"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!"