On my daughter's 18th birthday, we were both poisoned.

The damage to my kidneys was severe—I would have to undergo dialysis for the rest of my life. But for Sophie, it was worse. Her voice, the very thing she cherished most, was gone. She could no longer sing.

A week later, the national singing competition was set to begin. Sophie had been the favorite to win, the one everyone had their eyes on. Now, she couldn't even speak properly. Her voice was hoarse, fragile, broken.

In our darkest moment, when we were drowning in despair, Harris Gilliam, my husband, held my hands and promised, with tears in his eyes, "I will take care of you both for the rest of your lives."

But then, by sheer accident, I saw his chat messages with Wilma Jansen on his phone.

Wilma: [Harris, thank you for poisoning Sophie's voice. Without her, my son will definitely win the championship in the next final.]

Harris: [Sophie is too talented. The only way Yulian has a chance is if she’s out of the picture. For you and our son, I’m willing to do anything.]

Wilma: [But what if Sophie and her mother find out?]

Harris: [They never will. They can't survive without me. They'll have no choice but to live under my mercy.]

I felt my entire body go cold. The truth was like a blade slicing through me. Harris had planned everything.

He had poisoned us—his own daughter—just to clear the path for Wilma’s son. Every word of comfort, every tear he shed, had been a lie. There was no love in his heart for us. Only Wilma and her son, Yulian McGregor.

And Sophie... Sophie had lost everything because of him.

——

Since that day, she had locked herself in her room, refusing to eat, refusing to drink. The girl who used to fill our home with music now sat in silence, her dreams shattered. She hated me.

She believed it was my fault. That my carelessness had led to the poisoning. That I had ruined her life.

Tonight, I gathered the courage to bring her some medicine. But the moment I stepped into her room, she knocked it right out of my hands.

"Get out!" she shouted, her voice raw, painful. "I don’t want to see you!"

Tears welled in my eyes. "Sophie, please... I—"

"You ruined everything!" Her fists clenched as she trembled with rage. "I practiced day and night for that stage. I worked so hard! And now? It’s all gone because of you!"

She let out a bitter laugh, but it cracked halfway, like she was choking on her own grief. "You’re not worthy of being my mother."

I reached for her, desperate to hold her, to comfort her. But she slapped my hand away, recoiling as if I were something disgusting.

"Sophie, it's not like that," I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper. "I swear, I would never—"

"Stop talking!" she cut me off. "I don't want to hear any of your excuses!" And with that, she slammed the door in my face.

I slumped to the floor, completely drained, my tears falling uncontrollably.

Harris was the reason my kidneys were failing. He was the reason Sophie lost her voice. Yet now, my own daughter blamed me for everything. She hated me.

Her yelling must have carried through the house because Harris strolled out of his room, looking irritated, like I was the problem here.

"Our daughter is already suffering, and you're just making it worse," he said, his voice full of blame.

Then, without another glance in my direction, he walked into Sophie’s room. His whole tone changed. He spoke softly, gently, like the perfect father. "Sophie, sweetheart, I know it’s hard. But I'm here. I’ll always be here."

I could hear her crying. But this time, she let him stay.

Just like that, he became her safe place. The father she depended on. The only person she thought she could trust.

But what would she do if she found out the truth? That the father she clung to had destroyed her dream? That he was the reason she could never sing again? I didn’t even want to imagine it.

A little while later, Harris got a phone call. He listened for a second, then muttered something and grabbed his coat.

"I have to go," he said, already heading for the door. Then, as if remembering something, he added, "I'll be back tonight. I’ll pick up Sophie’s favorite chocolate cake."

A week ago, the doctor told us she needed to cut back on sweets. Harris had nodded and acted like he cared. And now here he was, completely ignoring that warning like it meant nothing.

The moment he left, I wiped my face and reached for my phone. My hands were still shaking as I opened Wilma’s social media account.

Right there, a fresh post appeared, captioned: [The final is the day after tomorrow. I hope Yulian does his best and gets the results he deserves. Son, you are my greatest pride.]

