Audrey Hanson POV:

My eyes flickered, but I didn't dare turn around. I didn't want him to see the pathetic gratitude that I was sure was written all over my face.

"Don't misunderstand," Clayton's cold voice cut through the air, as if he'd read my mind. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for them. It's the least they deserve after..." He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air: after their daughter abandoned them.

"Thank you," I managed to say, my voice a dry rasp. I fled the room before the tears could fall.

Back in the sterile guest room, I stared at my reflection. The clothes I'd been wearing for two days were crumpled and stained. I had nothing else. Nothing appropriate to wear to my own parents' funeral, five years late. The thought sent a fresh wave of shame through me.

A sharp knock on the door made me jump. Before I could answer, the door swung open.

It was Kisha. She glided in, followed by the maid, Maria, who was carrying a selection of black dresses. Kisha's smile was perfectly painted, but her eyes were cold, assessing.

"I thought you might need something to wear," she said, her voice dripping with faux concern. "I had Maria pull a few things from my closet. We're about the same size, aren't we?"

She gestured for Maria to hang the dresses on the wardrobe door. They were beautiful, expensive, and utterly alien.

"Clayton spoils me," Kisha sighed, running a hand over a silk sheath dress. "He insists I have the best of everything. He says taking care of me is his greatest pleasure now."

Every word was a carefully aimed dart. She was showing me her power, her place in his life. She was the one he spoiled now, the one he took care of. I was just a ghost in borrowed clothes.

"He's a different man since he met me," she continued, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "More grounded. He says I saved him from the darkness after you left."

I looked at the black dresses, their starkness a mirror of the void in my chest. I couldn't wear her clothes. It felt like another layer of surrender, another piece of myself I would be giving up to her.

"Thank you," I said, my voice tight. "But I'll wear my own things."

Her smile faltered for a second. "Suit yourself," she said, her tone suddenly sharp. She turned and swept out of the room, Maria trailing behind her.

I chose my own dark jeans and the crumpled sweater I arrived in. It was inappropriate, but it was mine.

The driver waiting for me was a familiar face. Frank. He had been Clayton's driver for years, a kind, quiet man who had always treated me with warmth.

His eyes widened in shock when he saw me. "Miss Hanson? Audrey? Is that really you?"

"It's me, Frank," I said, a weak smile touching my lips.

"We all... we all thought you were..." He stopped, his face full of confusion and pity.

I couldn't tell him the truth. The words would sound like madness. "It's a long story," I said, my voice weary.

The drive was quiet for a while, then Frank spoke, his voice low. "He changed after you left, miss. A lot. Sacked all the old staff, anyone who knew you. Said he didn't want any reminders."

My heart clenched. He had systematically erased every trace of me.

"And then, about six months later, he married her," Frank continued, his eyes on the rearview mirror. "Mrs. Young... Kisha. He treats her like she's made of glass. Better than he ever... well, he's very good to her."

He stopped, realizing he had said too much. But the damage was done. The last sliver of doubt I had was extinguished. It wasn't a rebound. It wasn't for show. He loved her. More than he had ever loved me.

The TMZ photo flashed in my mind. The way he was looking at her. It hadn't been a one-time mistake. It had been the beginning. He had been falling for her even then, while he was still engaged to me. The betrayal was deeper, older than I had even imagined.

The cemetery was quiet and green. I found their graves side-by-side under a large oak tree. Robert Hanson. Beloved Husband and Father. Mary Hanson. Beloved Wife and Mother.

I sank to my knees, the grief I had been holding back finally overwhelming me. I laid my head on the cool stone of my mother's grave and wept, my body shaking with silent, ragged sobs. I didn't know how long I stayed there, lost in a sea of guilt and sorrow.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered to them, my voice breaking. "I'll fix this. I promise. I'll come back. I'll stop it from ever happening."

When I returned to the brownstone, the house was quiet. I was emotionally and physically drained. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and wait for the seven days to pass.

Kisha met me in the hallway. She was holding a steaming mug. "You look exhausted," she said, her sympathetic mask back in place. "I had the kitchen make you some calming herbal tea. It will help you rest."

She held it out to me. I hesitated. I didn't trust her.

Her smile tightened. "Oh, Audrey," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You don't have to pretend with me. I know you're pregnant."

My head snapped up. How? How could she possibly know? My blood ran cold.

"I saw the prenatal vitamins in your purse when Maria was checking it," she said, her eyes glinting with a cruel triumph. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

The mug in her hand suddenly seemed sinister. The scent of the tea made my stomach churn. I felt a wave of nausea, so strong I had to brace myself against the wall.

I pushed past her and ran to the nearest bathroom, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet. The retching was violent, leaving me weak and trembling.

When I finally emerged, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, Kisha was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, the sympathetic act completely gone.

"You really think you can come back here with another man's child and win him back?" she sneered, her voice dripping with venom.

"It's not another man's child," I said, my voice shaking with a mixture of weakness and fury.

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "Do you take us for fools?"

Suddenly, the door at the end of the hall opened. Clayton stood there, his face a thundercloud. He must have heard the commotion.

