“I’ll do it,” I whispered into the phone, my hand trembling. “Whatever you want, I’ll even marry the man you arranged for me before. Just come get me. Please.”

There was silence on the other end. Then my stepfather’s calm, concerned voice filled my ear.

“Isabella… what’s happening?” he asked, slow and steady. “Did Kevin hurt you again?”

My eyes burned as I stared at the hospital ceiling. “Yes,” I said. “He hurt me. Again. He betrayed me.”

Another pause. “Are you sure this time? You’ve called before, asked me to come for you. Then you always change your mind.”

“Not this time,” I said. My throat tightened. “Just… come get me. In one week. I’ll be ready.”

He sighed. “Alright. But no turning back. If you’re choosing to leave this time, then leave for good.”

“I promise,” I whispered, even as tears slipped silently down my cheeks.

The call ended. I dropped the phone beside me and stared at the ceiling, letting the truth settle like ash in my lungs. This wasn’t the first time I begged my stepfather for help. The last time was a year ago—when I found out my husband Kevin was cheating on me.

With my half-sister. Jasmine.

The betrayal had crushed me. But worse than that? I still stayed. I told myself maybe he’d change. Maybe he’d come back to me. Maybe it was a phase. But every time I forgave him, he proved me wrong again.

I should’ve left then. I should’ve walked away when I still had pieces of dignity left. But I didn’t.

And now, the pieces were dust.

The hospital door opened and a nurse stepped in, holding a clipboard. “Ms. Reyes, your discharge papers are ready. You can leave today.”

I nodded slowly and sat up, wincing as pain shot through my ribs. Three days ago, Jasmine and I had been walking near the market when two men on a motorcycle snatched the necklace from her neck. The precious necklace that Kevin had given her.

Jasmine screamed. I panicked. And instead of checking if I was okay, Kevin yelled over me, “That necklace cost me a million! Isabella, run after them!”

“What? Why me—”

Rather, he pushed me to run after them while he tended to Jasmine, who was only pretending to be injured. I chased after two men on a motorcycle, slipped on the road, hit my head, bruised my ribs—and ended up in a hospital bed alone. No one came. Not Kevin. Not Jasmine.

When I texted him that I was hurt, he only replied, “Jasmine scraped her knee. I’m busy taking care of her.”

I returned home late that afternoon. The house was quiet. My father, Gregory, sat in the dining room, eating as if nothing had happened.

He didn’t even look up when I entered. “So?” he asked, chewing. “Where’s the necklace?”

I stood still, clutching my bag. “I couldn’t get it back.”

He dropped his spoon with a loud clang. “Useless,” he hissed. “Just like your mother. Why did I even take you in after she died? Should’ve left you with that weakling stepfather of yours.”

I said nothing.

“Go to your room. Don’t eat tonight. Or the rest of the week. You lost me a million-peso investment. Starve, maybe it’ll teach you something.”

I swallowed hard. Then I heard their voices. Kevin and Jasmine entered from the garden, arms linked until they saw me. Then they pulled away as if they were strangers.

Jasmine, always with that sweet voice, said, “Father, don’t be so harsh. It’s not Isabella’s fault. But of course… it would’ve been better if she had retrieved it. It was a gift from Kevin.”

Kevin scoffed. “She’s weak. That’s the problem. I mean, I’m married to her—on paper—but I’ve never introduced her to anyone. I’m ashamed.”

Jasmine giggled. “Kevin, don’t say that. She’s still my sister.”

Gregory snorted. “Yes, but the wrong one. Useless.”

I didn’t respond. What was there left to say? I’d been reduced to a ghost in my own home.

I walked past them without a word, up to my room. I closed the door, slid down to the floor, and finally allowed myself to cry. And then I made the call.

“Yes, I want a divorce,” I told the lawyer over the phone.

There was a pause. “Are you certain, Mrs. Reyes? We spoke before and—”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“You’ll need his signature. You know how difficult he can be.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said. “Just prepare the papers and I’ll make sure he will sign it.”

What I didn’t know was that Kevin was standing right outside my door.

“Paper? Sign? What are you saying?” he yelled.

“What papers are you preparing that I need to sign now? Another one of your scams?” His tone was flat, but I felt its weight. “You want to scam me, too?”

My heart clenched. He was referring to the financial disaster that had been pinned on me—an investment scheme that wiped out everything. But it wasn’t my doing. Jasmine had handled it, stolen my signature, obliterated our family’s wealth. Yet here I was, scapegoated for it.

“Are you putting our company at risk again when you still owe your father millions?” he added, narrowing his eyes at me. “Answer me.”

My throat tightened. Memories of that day—my shaking hands, Jasmine’s false excuses, Dad’s thunderous disbelief—rushed back. I’d screamed at them, but nobody would listen. Not after Jasmine spun her lies so smoothly.

“She’s been hiding it from all of us,” she had cried, clutching Dad’s arm like a wounded daughter. “I didn’t want to say anything... but I saw Isabella meeting with those people.”

I had tried to explain, my hands shaking, voice cracking—but Dad wouldn’t hear it. “Why would Jasmine lie?” he snapped. “She’s always been the responsible one.”

