“Your biological father is looking for you, Hayley. Would you want to see him? He’s been wanting to talk to you.” My lawyer’s assistant said over the phone.

I took a shaky breath. “Tell him… tell him I’m divorcing Marco now,” I said, my voice so steady it surprised even me. “If he really wants to make up for the last twenty years of pretending I didn’t exist, then he should pick me up after a week. Take me far away from here.”

There was a pause. The assistant cleared their throat. “You’re divorcing your husband, Marco? Are you sure about that, Hayley?”

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Yes. It’s final. Draft the papers. I’ll make sure he signs them immediately.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I hung up. The phone slipped from my hands, landing on the scratchy blanket that covered my battered legs.

My palms trembled as I reached for the sleeve of my hospital gown and pulled it up, just enough to see the twisted, angry scar that slashed across my right forearm.

A reminder of just how deep betrayal could burn.

Three days ago, I was caught in a fire sparked by Sandra. My best friend. The same Sandra who had been sleeping with my husband.

She barged into my boutique and started yelling, telling me that I should leave Marco. Not even hiding their affair anymore. Then, in a blur, she knocked over a canister of cleaning solvent, grabbed a candle off the shelf, and threw it down.

I screamed. Flames burst to life faster than I could react. But when the smoke began to spread, Sandra didn’t help. She didn’t run. She watched. Smirked. And when she finally stumbled out, crying and clutching her wrist, she blamed it all on me.

By the time the paramedics arrived, the damage was done. I was the one burned. The one unconscious. The one blamed.

And Marco? He stood outside the ambulance, arms around Sandra, jaw tight like none of this mattered. When the doctor told him I needed a blood transfusion — that I’d lost too much and was already in danger — he didn’t flinch.

“She’s four months pregnant,” the doctor added carefully. “Without urgent care, she and the baby could both—”

“I don’t care,” Marco snapped. “Just save Sandra. That’s all I want. I don’t give a damn what happens to the other one.”

The other one. As if I was a stranger. As if I wasn’t the woman he married. As if I wasn’t carrying his child.

Later, when I came to, blistered and bandaged, I asked the nurse about the baby.

She hesitated. Her eyes were too soft, too sorry.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Villaruel,” she said. “We did everything we could. But it was too late.”

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of the memory. Marco’s name flashed across the cracked screen. For a moment, I considered letting it ring. Maybe he’d think I was dead this time, a small mercy.

But I answered. I always did. That’s who I was, the good wife. The invisible one.

“Where the hell are you?” Marco’s voice was sharp enough to slice through my skull. “Sandra wants caviar tonight. The best. So go find it.”

I swallowed. “I… I can’t. I’m still in the hospital. The doctor said I need—”

“You think I give a damn?” he snapped. “If I want you here, you show up. Or did you forget your mother’s heartbeat is in my hands? If I switch off that machine, she’ll die. And it’ll be your fault. You want that, Hayley?”

A lump lodged in my throat. The words refused to come. I just closed my eyes. “No. I’ll come.”

“Good girl,” he sneered. And the line went dead.

I sat there, numb, the phone slipping from my fingers. I didn’t want to move. Every part of me screamed to stay curled up under the sterile hospital blankets, to pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

But then the door cracked open and the nurse stepped in, looking anywhere but my eyes. “Mrs. Villaruel… I’m so sorry, but… Mr. Villaruel called. He said you need to leave now.”

I blinked at her, my throat tight. “I can’t even stand—”

“He insisted,” she said quietly, already gathering my things, setting my bag on my lap like this was normal. “He… he said you know what would happen if you didn’t.”

The threat lingered in the air. My mother’s heartbeat.

So I let her help me to my feet. It took everything I had to shuffle down that blinding white hallway.

The city blurred past the window, neon lights dancing on my half-healed scar.

The car stopped in front of the Villaruel estate. One more week, I reminded myself. Just one more week and I will free myself.

I flinched at the sound of laughter inside.

I was halfway up the driveway when it happened.

A splash. Cold, muddy water hit my face and drenched my hair, soaking into the thin coat I’d thrown over my hospital gown. I gasped, nearly slipping on the wet stones.

“Oops!” a voice called down from the balcony above. I looked up and there she was. Sandra. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, feigning surprise. “God, Hayley. I didn’t see you there. What a shame.”

The bucket of murky water she had just poured now soaked me from head to toe. My hospital band still clung to my wrist. I hadn’t even made it past the garden gate.

Sandra came rushing down in her silk robe, her voice all fake concern. “I’m so sorry,” she cooed. “I didn’t mean for it to hit you—really, I was just cleaning the balcony!”

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You deserve this. You’re garbage. A walking waste. No wonder Marco hates you.”

