The window was wide open, beckoning me to enter the house. I didn't hesitate; I climbed through.

Inside, Celia was poised to pour boiling water on Maisy, while Malcolm sat in the living room, lost in his phone.

"No!" I yelled, lunging forward to push Celia aside. The scalding water splashed onto me, searing my skin instantly. But the pain was nothing compared to my urgent need to protect Maisy. I hugged her tightly, cradling her in my arms.

"Emberly, have you lost it?" Malcolm rushed over, his first concern was for Celia. He missed the needles in my leg and the angry red burns on my skin.

The physical pain was trivial beside the ache in my heart. Malcolm's reflex was always to side with Celia over me. I remember on a holiday when we ran into a stray dog—he pulled Celia into the car first. Or the time a storm hit, and both our daughters became feverish. I begged him to take us to the hospital, but he insisted on staying by Celia's side.

With Maisy in my arms, I started to leave. Only then did Malcolm notice my injuries. He frowned. "What happened? Why do you have so many needles? And why's your skin so red?"

Celia sobbed. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault."

"I was just trying to mix some cold water in the tub for Maisy's bath," she explained, tears streaming. "I didn't expect Emberly to burst in and shove me, making the boiling water spill onto her."

"Have you lost your mind, Emberly Jenkins?" Malcolm's voice was icy. "Just because I said you couldn't take Maisy, you climbed in through a window."

Each word pierced me, but I stayed silent. My only thought was to get Maisy out of there.

Malcolm grabbed my arm. "I'll take you to the hospital."

I glanced at the red marks on his neck and the couch where his clothes lay. "There's no need," I said quietly.

I sidestepped him and headed for the door. Celia followed, saying, "Emberly, you should really see a doctor. I'm worried about your mental state. I know a good therapist; maybe you should talk to them."

As I was about to decline, Malcolm came over, pulling me along. "You need to go to the hospital. If you're having mental issues, I can't trust you with the kids."

He practically dragged me to the car, oblivious to the needles in my leg snagging painfully. My heart grew colder.

I should have realized long ago that Malcolm had changed, maybe when Celia returned from abroad and they had secret dinners. Or when Celia lost her child, and he insisted on taking Maisy away from me repeatedly.

But none of that mattered anymore. All I cared about now was looking after my two daughters.

Malcolm accompanied me to the hospital to have my wound treated, and after an examination, I was shocked to be diagnosed with schizophrenia. The doctor even mentioned that someone in my condition shouldn't be responsible for taking care of children.

"No wonder you always have these paranoid thoughts, imagining that Celia wants to harm Maisy. It's the schizophrenia," Malcolm said coldly, his gaze cutting into me.

Holding Maisy tightly, I looked at him warily. Before I could react, he lunged forward and took her from my arms.

"You won't be looking after Maisy and Kallie for now," he announced. "You're unwell, and you need to rest. Celia will take care of the kids temporarily."

"No!" I shouted immediately. "I'm not sick. This is all Celia's doing." I frantically searched my phone to find the messages where she confessed to harming Maisy, but they had vanished.

Celia chimed in smoothly, standing nearby. "Emberly, how much must you hate me to believe I'm trying to harm Maisy? That's not who I am."

Listening to her, Malcolm glared at me with anger. "Emberly, enough. I don't want to talk to you right now. You're mentally unstable."

"Stay here and focus on getting better." With that, he turned to leave, carrying Maisy, as Celia followed closely behind.

I tried to catch up, but Malcolm's people held me back firmly. Struggling to free myself, I ran outside, only to watch his car disappear down the road. Defeated, I headed home, desperate to prevent him from taking Kallie as well.

I remembered when I was first pregnant with the twins. Malcolm had said that whether they were boys or girls, one would be named Kallie and the other Maisy—a symbol of our family's completeness and harmony. But now, he was determined to take my children away.

Pain surged through me as tears streamed down my face. When I reached home, I discovered that Kallie was already gone.

I dropped to my knees with a heavy heart, realizing how futile it was to fight against Malcolm. If I didn't come up with a plan soon, both Kallie and Maisy would be lost to me.

My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and made the call.

"I need your help, right now."