I spent a week in the hospital. The burns on my chest and neck slowly began to heal, leaving behind angry red scars.

Ethan came to visit, sometimes.

He would promise to be there for my check-ups, to help the nurse change my dressings.

But then his phone would ring. Ilene would be crying, or screaming, or threatening to jump. And Ethan would leave. Every single time.

After he left, my own phone would light up.

A text from Ilene.

[Ethan just made me his special chicken soup. He said it' s only for me.]

Then a picture of a steaming bowl of soup.

Another text.

[He stayed with me all night. He held my hand until I fell asleep.]

Followed by a video of Ethan sleeping in a chair by her bed, his hand clutching hers.

[He' s taking me on a date tonight to make up for what you did.]

[He carried me home because my feet hurt.]

And then, the one that finally broke through my numbness. A picture. Ilene, her face tilted up, pressing her lips against Ethan' s. His eyes were closed.

A video followed. Her hand sliding under his shirt.

My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, felt a sharp, crushing pressure. I couldn't breathe.

I didn't reply. I just deleted the messages, one by one.

On the day I was discharged, I handled the paperwork myself. I took a cab back to the house we once called home.

When I got there, Ilene was standing on the doorstep. Ethan was next to her, looking stressed. She had a suitcase.

"She has nowhere else to go," Ethan said before I could speak. "Her landlord kicked her out."

Ilene was trying to force her way inside. "This is Ethan's house, which means it' s my house! You can' t stop me!"

Ethan was holding her back, his voice firm for once. "Ilene, no. This is my and Aurora's home. You can't stay here."

She started to scream, a wild, cornered sound. "If you don't let me in, I'll run into traffic right now! I'll do it!"

He looked helpless, trapped.

Then he saw me standing by the gate. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Rory! You're home."

He rushed over, his voice a low, apologetic murmur. "She's just going to stay for a few days. Just until I find her a new place. I promise."

I looked past him at Ilene, who was now glaring at me with triumph.

I lowered my eyes. My voice was calm, devoid of any emotion.

"Okay."

Ethan looked shocked. "You… you don't mind?"

I shook my head, a bitter smile touching my lips. "What is there to mind?"

I wasn't the lady of this house anymore. I was just a temporary guest, soon to be evicted.

Ilene pushed past Ethan and marched into the house like she owned it.

"Ugh, this place is so tacky," she declared, wrinkling her nose. "Everything needs to be changed."

She started ordering the maids around. "This couch is hideous, get rid of it. And these curtains! Throw them out!"

Then her eyes landed on the large wedding portrait hanging in the living room. It was a picture of Ethan and me on our happiest day.

"And that," she said, pointing a sharp finger, "is the ugliest of all. Take it down and burn it."

The maids looked uncertainly at Ethan.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a slight, defeated nod. "Do as she says."

I had expected it. I had expected his surrender.

I felt a ghost of a laugh in my chest. I turned without a word and went to my bedroom to pack.

If they wanted me gone, I would make it easy for them. I would erase myself from this house.

I pulled out a suitcase and began to fill it with my things. Clothes, books, my old art supplies. Things I loved.

When I came out of my room, dragging the suitcase, the living room was a disaster zone.

Our wedding photo was smashed on the floor, the glass shattered, my smiling face torn. My books were pulled from the shelves and thrown in a pile. The beautiful vase I had bought on our honeymoon was in pieces.

The home I had so carefully built, so lovingly maintained, was destroyed.

I stood there for a moment, just looking at the wreckage.

Ilene stood in the middle of it all, a smug, victorious smile on her face.

"All of this," she said, gesturing around the room, "and you… you're all in the past now."

I ignored her. I was done with her games.

But she stepped in front of me, blocking my way. "Where do you think you're going?"

Her eyes fell on the half-open suitcase. She saw the dusty set of oil paints I had packed. Her expression twisted.

"Still pretending to be an artist? Are you trying to show off how talented you are? How much he used to love you?"

I just looked at her, my silence a wall she couldn't break. "Let me pass, Ilene."

I tried to move around her.

Her face contorted with rage. "You bitch!"

She grabbed a heavy porcelain vase from a side table and swung it at my head. I stumbled back, dodging the blow. The vase shattered against the wall behind me.

