Benjamin's expression darkened in an instant, and he looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

"Sharon, stop this. You have doctors right here, and they already said you're fine."

"Bertha just got back to the country. She doesn't have anyone, and her health has always been fragile. I have to go. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

He left without another word, without a single backward glance. All he gave me was the unyielding line of his retreating back.

The moment the hospital door swung shut, the knife slipped from my grip, the blade dragging across my wrist as it fell.

It left behind that jagged scar.

The buzz of my phone pulled me out of the memory. It was a voice message from Benjamin. He sounded drunk.

"Sharon, stop being mad at me. Give me another baby, okay?"

A baby.

My hand drifted to my stomach on instinct. The numbness had long since settled into my bones.

But hearing him mention a child still sent pain crashing through my chest in waves, so fierce it felt like drowning.

It took a long time before I could steady myself. I lifted my hand and wiped away the last tear, then quietly blocked both Benjamin's and Bertha's numbers.

I dialed an overseas number.

"Mom. Three days. Meet me at the airport."

Over the next few days, Benjamin didn't come home.

I didn't ask when he'd be back. I just started packing.

But seven years of marriage had left its mark on everything. So many of the things I touched still carried traces of him.

The white scarf he'd given me on our first date. I'd worn it for years, could never bring myself to throw it away, because he'd spent months knitting it by hand.

There were so many other firsts he'd given me, gifts he'd poured his heart into, staying up until his eyes were bloodshot to make with his own hands.

I'd kept every single one locked away in the safe, too precious to discard.

Later, as Benjamin's career took off, his gifts grew more and more expensive. I still accepted each one with a full heart, because they were proof that Benjamin had once loved me deeply.

But then came the second year after we moved into the mansion. That was when Bertha appeared.

My vanity began filling up with jewelry from every luxury brand imaginable. My closet filled with the latest haute couture from every season.

Some pieces were worth hundreds of thousands. Others, millions. But none of them came from love anymore.

They were just apologies. Compensation. Hush money for all the nights I'd spent waiting alone while he was with someone else.

I looked at those things now and walked right past them.

I packed only what truly belonged to me.

The day I finished, Benjamin happened to come home.

He spotted the suitcase in my hand and frowned.

"Where are you going this time?"

He still thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

After all, the old me had threatened to leave more than once.

I didn't correct him. I just lowered my gaze. "Just getting away for a bit."

Benjamin didn't notice anything different about me. Instead, he pulled me into his arms.

"Sharon, I've been waiting to hear from you these past few days."

Waiting to hear from me?

Strange. Because I distinctly remembered all the times I'd messaged him, begging him to come home.

All I ever got back was his impatient brush-off.

He cupped my face in both hands and fixed me with a serious look.

"All you had to do was say the word, and I would've come straight home. But you didn't."

His tone was reproachful.

As if the man who'd spent those days at another woman's side hadn't been him at all.

I didn't call him out on it. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

Benjamin took it as a sign that I'd forgiven him. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Sharon, I knew it. You're not like your mother."

Not like my mother?

The words left his mouth without warning, driving straight into my chest like a blade. The pain stole my breath.

He knew. He knew exactly how much damage my father's affair and abuse had done to my mother and me.

If my mother hadn't been strong enough, brave enough, the one buried in that grave would have been her.

She wouldn't have escaped abroad. Wouldn't have built the life she deserved.

And now, with one careless sentence, he dismissed everything she'd fought and bled for.

The worst part? The knife he was twisting had been handed to him by the girl I used to be, the one who'd loved Benjamin with her whole heart.

His gaze met my swollen, red-rimmed eyes, and he faltered.

"Sorry, Sharon. What I meant was, you don't have to struggle the way your mother did. Just stay by my side. That's enough."

"Is that so?" A smile broke across my face. I looked him dead in the eye.

Benjamin met my gaze, and something in his chest tightened for a reason he couldn't name. But he didn't examine it. He took my smile as a sign of reconciliation.

He nodded eagerly, his voice full of certainty. "Of course. Just trust me the way you used to, Sharon."

I laughed inside. Cold, bitter laughter. But I kept my face perfectly still.

That was when my phone buzzed.

I looked up at him, my voice calm. "My ride's here, Benjamin. Go take care of your work."

"Alright."

He still hadn't noticed anything wrong. He even walked me to the door, ever the attentive husband.

Before getting into the car, I called his name.

"Hm?"

"Goodbye, Benjamin." The words left my lips quietly.

This is it. The last goodbye. To Benjamin. To everything I used to be.

