I stared at the two red lines, my stomach lurching.

Was this a gift from God?

A flicker of joy sparked inside me, only to be swallowed whole by the grief of losing my daughter.

My daughter had left me just yesterday.

I forced myself to push open the door to her room, tears brimming as I packed her toys into a box, one by one.

Then I saw the smart speaker sitting on her nightstand. The tears spilled instantly. My hands trembled as I picked it up.

She used to record her day on this speaker, little updates and things she wanted to tell me. Every night before bed, she'd curl up on my lap and play them back, beaming the whole time.

I raised my stiff hand and tapped the last recording, desperate to hear her voice, to pretend she was still beside me.

But the voice that came through wasn't my daughter's. It was Mabel's breathy moan.

"Baby, thank God Amber's such an idiot. She got so wasted she didn't even realize she signed her own daughter's heart transplant consent form."

What did that mean?

My legs buckled. I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, my eyes locked on the speaker.

It came flooding back. A week ago, Mabel had come to me with a glass of wine, wanting to talk. She kept pouring, glass after glass, until my head was swimming and she guided my hand across a piece of paper to sign my name.

I was the one who killed my daughter.

My hands shook violently. The speaker slipped from my grip and hit the floor. I pressed my palms over my ears, choking on the pain.

"I'd give up everything for you and our baby. Amber means nothing. I only want you two. At least her daughter's heart is good for something..."

Then came Guy's ragged panting.

I had believed I'd found my way into his heart. Only now did I understand that the person he would give up everything for had never been me.

Every scrap of happiness I thought I'd had was nothing more than overflow from Guy's love for Mabel. Scraps tossed my way from a feast that was never mine.

My heart seized as though an ice-cold fist had clamped around it and twisted. The pain bent me double. I couldn't breathe.

A voice broke through from outside the door. "Ma'am, if we don't leave now, we'll miss the funeral."

I bit down hard, swallowing the urge to tear Guy apart with my bare hands. I copied the last recording from the speaker, steadied myself on shaking legs, and left with the assistant for the funeral.

The service was nearly over. I had just worked up the nerve to confront Guy when Mabel appeared, a hint of a smile in her eyes, carrying a bouquet of white chrysanthemums in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

Her face wore a mask of tender concern. Then she opened the bag and pulled out the papers inside, one by one.

"Big sis, I brought you three gifts. You're going to love them."

She handed me the first sheet, smiling sweetly. "Gift number one: Guy's vasectomy certificate."

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

I stared at the cold date printed on the report. My nails dug into my palm hard enough to draw blood, but I felt nothing.

The date of the procedure was right there in black and white: the day after my daughter died.

Mabel looked me up and down, savoring my ashen face, then placed the second report directly into my hands. She lowered her gaze and stroked her stomach.

"I'm three months pregnant. It's Guy's."

In that moment, it felt like someone was slowly siphoning every last molecule of air from my lungs.

Three months ago was when my daughter's checkup results had come back wrong. The doctor said it was minor, but she'd need surgery to fix it completely.

That night, I'd cried in Guy's arms. I hadn't seen the flash of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Leave everything to me."

His touch had been so gentle when he comforted me that night.

Now I understood. His "everything" had never included me or my child.

Mabel's warm, venomous breath against my ear dragged me back. She leaned in close, whispering with quiet triumph.

"All I did was mention to Guy that my heart wasn't in great shape, and he arranged the compatibility testing immediately. Your daughter was lucky, really, being a match for me. And the transplant consent? Signed by your own hand."

Each word was a blade, stabbing into the place that hurt most.

"Oh, and there's nothing in that casket, by the way. Your daughter's probably still on the operating table, making herself useful. Hearts aren't the only organs worth good money."

My body shook. The last thread holding my mind together snapped.

What did she just say?

A dull thud.

I raised my hand to slap her across the face, but the sound of something heavy hitting the ground stopped me.

I whipped around. My mother's face was white as chalk, crumpled on the floor.

"Mom!"

Nothing else mattered. I threw myself to her side, fumbling for my phone with trembling hands, and called an ambulance.

I barely remember how I got to the hospital. I watched my unconscious mother disappear through the operating room doors, and I felt as though I were sinking into an endless darkness.

The man I loved had betrayed me and murdered my daughter.

Tears blurred my vision, but I knew I couldn't sit here and do nothing any longer.

Seven days. In seven days, they would pay for every last thing they'd done.

Several hours later, my mother was wheeled into the ICU.

"Ma'am, the surgery was a success, but your mother hasn't regained consciousness yet. She'll need to stay in the ICU for observation for a week."

The doctor's words nearly buckled my knees. I stood on the other side of the glass, staring at my mother's body threaded with tubes, my palm pressed flat against the cold surface. Only then did I let myself breathe.

She was all I had left. And thank God, luck hadn't abandoned her entirely. She was still here.

I was about to go into the ICU to see her when Mabel's syrupy voice slithered into my ears.

"Oh, Amber, we saw Auntie collapse at the funeral, so we came to check on her."

She stood in front of me, eyes glittering with provocation, every syllable dripping contempt.

Behind her stood my brother, Max Fox, and Guy.

"Mainly here to check on her condition. After all, Mabel is my most cherished little sister." Max's gaze swept over me with undisguised disgust. "Unlike a certain piece of trash."

I stood rooted to the spot. Every ounce of grief inside me curdled into a single bitter smile.

Max and I were the products of our father's drunken indiscretions.

Our mother had fought tooth and nail to keep us alive. It was only years later that the Fox family finally took us in.