Before I could speak, a hand yanked Sandra back. Marco.

“What are you doing near her?” he snapped, brushing imaginary dirt off her arm. “You’ll ruin that dress just by being close to her. Stay away from trash.”

He turned to me, eyes narrowed with disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you come back here looking like a drowned rat?”

I tried to stand straight, my voice weak. “It was Sandra… she poured—”

He raised his voice. “So now you’re blaming Sandra? What, to get my attention? You really are pathetic. You already killed our baby, and now you’re playing victim again? What purpose do you even serve in this house?”

I flinched. The pain wasn’t new, but each word still sliced deeper.

He grabbed my wrist, dragging me through the backyard toward the pool. “Since you’re already wet, go clean yourself—and that damn pool—with your dirty self. I have guests coming, and I don’t want them smelling your misery.”

With a hard shove, he pushed me into the water.

“I want you to cook and serve them,” he said as I surfaced, gasping. “Got it?”

Sandra walked up, feigning concern again. “Marco, are you sure? She’s not fully healed yet. I can do it.”

“No,” he snapped. “You’ll stay with me. Let her do what she does best! She wanted to be my wife, then she should do better!”

The cold stung every part of me as I lay half-submerged, my arms trembling. The weight of the soaked clothes made it impossible to move quickly. My entire body ached, the scarred skin on my arm pulling sharply with every breath.

And then, memories came rushing back — seven years ago.

The crash. The rain-slicked road. Harriet’s scream echoing in my head like a ghost that never left. My twin sister Harriet.

She’d always had Marco wrapped around her little finger. They were inseparable, the perfect couple since college, the couple everyone envied. But behind those perfect smiles were cracks I’d seen but never dared to name.

That night, Harriet was furious. I still remember her grabbing my keys off the kitchen counter, her eyes wild with betrayal. She’d found out Marco had been seeing someone else — maybe even Sandra — but she wouldn’t listen when I told her to wait, to calm down, to stay home. She said she’d confront him, end it all on her terms.

I’d tried to stop her. I ran after her, jumped into the passenger seat, begging her to pull over, to talk to me. But she drove like a woman possessed, the rain hammering the windshield, the wipers useless against the sheets of water.

The headlights of an oncoming truck blinded us for a second, then tires screeched, metal crunched, and the world flipped upside down.

When I woke up, Harriet was gone. They said she died instantly.

And Marco? He never even asked what really happened. He never listened when I tried to explain that Harriet was the one behind the wheel, that I’d been the one screaming for her to slow down.

But in his eyes, I killed her. The twin who was everything. And from that day on, he made sure I paid for surviving. Marco never let me forget it. He proposed to me six months after the funeral. I thought it was grief turning to love. I told myself he had forgiven me. That maybe… maybe he could fall for me too.

But the moment we were married, the truth came out. He wanted to torture me. The mistresses started flooding in. He’d bring them home. Make me serve them drinks. Sometimes, he’d make me stand there while he moaned Harriet’s name in their bed. Like a sick, cruel ritual.

And then came Sandra. My best friend. My last ally. Until she became the sharpest blade.

I don’t know how long I was in the pool. But when I tried to climb out, my body gave in. My limbs burned. My head spun. Water rushed into my throat, and I gasped. “Help…” I whispered, clawing at the edge.

From the balcony, Marco looked down with disinterest. “I know you’re just doing this for attention. You can swim, Hayley. Don’t waste my time.”

And then… nothing.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was on the edge of the pool, half-drenched and freezing. The garden lights were now lit, laughter echoing in the distance.

The party had started. And I—still in my soaked clothes—was nothing but a sideshow. I turned my head slightly and saw Marco and his friends laughing nearby, drinks in hand.

“You’re really making her suffer,” one of them chuckled. “What if she divorces you?”

Marco smirked, swirling his glass. “She wouldn’t dare. That woman owes me. She killed Harriet. This is the least she can do. Even if she tries, I’ll crush it. I’ll bet a million bucks she won’t last a day without crawling back.”

Their laughter rang in my ears as I dragged myself toward the house.

But they were wrong.

Because in my pocket was a message.

From the lawyer: “Your father agreed. He’ll be picking you up in five days. Your mother’s transfer is scheduled. Everything is in place.”

I pressed the phone to my chest, clutching it like a lifeline.

Just a few more days.

Then I’ll be gone.

Then… I’ll finally be free.

The shower hadn’t washed away the cold in my bones. As soon as I dried off, I went straight to the small desk I kept hidden behind my closet door. I pulled out the crisp divorce papers, fresh from the printer, the ink barely dry.

Downstairs, music thumped through the house — the kind of expensive party Marco loved to throw just to show off. Laughter, clinking glasses, murmurs of secrets behind manicured hands. But none of them ever noticed me.