He ruffled my hair and grinned. "Go on, get some fresh air. I'll stay home, put in some work, and make even more money to spoil you with."

I didn't say anything. I just looked at him one last time, raised my hand in a small wave, and got in the car.

We were almost at the airport when my phone erupted, vibrating over and over.

An unknown number.

I assumed it was a scam call and blocked it.

But as I backed out of the screen, a text message caught my eye. Anonymous.

"Sharon Matthews, your baby isn't dead. Benjamin lied to you."

I stared at the words. My mind went blank.

The baby isn't dead?

Benjamin lied to me?

I sucked in breath after breath before the world stopped spinning.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely type. One letter at a time, I managed:

"Who are you? What do you mean by..."

Before I could finish, a video came through.

It looked like it had been recorded in secret.

In the footage, Benjamin stood with his back to the camera, his arms wrapped around Bertha and the small bundle she cradled against her chest.

Bertha's voice was syrupy sweet. "Benjamin, are you sure about this? You really want to register your and Sharon's baby under my name?"

My fingers clenched around the phone until my knuckles turned white.

Then I heard his voice. Low. Certain.

"I made you a promise, and I don't go back on my word. Besides, my child is your child."

"But..."

He cut her off, patting her shoulder.

"I've already taken care of everything. Sharon won't find out. Don't worry. Your health has always been fragile, and your body isn't suited for pregnancy."

He paused, his tone light, almost breezy. "But Sharon's different. If she wants another kid down the road, I'll just have one more with her."

In the final frame, Bertha turned toward the camera and smirked.

So that was all I was to him. A vessel. A body built for bearing his children.

And that drunken demand for another baby finally made sense.

I sat in the car, cold all over, my nails digging so hard into my palms they nearly broke the skin. It was the only thing keeping my rage from swallowing me whole.

My hands trembled as I was about to hit "save" on the video.

The next second, the sender recalled it.

The blood drained from my face. I immediately told the driver to turn around and head straight for Bertha's place.

I had barely reached the front gate when Bertha came strolling out of the villa.

"Sharon! What brings you here all of a sudden?"

I pulled my lips into a cold, thin smile.

"Bertha. Where is my child?"

She kept up the act perfectly, even managing a look of surprise.

"Sharon, what are you talking about?"

"I know you lost the baby. It was stillborn. I understand you're grieving, but you can't just make up lies about me."

When she saw my face go even whiter, she leaned in close to my ear.

"Sharon, could this be postpartum depression? Maybe you're having some kind of episode? I seem to remember you were always paranoid about me and—"

Before she could finish, I swung my hand at her face with everything I had.

"You and Benjamin, you're both—"

My palm was an inch from her cheek when someone seized both my wrists with bruising force.

Then came Benjamin's voice from above me, cold and sharp. "Sharon, you said you were going out to clear your head. What are you doing here, making a scene?"

I thrashed and fought like a woman possessed, but I was no match for the bodyguard's grip.

It felt like the bones in my wrists were being ground to dust. Even that pain didn't amount to a fraction of what I felt in my chest.

I looked up at Benjamin, eyes burning red, my voice raw. "I know everything, Benjamin."

His pupils contracted for just a moment. Then his expression smoothed over, blank as stone.

"Benjamin, I'm begging you!" I screamed until my throat tore. "Give me back my child!"

Seeing my bloodshot eyes, he pressed his lips together, as if he wanted to say something. But Bertha spoke first.

"Benjamin, do you think she might be having some kind of psychotic episode? I know she's heartbroken, but the baby is already gone, isn't it?"

I jerked my head toward her, my mouth opening to respond, when I heard the coldest words I'd ever heard in my life.

"Take my wife to the psychiatric ward. This kind of behavior in public is unacceptable."

I fought with every ounce of strength I had left, screaming at their retreating backs.

"I'm not crazy! You're the ones who are insane!"

The hospital's evaluation came back quickly. I was "diagnosed" with hysteria.

Benjamin wasted no time arranging my admission for inpatient treatment. He even assigned extra staff to "watch over" me.

The doctors subjected me to electroshock therapy. Session after session, they nearly turned me into the very thing they'd labeled me.

After the treatments ended, I had almost nothing left. No anger. No grief. No feeling at all. I lay on the hospital bed like a hollow shell.

Then a faint signal chimed from the window.

I slowly pulled myself off the bed and walked to the window, perfectly calm.

The moment I moved to jump, the door behind me swung open. Benjamin stepped inside.

And so he saw me leap from the eighteenth-floor window.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints. He lunged toward the window, arm outstretched, trying to grab me. "Sharon! Don't!"