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!”

Tricia’s cries pierced through the air. She lay at the bottom of the stairs, her small body curled up, her arms clutching her leg. The stairs weren’t long, but she was fragile—too delicate for even the smallest fall.

Bruises were already forming on her pale skin. Elijah rushed past me, scooping her up in his arms. His face twisted in panic, then fury.

“What is wrong with you?” His voice was sharp, cutting.

I stepped back. “I didn’t do anything!”

Beatrice was already there, her hand over her mouth in mock horror. “I saw it,” she gasped. “She pushed Tricia!”

I shook my head. “No, I—”

“Tricia.” Elijah’s voice softened as he turned to the child in his arms. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart.”

Tricia hiccupped between sobs, her small fingers clutching at his shirt.

“She… she pushed me.” Her voice was small, broken. “Mommy, she pushed me!”

A knife to the chest. I felt the world spin as Elijah’s expression darkened.

“You’re a monster,” he growled.

I took another step back. “Elijah, you know me. I would never hurt a child.”

But he wasn’t listening. His grip on me was rough as he shoved me back. My heel caught on the floor, and I stumbled, barely catching myself.

“If anything happens to Tricia,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, “you will pay for it.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t fight.

I just stood there, watching as he carried Tricia out the door. Beatrice followed, casting me one last smirk before stepping into the car.

And then they were gone. Leaving me alone. I stared at the empty hallway, at the silence they left behind.

But I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t angry.

I was done. This was the last straw.

The next morning, my phone buzzed.

Divorced papers finalized. Only need Elijah's signature.

I stared at the message for a long time, my fingers tightening around the phone.

It was done.

I exhaled slowly, feeling lighter than I had in years. The weight of my broken marriage, the lies, the betrayal—it should have crushed me. But it didn’t.

I arrived at the hospital with only one goal—hand Elijah the divorce papers and walk away forever.

I found him standing outside Tricia’s room, his arms crossed as he talked to Beatrice. The moment his eyes landed on me, they darkened.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly.

I pulled the envelope from my bag and held it out to him. “I came to give you this.”

He barely glanced at it. “What is it?”

I let out a dry laugh. “Don’t play dumb. It’s the divorce papers.”

For a moment, he just stared at them. Then, without warning, he shoved the envelope back at me, making me stumble a step backward.

“I’m not signing that.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I said I’m not giving you a divorce.”

My stomach twisted. “Why?”

His lips curled, his voice low. “For one reason—I want to make you miserable.”

I felt the air leave my lungs.

Elijah stepped closer, his eyes burning with something cruel. “You don’t get to walk away, Victoria. You don’t get to escape this.”

A slow, mocking smirk tugged at his lips. “No divorce.”

I clenched my fists. “Why does it even matter? You already have a life with her.” My voice trembled, but I refused to back down. “You have a daughter. You have everything you wanted. Why are you still holding onto me?”

“Because you should suffer,” he said simply. “And because you still have to pay for what happened to Tricia.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “You’re unbelievable.”

Elijah just shrugged. “It’s what you deserve.”

I felt my entire body shake with rage.

That was it.

That was my breaking point.

I took a step back, my grip tightening around my phone.

Fine. If he wouldn’t let me go, I would take something from him first.

I turned away, walking down the hallway, dialing the number I had memorized by heart.

The line clicked.

“It’s time,” I said.

The voice on the other end didn’t hesitate. “Understood.”

Later that night, while Elijah and Beatrice were gone, someone would take Tricia.

Not just take her—disappear with her.

I had paid well. Hired the best. No traces, no leads. Just an empty bed and an unanswered question that would drive them mad.

Their world would shatter—

Just like they had shattered mine.