I slipped into the crowd, the folder clutched tight under my arm. I found Marco near the bar, already a few glasses in, his eyes glazed but still sharp when he spotted me.

“What the hell are you doing here? You look like a drowned rat,” he sneered. "If you won't help with the party, then maybe you should be gone."

I forced a tight smile. “It’s urgent, Marco. Some house supply forms. They need your signature tonight.”

He scoffed. “Now? Are you insane? I’m busy.”

“Please. Just sign,” I pressed, keeping my tone even. I could feel the eyes of his friends on me — the pity, the disdain, the curiosity like I was a stray dog that had wandered in to ruin their fun.

Marco reached for the folder but before he could look closer, a commotion broke out. Sandra — draped over the couch like a spoiled cat — gave a theatrical gasp and tumbled to the floor, giggling like a child.

“Oh no,” she slurred, eyes flicking to Marco with that manipulative glint I’d grown to despise. “I tripped… Marco, help me.”

He pushed past me, not sparing a glance. But I stepped in front of him, heart racing. “Sign it. Please.”

He glared at me like I’d just spat in his drink. “For fuck’s sake, Hayley!” But he snatched the pen from my hand anyway, scribbled his name on the line — not even bothering to read it — and tossed the folder back at me. “Happy now?”

“Perfect,” I whispered, my fingers already tucking the papers away safely.

Sandra was up again, wrapping herself around his arm like a snake. “Baby, she’s always ruining your mood. Let’s go upstairs — you promised me a dance.”

He shot me one last disgusted look before disappearing with her into the sea of drunken laughter and clinking glasses.

I made it back to my room. I closed the door, dropped to my knees, and pressed the folder to my chest. It was done. One signature. One step closer to freedom.

I pulled out a bag I’d hidden in the back of my closet months ago — packed and repacked a dozen times in my head. A few clothes, the small stash of money I’d scraped together, my mother’s medical documents. I dumped everything Marco ever gave me into the trash.

Jewelry, dresses — all poisoned by his touch. Except for the necklace my mother left me, hidden deep in my drawer. That, I slipped around my neck. It reminded me I still belonged to someone who once loved me.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging me back. I grabbed it, thinking it was my lawyer confirming the pickup.

But my breath caught when I saw the name: Scott. Marco’s old rival, the man who’d spent years circling our marriage like a vulture.

“Hayley,” he drawled when I answered. His voice was smooth, smug, but there was a strange warmth there too. “Your father told me what that bastard did. You always deserved better.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s a generous way to put it.”

“So?” he said. “You want out. I can help you. Marry me. It’ll be fun, scandalous even. Marco will choke on it.”

I pressed my hand to my lips, stifling a hysterical giggle. Was it reckless? Yes. But better reckless than rotting here another day. “Fine. You want me, Scott? You can have me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Good girl. Don’t back out,” he warned lightly.

“I won’t.” I hung up just as the doorknob rattled. “I’m packing my things. I’m coming.”

Marco. His silhouette filled the doorway when he burst in, eyes bloodshot from drink and jealousy.

“Who the hell were you talking to? And what’s with you packing your things?” He stormed across the room, snatching my phone from my hand. “Password.”

I just tilted my head. “Our anniversary.”

He punched it in — February 18th — and the phone buzzed red. Wrong.

He glared. “What’s this shit? Our anniversary is the eighteenth.”

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. “No, Marco. That’s you and Harriet. Your anniversary with her. Not me.”

His face went pale, rage flickering in his eyes. “Tell me who it was.”

“No one,” I lied. “I’m packing. I want to stay with Mom at the hospital for a few days.”

He barked out a laugh. “Did I give you permission? You didn’t even help tonight. Look at you — acting like you have rights.”

His fingers dug into my arms. He threw my phone across the room; it shattered against the dresser.

Sandra’s sickly sweet voice drifted in from the hallway. “Is everything okay? Oh — are you fighting about me again? Maybe it’s about me staying here a while longer?”

I blinked at her, words trapped in my throat. I hadn’t even known she’d moved in. Marco’s grin was cold. “No, baby, it’s nothing. She just thinks she can walk out.”

Sandra slithered closer, hooking her arm around his. “Well, maybe when we’re in Tokyo, she can stay with her little coma mom, right? So she won’t feel so lonely.”

Marco nodded, dismissive. “Good idea. For now, clean up the mess, Hayley.”

They started to walk out. Sandra paused in the doorway, leaning in close so only I could hear. “Be thankful I agreed. Maybe you and your dying mother can both rot together. You’re nothing, Hayley. You always have been.”

She spotted the necklace around my neck — my mother’s last gift — and ripped it away with a cruel laugh. “Oh, this? Mine now.”