One second, I was smiling, my hands resting on my stomach, excited for my check-up. The next, there was screeching metal, blinding lights, the violent jolt of my body being thrown forward. And then pain.

I woke up to the sterile scent of antiseptic. A dull beeping sound echoed in the room. My body ached, but it was a distant kind of pain, like I wasn’t fully inside myself. I tried to move, but my limbs were heavy, useless.

I was numb. Then I heard voices. A hushed conversation.

It was familiar. I forced my eyes open just enough to see the outline of two men at the far end of the room.

Elijah. My husband. And the doctor.

I was about to call for help when I heard what my husband said next, shattering my heart.

“You need to resign after you perform the removal of her uterus,” Elijah said, his voice sharp, decisive. “No one can know. Especially Victoria. She can never know that I let our unborn child die.”

The air was sucked from my lungs. Our unborn child… died? My baby… no! That can’t be. For five years of being married to Elijah, I had worked on my pregnancy, and then in a glimpse… the baby was gone.

The doctor hesitated. “Are you really sure about this? If we remove her uterus, she won’t be able to bear children again—”

“I don’t care,” Elijah cut him off. “I just found out I have a daughter with Beatrice.”

Beatrice. The name rang through my skull like a gunshot. His first love. The woman who left him for another man, and now they have a child together?

Elijah continued, his voice void of emotion. “Beatrice doesn’t want any competition for her child. And the only reason I kept Victoria around for so long was because I pitied her. She was convenient. That’s all.”

The doctor was silent.

Elijah exhaled. “So I’ll make her useless. After all, she won’t leave me.”

A sharp pain bloomed in my chest, different from the physical pain that gripped my body. I wanted to scream. To cry. To claw my way out of the bed and rip him apart. But the anesthesia was still in my veins, and the world was slipping again.

When I opened my eyes next, there was light. Bright, blinding light.

The operating room. I tried to move, to fight, to do anything—but my body refused to listen.

So I did the only thing I could. I prayed. Prayed that someone would stop them.

That someone would save me. But no one did.

When I woke up again, the world was dull, muted. The pain was worse now, a deep ache in my lower abdomen.

Tears welled in my eyes before I even registered why. Then I saw him.

Elijah sat beside my bed, his expression carefully constructed, like a man delivering bad news to a stranger.

“Victoria,” he said softly. “There were complications from the accident.”

My fingers curled into the sheets.

“The baby didn’t survive.”

I felt like I was drowning. He reached for my hand, but I didn’t move.

“And… due to the severity of your injuries, the doctors had to remove your uterus.”

My breath hitched. I let the tears fall. Let my body tremble as the sobs racked through me.

Because I knew better. I knew the truth. But I couldn’t let him know that I knew.

So I played my part. I cried and cried, over and over again, like a grieving wife who had lost everything.

Elijah sighed, rubbing slow circles on my palm. “I know this is hard.” His voice was too even, too measured. “But we can still have a family.”

I stilled. He smiled, as if this was a conversation about what to eat for dinner.

“I’ve already found the perfect child to adopt.”

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Adopt? He wanted to adopt… immediately. He didn’t even want me to grieve my unborn child? But of course, I didn’t argue. I let him believe that I was still her useless wife, the one who could never stand on her feet to leave him.

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Victoria?” he asked. “We can move on. Start fresh.”

I lifted my head slowly, meeting his gaze.

And then, through my tears, I smiled.

“Of course,” I whispered.

But in my mind, I was already planning how to destroy him.

I stood before the small grave, gripping the single white rose in my trembling hand. My unborn child—buried beneath the soil, nameless, lifeless.

And beside me, Elijah played the role of a devoted husband.

His hand rested on my lower back, steady, warm. His face was the perfect mask of grief. To everyone else, he was a heartbroken man, mourning the loss of his child.

But I knew the truth. He was the reason my baby was gone.