Kisha's expression changed in an instant. Her face crumpled, her eyes filling with tears. She turned to him, her voice a wounded whisper. "Clay... I... I didn't want to tell you like this. But Audrey... she's pregnant."

Clayton's gaze snapped to me. His eyes, already cold, turned to ice. He strode towards me, his jaw tight with a barely controlled rage.

"You're pregnant?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

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Audrey Hanson POV:

I just stared at him, stunned by the sheer venom in his voice. This wasn't the reaction of a man who might suspect the child was his. This was the reaction of a man who felt utterly, completely betrayed.

"I asked you a question," he growled, grabbing my wrist. His grip was like steel. "Are you pregnant?"

"Yes," I whispered, the word barely audible.

His face twisted into a mask of pure disgust. "You have some nerve, Audrey. You run off for five years, God knows with who, and then you show up on my doorstep, pregnant, expecting what? That I'll take you back? That I'll raise another man's bastard?"

The word 'bastard' struck me like a physical blow. Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I would not give him the satisfaction.

"You think this is all some scheme?" I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. "You think I got pregnant just to come back and ruin your perfect new life?"

"It's a little coincidental, don't you think?" he sneered. "You show up out of the blue, with this ridiculous time-travel story and a baby on the way. You're my wife's worst nightmare come to life. Let me be clear. I am married to Kisha. She is pregnant with my child. You will not harm her. You will not harm our baby. If you do, I swear to God, Audrey, I will make you regret the day you were born."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. He meant it. This man, who once promised to protect me from everything, was now the one I was most afraid of.

"It's your child, Clayton," I said, the words tearing from my raw throat. "This baby is yours."

The sound of shattering porcelain echoed in the hallway. Kisha stood by the wall, a broken mug at her feet, her hand covering her mouth in a perfect imitation of shock. Her eyes were wide and swimming with tears.

"Oh, Audrey," she whispered, her voice trembling. "How could you say something so cruel?"

Clayton's reaction was instantaneous. He dropped my wrist as if it were on fire and rushed to her side. "Kisha! Are you okay? Did the glass hit you? Are you hurt?"

He fussed over her, his voice thick with a panic and concern I hadn't heard from him since I'd arrived in this nightmare future. He checked her hands, her feet, his touch gentle and full of love.

"I'm fine, Clay," she sobbed into his chest. "I just... I can't believe she would lie like that. To try and hurt us."

He held her close, stroking her hair. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. She won't hurt you." He turned his head, his eyes locking with mine over Kisha's shoulder. They were filled with a cold, murderous fury.

"Get out of my sight," he seethed. "Go to your room. And don't you dare come near my wife again."

Kisha looked up at him, her face a mask of tear-stained innocence. "Clay, don't be so hard on her," she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "She's just confused and hurting. We have to be understanding."

He kissed her forehead, his expression softening into one of pure adoration. "You're too good, Kisha. But I won't let her upset you." He scooped her up into his arms, as if she were a fragile doll, and carried her down the hall towards their bedroom.

I stood there, frozen, as the sound of their door closing echoed in the silence. The laughter bubbling up in my throat was hysterical, tinged with madness. It was a joke. A sick, twisted joke. He believed her so completely, so blindly. He had looked at me as if I were a monster, a snake slithering into his perfect garden.

Maria, the maid, appeared with a dustpan and brush, clucking her tongue as she swept up the broken shards of the mug. She didn't look at me, but I could feel her disdain. I could hear the whispers of the other staff as I walked past them, their eyes following me with a mixture of pity and contempt.

"Can you believe her? Claiming the baby is Mr. Young's."

"Shameless. After what she did to him."

"She's probably just after his money."

The rest of the day was a blur of humiliation. At dinner, I sat alone at the long dining table. Clayton and Kisha ate in their room, "to avoid any further stress on the baby," as Maria informed me with a sneer. My food was brought to me by a different maid, who watched me eat every bite, as if she expected me to poison myself.

"Mr. Young's orders," she said, when I asked her to leave. "We can't be too careful."

I was a prisoner in my own home. A dangerous element to be contained and monitored.

Back in my room, I took out the plane ticket. The flimsy paper was my only solace. Six more days. I just had to survive for six more days.

"I'm leaving," I whispered to the empty room, to my baby, to the ghosts of my parents. "We're going home. And we are never, ever coming back."

That night, a sharp, cramping pain woke me from a fitful sleep. It started low in my belly, a dull ache that quickly intensified into a vicious, twisting agony. I curled into a ball, sweat beading on my forehead.

Panic seized me. The baby. Something was wrong with the baby.

I stumbled out of bed, my legs shaking. I had to get help. I had to find Clayton. Despite everything, he was the only one I could think of.

The pain was so intense I could barely walk. I crawled out of my room and down the hallway, my breath coming in ragged sobs. The house was dark and silent.

"Clayton," I gasped, my voice a weak croak. "Help me."

The pain was a white-hot fire, tearing me apart from the inside. I reached the living room and collapsed onto the floor, my vision blurring.

"Please," I cried out, the sound swallowed by the vast, empty house. "Somebody, please help me."

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