The first year after we returned to the family, Max and I were kidnapped on the way home from school by people with a grudge against the Foxes. They locked us in a pitch-black shack in the mountains.

The kidnappers pressed guns to our foreheads and told the family to pay the ransom and pick one child to take home.

The family chose Max.

I was shaking so hard I couldn't stand. Max pulled me into his arms and held on like his life depended on it.

"I'll stay. Let my sister go."

His voice trembled, but he said every word with absolute certainty.

He defied the family's decision without a second's hesitation. He chose me.

I believed that kind of bond, forged in the shadow of death, was unbreakable.

Then Mabel and her mother walked through our door, and everything changed.

On Max's birthday, I baked him a cake with my own hands.

We blew out the candles together. I cut the first slice, and we shared it.

Then a searing pain ripped through my stomach. Max collapsed right in front of me.

We were both rushed to the hospital. Poison.

My dose had been smaller. After a day unconscious, I regained enough strength to rip out my IV and go find him.

Outside the emergency room, I saw his eyes flutter open. Relief hit me so hard my legs gave out and I crumpled to the floor.

But the very next moment, Mabel appeared with a group of people carrying several half-used packets of poison and sedatives, along with a recording.

"These were all found in Amber's bedroom and her mother's room. Their fingerprints are on the packages, and this recording proves Amber is the one who poisoned him."

My voice came through the recording, clear as day: "How come he didn't die in that kidnapping? Mom told the kidnappers to kill him. This time, I'll make sure he's dead for good!"

Max lay on the gurney, his face whiter than the sheets beneath him.

He looked at me, and something behind his eyes shattered completely.

"Amber Fox..." His voice was raw, scraped hollow. "I traded my life for yours. And you wanted me dead this whole time?"

"So during that kidnapping, your mother already wanted me gone." A cold, broken laugh left his lips.

"Max, it wasn't me! The recording is fake!"

"Get out."

He closed his eyes and refused to look at me again.

"From now on, you and your mother are nothing to me."

From that day forward, I went from being the sister he'd risked his life to protect to the person he despised most in the world.

The shards of that memory were still lodged in my throat when Max's voice cut through, cold as a slab of ice.

"Amber, Mabel's health still hasn't recovered. And since your mother doesn't have long to live anyway, we might as well use her heart to continue Mabel's treatment."

"What?!"

I looked up at Max, stunned. "You've lost your mind!"

"This is my final gift to you. Did you like it? All I had to do was tell him I wasn't feeling well, and your dear brother immediately suggested sacrificing your daughter for the treatment. That's the wonderful brother you've got."

Mabel leaned in close to my ear, her voice soft and dripping with satisfaction.

"Just think about it. Your child, your mother, all gone. Would that break you?"

I stared at her, my voice shaking. "What do you want from me?"

"Don't test me. I could arrange for your mother to have a little accident right here in this hospital."

The word accident hit me like a spark landing in hot oil.

"Mabel!"

My hand flew before I could think, connecting hard with her face.

Crack.

Mabel stumbled back two steps, clutching her cheek as she crumpled into Guy's arms, eyes glistening with perfectly manufactured tears.

"I was only asking about your mother's health, and you hit me! How could you, Amber?"

"Amber! You're insane!" Guy's head snapped up, fury blazing in his eyes. "Mabel was kind enough to bring us here to visit your mother, and you slap her out of jealousy? Apologize. Now."

He turned back to Mabel, cradling her with a tenderness I had never once seen directed at me. Every gentle murmur, every careful touch, all reserved for her.

Tears slipped down my face before I could stop them, slowly hardening into a bitter smile.

This was the man I'd loved for ten years.

He hadn't asked me for a single explanation. One sentence from Mabel, and he'd turned on me like I was the enemy.

"She threatened my mother! She's the one who killed my daughter!"

"Shut your mouth!"

Guy rose to his feet. His hand came down across my face with full force.

The blow snapped my head to the side. My ears rang. Pain exploded through my cheekbone, and I crumpled to the floor.

Tears streamed down my face. I would never forget how heavy that slap was. The humiliation spread through me like poison, seeping into every corner of my chest.

Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth in feigned shock. But I saw it clearly: the smile curling at the corners of her lips. Victory.

I pressed my trembling fingers to my burning cheek.

Guy stood frozen for a moment after striking me, his arm hanging stiff at his side. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something.

Then Mabel whimpered in his arms, crying out in pain, and whatever flicker of hesitation he'd had vanished. He scooped her up and rushed toward the emergency room without a backward glance.

I sat on the cold hospital floor, every ounce of hatred and agony collapsing into one hollow, bitter smile.

I didn't know how long I stayed there before I finally dragged myself to my feet and walked home on numb legs, mechanical as a wind-up toy winding down.

At the front door, I picked up the divorce papers and placed them on the nightstand.

Seven days. Seven more days, and I'd be free. I didn't hesitate.

I pulled open the dresser drawers and started tossing clothes into a suitcase.

I had just folded the last piece when the door opened behind me.

"Amber? What are you doing?" Guy's voice cut through the room.

I didn't turn around. My voice came out dry and flat. "Just reorganizing the closet."

His gaze swept across the mess of the room. He was about to speak when another voice interrupted, thin and fragile.

"Guy, I'm scared of the dark. Could I stay in this room?"

Mabel.

I went rigid. I turned and saw two suitcases standing behind Guy in the doorway.

He wheeled them inside without a trace of shame. "Mabel is pregnant and she's been through a terrible scare. She needs someone looking after her. You hit her today, so you'll serve as her caretaker for the next month. You'll attend to her every need."

He met my eyes as if what he was saying were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"Give up the master bedroom. Move to the maid's quarters."