Kevin marched over and shoved my phone into my hand. “Who are you talking to?” His grip was tight as he demanded my passcode.

My mouth clamped shut.

He jabbed at me, voice sharp. “What’s your password?”

I closed my eyes and muttered, “It’s my birthday.”

He typed it in. The screen blinked red—incorrect.

He frowned. “That’s not it. Isn’t your birthday September 8? Why is it not working?"

I looked at him then, the sting sudden and bitter. “That’s Jasmine’s birthday,” I said quietly. “Not mine.”

His expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of realization. My stomach twisted.

“It’s been three years, Kevin,” I said, forcing a bitter laugh. “Three years of marriage, and you still don’t know my birthday.”

He rolled his eyes. “Can you stop with the drama? Now tell me who you were calling.”

“Says the husband who never knows my birthday.” I crossed my arms, silenced my shield.

He sneered. “So what are you trying to say— that I neglect you?”

I threw back my head. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Instead of retreating, I surprised him by grabbing it again. “Actually… go out with Jasmine. I’m tired. I’m going to rest.”

He snarled. “Rest? Nobody said you get time to rest. Pack our clothes—we’re leaving for a business trip in days. And whatever paper that is, better make sure you’re not scamming us again.”

I exhaled slowly. “But I’m not feeling well.”

He turned on me. “I don’t care! Just do it.”

I forced myself up and trudged toward their bedroom. A few days—that’s all I had. In those few days, I’d strip away every memory I had of Kevin. Or Jasmine. Or this house.

I was packing their clothes—Kevin’s crisp shirts, his tailored pants, Jasmine’s silk dresses she wore like trophies. The suitcase sat open on the bed, swallowing their lives together while I folded each piece. I moved to the closet, pulling down more of his suits, when something slipped loose from the shelf above—an ivory box, half-hidden behind his cufflinks.

Curious, I reached for it and popped it open.

Inside was a velvet case holding two sleek wedding bands, one glinting with tiny diamonds. Beside it lay a photo—Kevin and Jasmine, dressed in formal attire, arms wrapped around each other, smiles perfectly rehearsed. Beneath it was a document. I scanned the heading, and my heart nearly stopped: Prenuptial Agreement.

Not ours. The date was recent. The signatures were theirs.

They were planning a wedding.

My breath hitched. My fingers curled so tight around the paper, it crinkled. I wasn’t just being replaced in his bed—I was being erased on paper.

I set the box down on the dresser, slowly. Calmly. Then turned back to their suitcase and zipped it shut. This time, not with numbness. But with finality.

Later, outside, I stood by the trash can. I had gathered everything—letters, trinkets, the necklace he once gave me, even the little notes we used to leave each other. Every memory. Every lie disguised as love. I tossed the last piece inside and lit the match.

The box caught fire instantly, flames curling around the remnants of a marriage that never really existed. It burned fast.

Jasmine stepped behind me, arms folded, smirking as the light danced in her eyes. “Burning memories now?” she said. “How dramatic.”

I didn’t answer. Just watched.

“Does this mean you’re finally leaving him? When are you walking away, Isabella?” She pokes the fire. “You know you don’t belong here.”

I pick up a scrap of paper from the firepit. “Don’t worry,” I tell her quietly, staring at the flames. “I’m going. And I’ll never come back.”

She barks a laugh. “That’s… actually good. Since you’re leaving, let me help you speed it up.”

In her hands were more boxes—stacked messily, as if she grabbed whatever she could from my room. My chest tightened the moment I recognized the contents. One by one, she began tossing them near the trash can.

“Old letters,” she said mockingly, flinging a bundle of folded papers. “Some cheap jewelry. And oh—what’s this?” She held up a small velvet pouch, the same one that had always stayed in my drawer. “Your mom’s crap. Honestly, it’s cluttering the house.”

My breath hitched. “Don’t.”

But she grinned wider, crueler. From the pouch, she pulled out the half-broken locket, the necklace she gave me before she died. The one she made me promise to protect.

“A keepsake? Cute.” Jasmine tossed it into the fire before I could react.

“No!” I lunged forward, hand stretching toward the flames, but the fire licked my skin first—sharp, fierce. I screamed, jerking back, my palm red and blistering.

That’s when Jasmine shrieked and threw herself onto the ground.

“Ah! My hand!” she cried, covering her face and curling her fingers dramatically. Tears streamed—fake, practiced, loud.

My father came rushing out of the house, eyes wild. “What the hell are you doing to Jasmine?!”

“Dad—wait—” I tried to explain, cradling my injured hand.

He didn’t listen. He never did.

The firepit wobbled as he pushed past it in a rage. I barely saw the flames leap—before his hand slammed into my shoulder.

I stumbled—straight into the edge of the fire.

The heat hit me first, searing. My scream tore through the air. Smoke choked my lungs. And then—nothing. Just black.

Pain woke me. I tried to move, but every inch of me protested. I gasped. My throat burned, my chest felt tight, and when I blinked my eyes open, all I saw was white—white walls, white lights, white sheets.