As I staggered, off balance, she lunged.

She put both hands on my chest and pushed. Hard.

I was standing at the top of the grand staircase.

"Go to hell, Aurora!" she screamed, her voice dripping with venom.

I felt a moment of weightlessness. Then a sharp, violent impact as my body tumbled down the stairs.

Pain exploded through me. I landed in a heap at the bottom, my head hitting the marble floor with a sickening crack.

Blood. I could feel warm blood matting my hair, pooling beneath me.

My body convulsed, a series of violent shudders.

My vision blurred.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Ethan, running through the front door, his face a perfect picture of horror.

When I woke up, the first thing I registered was the familiar scent of antiseptic. The second was a pounding headache that felt like someone was driving a nail into my skull.

A doctor was standing over me, shining a penlight into my eyes.

"Good, you're awake, Mrs. Bruce," he said, his tone relieved. "You gave us quite a scare. You have a serious concussion and a fractured wrist, but you're going to be okay. You're very lucky."

He smiled kindly. "Your husband is a real hero. He carried you in here himself. He hasn't left your side. He truly adores you."

I felt a cold chill spread through me, colder than any fear.

Adores me.

The word was a joke. A cruel, bitter joke.

I thought of all the times I had swallowed my pain, all the years I had endured Ilene' s madness, all for him. All for our marriage.

No more.

The rage that had been dormant for so long finally erupted.

I looked at the doctor, my voice clear and steady despite the pain.

"I want to report a crime. I was pushed."

I reached for my phone on the bedside table. "I'm calling the police."

The door flew open and Ethan rushed in, his face pale with panic.

"Rory, what are you doing?" he demanded, seeing the phone in my hand. He strode over and snatched it away from me.

"Ilene didn't mean to push you! It was an accident! She slipped!" he pleaded, his voice desperate. "Don't do this, Rory. Don't press charges."

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.

"An accident?" I repeated, my voice shaking with fury. "Ethan, she tried to kill me."

I glared at him, my eyes burning. "There are security cameras in the house. They will show everything."

"Don't you care if I live or die?"

"Of course I care!" he insisted, his grip on my phone tightening. "But Ilene… you know her condition. A police investigation would be too much for her. It could push her over the edge."

He looked at me, his eyes begging for the understanding I no longer had to give. "Her life is already ruined because of us, Rory. We can't destroy what's left of it."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

"Her life is ruined?" I asked, my voice dangerously low. "What about the accident, Ethan? Did you ever wonder why she was calling you so frantically on our wedding day? She wasn' t in any danger. She was trying to ruin our wedding."

"What did I do wrong?" My voice broke, the years of suppressed pain finally pouring out. "I loved you. That was my only crime. If you were so consumed with guilt, why did you marry me? Why did you drag me into this nightmare?"

I was screaming now, tears streaming down my face. "You always have an excuse for her! Always! Do I have to be dead for you to finally see me?"

The words ripped from my throat, raw and bloody.

Ethan just stood there, stunned. He had never seen me like this. The calm, compliant Aurora was gone.

His face crumpled. He looked lost. "Rory…"

He reached for me, his expression softening with a pain that mirrored my own. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around my shaking body. "I love you," he whispered into my hair. "I only love you."

For a moment, I almost believed him. I almost let myself sink into the familiar comfort of his embrace.

But it was too late.

I pulled away, my gaze steady and cold. "If you love me, let me get justice."

"All I want is for her to pay for what she did."

He stared at me, his jaw tight. He seemed to be wrestling with himself. He looked at my bandaged wrist, at the tears on my face, at the raw pain in my eyes.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering sigh, he handed my phone back to me.

He had made his choice.

Or so I thought.

The days passed. The police came. I gave my statement. They promised to investigate thoroughly.

A week later, I was ready to be discharged. The police called.

"Mrs. Bruce," the officer said, his voice professional yet apologetic. "We've concluded our investigation. Based on the evidence and Ms. Wolf's documented history of severe mental illness, we've determined that we cannot press charges."

"The evidence is insufficient to prove intent," he explained.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "But the security footage! It shows her pushing me!"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bruce. The security system at your residence malfunctioned. The footage from that day was erased."