A few close friends and relatives lingered, whispering condolences. Their words faded into the background, blending with the soft rustle of the wind.

Then I saw her. Beatrice. She moved through the crowd effortlessly, her black dress hugging her body, her long curls cascading down her back. Elegant. Confident. Cruel.

She walked straight to Elijah.

And then—

She kissed him.

It wasn’t long, just a soft press of her lips against his.

But it was enough. Enough to make my stomach twist.

She pulled back with a small laugh, her fingers brushing his chest. “Oh, Victoria… I’m so sorry. Just a muscle memory.” She tilted her head, smiling. “I got used to it when we were together.”

Elijah didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch. There was just a smile formed in his lips as if he enjoyed the kiss.

Beatrice turned to me, her expression carefully composed.

“I just heard about what happened. I wanted to say my condolences since I was also around.”

I forced a smile. “Thank you.”

The words tasted like poison.

I turned to Elijah. “I want to go home.”

He exhaled, as if my request was an inconvenience.

“Actually, I was thinking we could visit the orphanage today.”

I blinked. “What?”

“The adoption process takes time. It’s better if we start now.” He turned to Beatrice, his voice lighter now. “Since Beatrice knows her way around, she can come with us.”

Beatrice looped her arm through his, her lips curling. “I’d love to help.”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to scream.

But instead, I nodded. “Of course.”

The car ride was suffocating. I sat in the backseat, staring at my hands, while Beatrice and Elijah took the front.

They didn’t bother pretending. Soft laughter. Whispered words. Stolen glances.

They acted like I wasn’t even there. I could feel my nails digging into my palms, but I refused to break.

Instead, I let my mind wander—to a time when Elijah had been someone else.

The bar was crowded, the scent of liquor thick in the air. I swirled my drink, barely listening to the conversations around me.

Then—a rough hand on my arm. I turned sharply, my pulse spiking as two men towered over me, their smirks dripping with bad intentions.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be drinking alone,” one of them slurred.

I tried to pull back, but the grip tightened.

Fear gripped my throat.

Then—

“Let her go.”

A low, controlled voice.

Elijah. He stepped between us, his presence sharp, dangerous. The men hesitated, then backed off without another word.

I exhaled, still shaken, as I looked up at him.

“You okay?” he asked.

And just like that, I fell.

Elijah had been my hero. He had been my world. He had promised to love me.

But now? Now he sat in front of me, flirting with another woman—the mother of his child.

I forced myself to stay silent as the car pulled up in front of the orphanage. The moment we stepped out, children rushed toward us, their eyes bright with hope.

I swallowed hard, watching as small hands reached out, as innocent faces looked up at us.

But before I could even process it—

A little girl broke free from the group.

She ran straight to Elijah. Her voice was clear, excited.

“Daddy!”

The world tilted. I stopped breathing.

“Oh, daddy! That’s good to hear. I mean,” he coughed as he turned to me. “This child must know, Victoria, that we are looking for a child. Don’t you think she was a fit for us?”

Before I could say a word, Elijah bent down, catching the child with practiced ease. His arms wrapped around her without hesitation, holding her tightly.

Like instinct. Like love.

And in that moment, I knew. This was their child.

Beatrice smiled, resting a hand on Elijah’s arm. Everything inside me shattered.

My husband had a whole other life. A whole other family. And I had never even known until they killed my baby.

Three years. Elijah had been lying to me for three whole years.

The late nights. The sudden business trips. The distant kisses and hurried excuses. I had believed all of it. Every single lie. And now, he stood in front of me, holding a little girl in his arms.

“We should take her home,” he said. “She needs a family.”

Just like that.

Like she wasn’t his flesh and blood. Like she wasn’t proof of his betrayal.

I nodded. “Okay.”

There was no point in arguing. So, we brought Tricia home.

I tried. I forced a smile when I had to. Spoke softly, patiently. Acted like the perfect mother Elijah expected me to be. I tucked Tricia into bed at night, read her stories, tried to hold her hand when we crossed the street.