“Don’t move,” a nurse said gently, placing a hand on my arm. “You’ve suffered multiple burns and broken ribs. You need to rest, Isabella.”

My lips parted, but I couldn’t speak.

“The stitches on your side are fresh. You’ve got deep bruises on your back and shoulders too,” she continued softly. “You were found outside, unconscious and burned. And from the bruising…” she hesitated, “someone hurt you badly.”

I knew who. My father.

I remembered the push. His fury. The fire roaring behind me. But it hadn’t ended there.

Even after I passed out, he’d dragged me back inside the house and beat me, yelling that Jasmine’s hands were too precious for me to hurt. He struck me across the ribs, again and again. Because of Jasmine. Always because of her.

I had come back to that house thinking I could find family again. After my mom died, my stepfather had offered to care for me, but I was forced to live with my biological father instead.

They took me in because of the insurance under my name from my mother. At first, they treated me kindly. Spoiled me even. But once the money came, once the signature was forged… everything changed. I was nothing again. Just the girl who took up space beside Jasmine—the perfect one. The favorite.

“Would you like to call someone?” the nurse asked, pulling me back to the present. “Family? A friend?”

I shook my head. There was no one.

Once I was alone, I reached for my phone on the bedside table. Notifications flooded the screen. I scrolled, and my chest sank.

Jasmine had posted a picture of her and Kevin. They were laughing under a sky full of fireworks, wine glasses in hand. Romantic night with my love, the caption read, with a heart emoji.

I turned off the screen and set the phone aside.

I shouldn’t be surprised. They had always been each other’s firsts. High school sweethearts, picture-perfect from the outside. Even before I met Kevin, his name was often tied to Jasmine’s. She had been his first love, the one he couldn't forget.

When she left for abroad, she shattered him. I still remember the way he stared at his phone every night, hoping she’d call. But weeks turned into months. Then years. She stopped writing. He stopped waiting.

And I was there. Quiet. Present. Picking up pieces she never even knew she broke.

He clung to me like a man drowning. He kissed me like I was his last hope. One night, as I handed him a mug of coffee and sat beside him on the porch, he said, “Let’s get married, Isabella. I need someone who won’t leave.”

And I believed him.

I said yes. We got married.

But then Jasmine came back.

It was six months after our wedding. She walked through the front door like she still owned the place, dressed in white, hair curled, eyes glistening with apology. Kevin froze.

I stood beside him. His hand slipped out of mine.

Jasmine rushed forward. “Kevin,” she whispered, “I made a mistake. I should’ve never left. I was scared, stupid… I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“He’s married now,” I said sharply. “To me.”

But Jasmine looked at me like I was a stain on her dress. She turned back to Kevin. “You know it’s always been me. You told me that. You wore my necklace when we were apart. You promised.”

My heart pounded. “Kevin?”

He finally looked at me—but there was guilt in his eyes.

“I never meant for this to happen,” he said. “But... maybe we rushed. Maybe I wasn’t over her.”

I stepped back like I’d been slapped.

And from that day, the affair began. Slowly. Secretly at first. But not for long. Eventually, they didn’t even bother hiding it.

My phone vibrated again. I picked it up, already exhausted, already broken.

A message from Jasmine: “Hope your burns are healing well! Don’t worry about Kevin. We’re having a great time on our business-date combo trip.”

Another message followed—a video. I shouldn’t have opened it. I knew what it was before it started. Kevin. Kissing her. Stripping her. Her moans. That wasn’t the first time she sent it to me, I lost count on how many sex video she sent to torture me.

The day passed quietly. When the doctor finally signed my discharge, I got dressed slowly, wrapping myself in the thick cardigan I’d left in the hospital locker.

When I got home, I walked inside quietly—only to see Jasmine and Kevin standing in the living room surrounded by shopping bags.

“We’re home!” Jasmine chirped with her usual sweetness. “And I brought you something!”

She tossed me a small gift bag.

Inside it was a cheap keychain—pink, sparkly, childish.

“No thanks,” I muttered, setting it aside.

Kevin narrowed his eyes. “Is that how you treat people who think of you? Where’s your gratitude?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “Thank you,” I said flatly, then walked past him.

“Ungrateful brat,” I heard him mumble under his breath.

I ignored it. My hands trembled as I lit a small candle in the hallway altar. It was my mother’s death anniversary. I kept her urn on the shelf—a reminder that someone had once truly loved me.

But when I looked at the altar, I froze.

The urn was there but then there were flowers. My heart stopped. I turned and ran into the living room, screaming, “Where are my mother’s ashes?! Why are there flowers in the urn?”

Jasmine looked up, casually sipping juice. “Oh, that. I emptied it. The urn matched the new living room set so I turned it into a vase.”

My vision blurred. “You what?!”

“I used a plastic bag to store the ashes for now,” she said, grinning. “You can find it in the trash, but don’t worry I’ll buy a new urn for your mother. What do you think?”

My scream shattered the silence.

“You bitch!” I lunged at her, yanking her by the hair, slapping her face again and again. “You’re going to pay for this!”

She shrieked. “You psycho! Get off me!”