My blood ran cold.

I hung up the phone, my mind reeling. I knew. I knew who was behind this.

I left the hospital and went straight to the house. I had to see for myself. I had to know for sure.

As I approached the front door, I heard voices from inside. Ilene's voice, bright and cheerful.

"Oh, Ethan, thank you! Thank you for getting rid of that horrible video! And for getting me that new doctor's note saying I was having a psychotic episode. You even used your connections to stop the police! I knew you still loved me!"

The world tilted on its axis.

He hadn't chosen me. He had chosen her. He had lied to my face, held me while I cried, and then gone behind my back to protect the woman who tried to murder me.

The betrayal was so absolute, so complete, it felt like a physical blow.

Aurora POV:

I walked down the quiet corridor of the Manhattan private hospital, dragging my pale and weak body.

The thick, heavy carpet absorbed every sound. I had been taught since childhood, moving from one foster home to another, to never be a burden. I learned to make my footsteps invisible.

I stopped outside the VIP ward.

I raised my hand. My fingertips hovered just an inch away from the cold brass handle.

Then, Ethan’s voice drifted through the slight crack in the door. It was low, hard, and devoid of any warmth.

My fingers jerked and froze in mid-air.

"Destroy all the security footage from the stairwell," Ethan ordered. "Do it immediately."

There was a brief silence. Then, his executive assistant spoke, his voice laced with hesitation. "Sir, if we do that, it will completely cover up the fact that Miss Ilene pushed her. The police won't have any evidence."

"Exactly," Ethan cut him off. His voice was like a blade of ice. "Ilene cannot have an intentional assault scandal tied to her name. The family stock would tank. Erase it all."

My stomach seized in a violent cramp.

A wave of physical nausea rushed up my throat. I slapped my hand over my mouth, pressing hard against my lips to force the vomit back down. My chest heaved, but I didn't make a sound.

The pain and the desperate begging that had clouded my eyes for the past few days froze in a single second.

The last pathetic shreds of love I had for this man were thrown into a meat grinder of pure logic. He wasn't just choosing her over me. He was covering up the murder of our unborn child to protect her reputation.

I didn't push the door open. I didn't scream. I didn't act like a hysterical woman.

I was entirely, terrifyingly calm.

I reached into the pocket of my hospital gown and pulled out my phone. I kept the screen dimmed and made sure the device was completely on silent.

I opened the voice memo app. I pressed my phone flat against the crack of the door.

Inside, the conversation shifted. I heard Ilene’s voice now. She was crying, a fake, breathy sound that made my skin crawl.

"Thank you, Ethan," she sobbed. "I was so scared. I didn't mean to do it, I swear."

I stared blankly at the wall, my face devoid of any expression, and recorded every single word. I recorded the proof that my husband was destroying the evidence of my child's death.

I hit the stop button. I saved the audio file and immediately synced it to a hidden, encrypted cloud server.

I turned around. My steps were harder and much firmer than when I had arrived.

I walked back to my own hospital room and locked the door behind me with a soft click.

I sat on the edge of the bed and dialed a heavily encrypted number. It belonged to a top-tier offshore trust lawyer in New York.

"Bonjour," the voice answered.

I spoke in fluent French, keeping my voice low and steady. "I need to initiate the highest level of asset isolation. Immediately."

The lawyer paused. "Understood. Do you need me to prepare the divorce papers as well?"

I looked out the window. The Manhattan rain was streaking against the glass, gray and relentless.

"Yes," I replied flatly.

Heavy, steady footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. Leather shoes against the carpet. Ethan's footsteps.

I hung up instantly and wiped the call log from my phone.

I shoved the device deep under my pillow, slid under the covers, and closed my eyes.

The door handle turned. It made a sharp clicking sound as it unlocked from the outside.

Ethan walked in. He brought the freezing chill of the hallway with him.

He walked straight to the side of my bed and looked down at me. I opened my eyes slowly, pretending I had just woken up from a nap.

He didn't ask how I was feeling. He didn't ask if I was in pain.

He tossed a thick stack of papers onto the nightstand. It landed with a heavy, dull thud.

"Sign this compensation agreement, and let's put this matter to rest."