hey, Elizabeth," called Jake from the hangar. "That bird's been acting up a bit. Nothing major, but the controls felt a little loose on yesterday's test run."

I nodded, making a note on my checklist. It wasn't unusual for test aircraft to have minor issues—that's why we tested them. I ran through the control surfaces, checking for any obvious problems. Everything seemed normal enough.

The engine turned over smoothly, and I taxied toward the runway, letting the familiar vibrations of the aircraft calm my frayed nerves. Up here, Grayson's lies and Cataleya's smug satisfaction couldn't touch me.

But as I pulled back on the yoke for takeoff, something felt wrong. The controls responded, but with a slight delay that made my pilot instincts prickle with unease. I made a mental note to have maintenance take a closer look when I landed.

After completing the test flight checklist, I brought the Cessna back to the ground, the landing rougher than usual due to the sluggish controls. As I shut down the engine, I spotted a familiar figure leaning against the fence near the parking area.

Garrett.

He straightened as I approached, his weathered hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. We hadn't spoken properly in months, not since that awkward conversation at Sarah's wedding where I'd mentioned how happy I was with Grayson. The irony tasted bitter now.

"Rough landing," he observed, his green eyes studying my face with the same careful attention he'd given me since we were children.

"Rough week," I admitted, pulling off my headset and running my fingers through my hair.

Garrett was quiet for a long moment, then stepped closer. "Elizabeth, what's wrong? And don't tell me nothing. I've known you too long."

The concern in his voice, so different from Grayson's clinical detachment or Cataleya's false sympathy, broke something inside me. Before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out—the pills, the deception, the pregnancy, the divorce papers hidden in my guest room.

Garrett listened without interrupting, his jaw tightening with each revelation. When I finished, he was quiet for so long I wondered if he was going to say anything at all.

"I should have said something years ago," he finally whispered. "I knew something wasn't right about him, about the way he treated you. But I thought... I thought it wasn't my place."

"It wouldn't have mattered," I said, wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "I wouldn't have listened. I was so convinced I'd found my happily ever after."

Garrett reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away. When I didn't, his calloused hand covered mine. "You deserve so much better than what he gave you, Elizabeth. You always have."

I was reviewing my divorce papers in the hospital cafeteria when I felt someone watching me. Looking up, I found Cataleya standing there, one hand resting on her slightly rounded belly, the other clutching a manila envelope. My stomach knotted instantly.

"Elizabeth," she said, her voice honey-sweet in a way that made my skin crawl. "I'm so glad I ran into you."

I doubted there was anything coincidental about this encounter. The cafeteria was on the opposite side of the hospital from Grayson's department. She'd sought me out.

"I just had my latest ultrasound," she continued, sliding into the seat across from me without invitation. She opened the envelope and pushed several glossy images toward me. "Sixteen weeks now. The baby's perfect."

I stared at the black and white images, my throat tight. In another life, these might have been my ultrasound photos. My baby. My future.

"Grayson's so excited," she said, watching my face carefully. "We're turning the guest room into a nursery. Pale yellow walls with little elephants. He's already bought a crib."

Each word was a precision strike, targeting my deepest wounds. I gathered my papers, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.

"I should go," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Cataleya's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. Her smile never wavered, but her eyes turned cold.

"You know, Elizabeth, I've been thinking about you lately." Her thumb pressed against my pulse point. "About how... fragile life is. How accidents happen to people who try to destroy families."

The threat hung in the air between us. I pulled my arm free, my heart hammering.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" I asked. "Destroying your family? That would require you to have one in the first place."

Something flashed in her eyes—something dangerous—before her mask slipped back into place. "Just be careful, Elizabeth. Especially during those test flights you love so much. Aviation can be so... unpredictable."

She gathered her ultrasound photos with deliberate slowness and walked away, leaving me frozen in place, her words echoing in my mind.

---

Three days later, I was strapping myself into the cockpit of a Cessna Citation for a routine test flight. Despite Cataleya's veiled threat, I refused to let fear ground me. Flying had always been my sanctuary, the one place where I felt truly free.

"All systems check complete," I reported over the radio. "Preparing for takeoff."

The familiar rush of acceleration pushed me back into my seat as the plane gathered speed down the runway. Within moments, I was airborne, the ground falling away beneath me. Up here, my problems seemed smaller, manageable.

I completed the first series of test maneuvers without issue, noting the aircraft's responsiveness in my log. Everything was functioning perfectly—until it wasn't.

The first warning came as a subtle resistance in the controls, followed by a rapid cascade of alert indicators. The hydraulic pressure gauge plummeted.

"Meridian Tower, this is Test Flight 347," I called, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Experiencing hydraulic failure. Requesting emergency landing clearance."

The plane shuddered violently as I struggled to maintain control. Without hydraulics, the aircraft was responding sluggishly, each adjustment requiring significantly more force. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I fought the controls, trying to line up with the runway.

Through the cockpit window, I caught a glimpse of the observation deck. A figure stood watching—Cataleya, her dark hair unmistakable even from this distance. Even as I fought for my life, a cold certainty settled in my stomach. This was no accident.

The ground rushed up to meet me. I pulled back on the yoke with all my strength, trying to level out for landing, but the plane wasn't responding properly. The impact came with a sickening crunch of metal and a sharp, blinding pain that exploded through my head.

The world tilted sideways, then went dark.

---

Consciousness came in waves, bringing fragments of sensation—antiseptic smell, beeping monitors, hushed voices. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but I forced them open, wincing at the stabbing pain behind my eyes.

Everything was blurry, shapes and colors bleeding together like a watercolor painting left in the rain. Panic clawed at my throat as I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear my vision.

"She's awake," someone said—a nurse, I thought.

I turned toward the voice, squinting to make out the figure. "I can't... I can't see properly," I whispered, my voice raw.

"You've suffered head trauma," the nurse explained gently. "There's pressure affecting your optic nerve. The doctor will be in soon to explain everything."

Head trauma. Vision loss. The words floated in my mind, disconnected from reality.

"Grayson," I managed. "Is he here?"

A hesitation. "Your husband was here earlier. He stepped out to speak with someone."

I closed my eyes, too exhausted to maintain the effort of trying to see. Voices drifted in from the hallway—Grayson's low murmur and a woman's softer tones. I strained to listen.

"It's not your fault, Gray," Cataleya was saying, her voice trembling with what I recognized as fake tears. "These things happen. I just hope she recovers soon."

"I know," Grayson replied, his voice heavy with what sounded like genuine concern. "I'll take care of everything, Cat. I promise."

Take care of everything. Not take care of me—take care of everything. As if I were a problem to be managed rather than a wife who nearly died.

A tear slipped down my cheek as the truth settled over me like a shroud. Even now, with me lying broken in a hospital bed, possibly facing permanent vision loss, Grayson was comforting Cataleya instead of being by my side.

I'd never been his priority. I never would be.