I stared at the words, my stomach twisting. While Sophie was locked in her room, devastated, Wilma and her son were celebrating. All because of what Harris had done to us.

Every post on Wilma’s social media was about Yulian—his charm, his achievement, his so-called brilliance.

However, the more I looked at his pictures, the more I noticed something else. He looked like Harris. A bitter taste crept into my mouth, but my hands moved on their own. Without thinking, I liked every post, one after another, my face emotionless.

I wasn’t even sure why I did it. Maybe it was habit. Maybe I was trying to feel something. But just as I tapped the last one, a voice cut through the silence. "Why are you liking Yulian’s photos?"

I flinched. Sophie was standing there, staring at my phone with wide, furious eyes. "Is it because of him that you poisoned me? That you made me mute?"

My breath caught. My fingers went numb, and my phone slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull clack. "Sophie, no, that’s not—"

"Don’t lie to me!" she screamed, cutting me off before I could explain. Her voice shook, hoarse with emotion. "You always wanted a son, right? I was a disappointment to you! You were ashamed of me! That’s why you did this! It’s all because of him!"

She was spiraling, her hands shaking, her breathing uneven. Her rage was swallowing her whole. And she wasn’t listening.

No matter what I said, she wasn’t going to believe me. Still, I tried. My voice broke as I asked, "Sophie… have you never doubted your father?"

Her expression twisted into something colder. Harsher. "Don't try to blame him!" she snapped. "Dad is the only person who truly loves me! He’s the only one who cares! He would never hurt me!"

Then, before I could say another word, she grabbed my phone and hurled it to the floor. The screen cracked, so did something inside me.

I just stood there. Frozen. Tears burned in my eyes, but I didn’t move. I had no idea how long I stayed like that, but eventually, I forced myself to breathe.

With heavy steps, I walked into Sophie’s room to clean up the mess she had made when she slammed the door.

That was when I saw it. A pink diary, lying quietly on her desk. The cover had a photo of her at a competition. She was smiling so brightly, her eyes filled with light and confidence.

I hesitated, but my hands moved on their own. Flipping it open, my chest tightened at the words inside.

[Today is the darkest day of my life. I can never sing again. And it’s all her fault. She destroyed my dream with her own hands.]

[If it weren’t for Dad, I don’t know how I’d go on. He’s the only one keeping me together. That woman? She just makes everything worse. I can’t even look at her. I hate her.]

The words blurred as fresh tears welled in my eyes. This wasn’t just anger. This wasn’t just hurt. She truly believed Harris was her savior.

And me? She despised me. Harris had taken everything from me. My family. My daughter. And no matter how hard I tried, I had no idea how to make her see the truth.

That evening, Harris came home from work like nothing had happened. The moment Sophie heard his voice, she rushed out of her room like a wounded bird desperate for safety, throwing herself into his arms.

Her voice was hoarse, but there was a hint of childlike sweetness in it. "Dad, you're finally back. I missed you so much."

Harris smiled, running a hand over her head. For a split second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe, but it was gone before I could be sure.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," he said lightly, then glanced at me. "Were you good today? No fights with Mom?"

Sophie tensed. She turned to look at me, her expression sharp with nothing but resentment. "As long as she’s in this house, I feel sick!" she snapped.

I clenched my hands into fists, forcing myself to stay calm. Later that night, when we were in bed, Harris pulled me into his arms like nothing was wrong. His voice softened, full of false warmth.

"Don’t take what Sophie said to heart," he murmured. "She just needs time to process everything. You have to be patient with her."

Then, with that same practiced tenderness, he added, "You and Sophie mean the world to me. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here. I’ll never leave you."

His tone was careful, almost calculated—sweet enough to sound convincing. I forced myself to swallow the disgust rising in my throat and managed a smile. It probably looked worse than crying.

"I failed as a mother," I whispered. And I wasn’t talking about what happened to Sophie. I was talking about him. About the fact that I had chosen this man to be her father.

The day before the final, I went to the program office to officially withdraw Sophie from the competition. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, so I planned to get in and out as quickly as possible.