But Tricia hated me. She screamed when I touched her.

Pulled away when I spoke.

She threw her toys at me, kicked the furniture, slammed doors whenever I entered a room. Her tiny hands curled into fists, her little face scrunched up in anger as she glared at me like I was the villain in her story.

“You’re not my mommy!” she shrieked.

The words cut deeper than I expected.

“My mommy is Beatrice!”

Beatrice. The name burned.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, tried to soften my voice. “Tricia—”

She didn’t let me finish. Her small hands reached for the nearest thing—a decorative vase on the table. Before I could react, she lifted it with all her strength and hurled it at me.

The glass shattered at my feet. A sharp intake of breath. Elijah.

He rushed into the room, eyes immediately darting toward

Tricia. His voice was sharp, concerned. “What’s going on?”

Tricia ran to him, her small arms wrapping around his legs as she sobbed. “I want Mommy!”

She clutched at his shirt, her voice breaking. “I don’t want her!”

Elijah’s gaze snapped to me. Accusing. Cold.

“What did you do?”

The question hit like a slap.

I let out a sharp breath, wiping my hands down my dress.

“Nothing.”

Elijah knelt down, brushing Tricia’s hair back as he whispered soft reassurances. His voice was warm, gentle—the kind of voice he hadn’t used with me in a long time.

“She’s scared,” he finally said, standing up. “She’s been with Beatrice since. That’s why she calls her ‘Mommy.’ It’s natural.”

Natural. Nothing about this was natural. Nothing about this—this twisted, sick joke of a family—was natural.

Elijah exhaled. “I think it would be best if Beatrice stayed with us for a while. Just until Tricia adjusts.”

The room tilted. Beatrice. Here. In my home. Is he kidding me? But of course, I couldn’t argue. Again, I didn’t want to argue. I just want to leave this place and never see them again.

I should have said no. I should have screamed.

Instead, I nodded. “Okay.”

Because what else was I supposed to do? I had already lost.

And the moment Elijah turned his back, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

“Hello,” I said quietly. “I need a divorce lawyer.”

That night, Beatrice moved in. Dinner was already served by the time I walked into the dining room. The table was set. Plates filled. Except mine.

They hadn’t even called me. Tricia sat on Beatrice’s lap, giggling as she took bites from her plate. Elijah was pouring her a drink, his expression soft.

I cleared my throat.

Beatrice turned to me, her lips curling. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, Victoria. I thought you weren’t coming.”

I sat down, my stomach twisting. “I don’t eat meat.”

Elijah sighed, rubbing his temples. “Be a good woman,

Victoria. Beatrice cooked for us. Have a plate.”

My fingers curled around my lap. “I said no.”

His jaw tensed. “What is wrong with you?”

I wanted to scream. To flip the table. To throw the plate across the room and watch it shatter, just like my marriage had.

But I didn’t. Instead, I picked up my glass of water, took a slow sip, and forced a smile.

“Nothing,” I whispered.

I had already lost this battle. But the war was far from over.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

I could hear them downstairs. Their laughter. Their whispered conversations. They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. A sharp pain twisted in my chest, but I refused to cry. I had done enough of that.

Then—

A sound. Soft footsteps outside my door.

I pushed off the blankets and stepped into the hallway.

Tricia.

She was still awake, spinning in circles at the top of the stairs, humming to herself.

I sighed. “Tricia, it’s late. You should be in bed.”

She turned to me, her small face twisted in a frown.

Then—she ran.

“Tricia, wait—”

Her tiny feet moved too fast. She tripped. My breath caught as she tumbled forward, her small body rolling down the stairs.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

My heart stopped. I ran forward, my hands shaking, my mind racing.

Then—

A scream.

“Oh my God!”

Beatrice. I barely had time to react before she pointed at me, her voice shrill.

“Victoria pushed Tricia down the stairs! Help!”