But as I walked past one of the rooms, I heard two familiar voices through the slightly open door. Harris. And Wilma.

"Harris, Karlie liked all my posts," Wilma said, her voice tight with worry. "Do you think she suspects something?"

"You’re overthinking it," Harris said, his tone laced with arrogance. "What could she possibly figure out? She’s got enough problems of her own to deal with."

"But—"

"Enough," he cut her off. "I told you, I’ve got this under control. For you and Yulian, I’d do anything. I’ll never let anything happen to you."

His voice was gentle. Warm. Reassuring. I felt sick.

That soft, loving tone, one I had once hoped to hear from him, was meant for Wilma and her son. I gritted my teeth, my hands balling into fists.

And just like that, memories I had buried came flooding back.

The day Sophie was born, Harris had barely reacted. No excitement, no pride, just a distant, unreadable expression. And if I looked hard enough, maybe even… disappointment.

Back then, I convinced myself he was just tired. That work had drained him. Now I knew the truth. He had always wanted a son. And Wilma had given him one.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned to leave, but before I could slip away, a voice called out to me. "Karlie?"

I stiffened. The program director was walking past. And just like that, the moment was shattered. I wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Harris must have heard too because, in the next second, the door creaked open and he and Wilma stepped out.

The second his eyes landed on me, I saw it. A flicker of panic. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same fake, easygoing smile he always used when he was covering something up.

"When did you get here?" he asked, his tone light, too casual.

I forced myself to stay calm. "I just finished Sophie’s withdrawal paperwork. I was about to leave when I ran into the director."

Harris’s shoulders relaxed slightly. "Oh. I was just talking to the director about Sophie too. And I ran into Yulian’s mom, so we stopped to chat for a bit."

Wilma smiled, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and reached into her bag.

"Karlie," she said, pulling out three tickets, "I know Sophie can’t compete, but she and Yulian are such good friends. You should bring her to watch the finals. Cheer for Yulian."

I stared at the tickets, my chest tightening. She knew how much this competition meant to Sophie. How much it hurt just to think about it. And yet, she still had the audacity to act like she was being thoughtful.

Before I could say a word, Harris reached out, plucked the tickets from her hand, and grinned. "That’s a great idea," he said smoothly. "We’ll definitely be there."

"Okay, Sophie must want to watch Yulian's competition. If Yulian wins, Sophie will be happy too," Harris added, smiling like he actually believed his own nonsense.

Wilma nodded along, acting all sweet and considerate.

Watching them put on this little show together made my stomach turn. But I forced myself to stay calm, swallowed the disgust rising in my throat, and took the tickets with a quiet, "Thanks."

That was it. That was the moment I made up my mind. The finals? Fine. Let’s see how things play out.

***

When I got home, the air in the house felt heavy. Too quiet. I walked down the hall and gently pushed open Sophie’s door.

She was curled up in the chair by the window, staring outside. Her back looked so small, so frail—like a dry leaf barely clinging to its branch, just waiting to be carried away by the wind.

My heart ached at the sight. I stepped forward and set the tickets down in front of her. The moment her eyes landed on them, her expression shifted. Dark. Cold.

She turned to me, her gaze sharp with resentment. "Are you doing this on purpose?" Her voice was tight, almost shaking.

"You know how I feel when I hear the word competition. You know it feels like someone is driving a knife through me. And yet, here you are, throwing it in my face? Do you enjoy seeing me like this? Does it make you happy that I can’t stand on that stage anymore?"

I barely had time to process her words before the door behind me swung open. Harris. Of course.

He walked straight to Sophie, immediately shifting into his caring, protective father act. He brushed her hair back gently, speaking in that soft, soothing voice he saved just for her.

Then he turned to me. His expression darkened, full of blame.

"Do you not see what she’s going through?" he snapped. "You thought taking her to watch Yulian compete was a good idea? Seriously? You’re just making things worse for her!"

I let out a slow breath, forcing myself not to laugh at the sheer hypocrisy of it all. Right. Because I was the problem here.