By the time the doctors arrived, I was already drifting in and out of consciousness. Through the haze, I caught fragments of their voices.
“The patient is four weeks pregnant,” one of them said grimly. “She has a history of miscarriages. The trauma from the fall, plus the severe blood loss—there’s no way to save the baby.”
Four weeks.
I was pregnant.
A child I hadn’t even dared to hope for—my last fragile thread to the man I once loved—
was gone before I ever had the chance to protect it.
Tears slid silently down my temples as I stared at the ceiling.
Eight years of marriage. Five miscarriages. My youth, my dreams, my children—all destroyed by the same man I’d once believed in, and the woman standing beside him.
---
The day I was discharged, it was raining.
A thin, cold drizzle that seemed to soak straight through skin and bone.
I didn’t ask Liam to pick me up. I took a taxi home alone.
My luggage was already packed, stacked neatly outside the guest room door.
There was only one thing left I wanted to take with me—
the blue race car locked in the basement garage.
“Chasing Wind.”
I’d won my first championship at eighteen behind that wheel.
It was the last remnant of my old life—the only dream I’d managed to keep when everything else was stripped away.
I’d installed a private code lock on the garage. For eight years, I only entered when Liam and Noah weren’t home—just to sit in the driver’s seat, close my eyes, and remember what it felt like to fly.
I entered the code. The metal door rolled upward, creaking.
And then I froze.
The car—my car—was destroyed.
The windshield shattered, glass glittering across the floor like a field of knives.
The hood and doors caved in, beaten over and over with something heavy.
The steering wheel was ripped off, the seats slashed and soaked in red paint—
paint that spelled out: “Trash like you doesn’t deserve to drive.”
My championship medal, the one I’d hidden in the glove compartment, lay broken in half among the wreckage.
And standing there in the middle of it all was Noah.
Grinning. Holding an iron rod.
“Vanessa said this junk car was taking up space,” he said proudly. “It made Dad think of you, so I helped him get rid of it. He even said I did the right thing!”
I stepped forward, knees trembling, and crouched to pick up the torn medal. My fingers brushed the cold metal—
and then pain.
Noah jabbed the iron rod into the back of my hand.
“Don’t touch it! It’s trash!”
The sting burned deep, but I didn’t even flinch. My eyes stayed fixed on the wrecked car, on what was left of my last piece of dignity—my last dream.
That car wasn’t just metal and wheels.
It was me.
---
“Clara, what are you doing here?”
Liam’s voice came from behind.
He was holding Vanessa close, her delicate hand looped around his arm. In his other hand, a thermos.
“Vanessa was craving your lotus seed soup,” he said casually. “Go make some.”
I turned slowly, my face expressionless. “Liam… do you see it? My car.”
He glanced at the wreck and shrugged. “So what? It’s just an old car. You don’t even know how to drive anymore. Vanessa’s recovering—don’t upset her over something pointless.”
Vanessa pouted sweetly. “Liam, since my hand’s still weak, maybe you could sell this broken car and get me a new Porsche?”
“Anything for you.” Liam smiled, brushing her hair back before turning to me, his voice hardening. “What are you standing there for? Go make dinner. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about what you did to Noah. Vanessa’s right—you need to learn your lesson.”
Before I could react, two bodyguards appeared and grabbed me by the arms.
Liam pulled out a chain himself. The metal was cold and heavy as he clamped it around my wrists and ankles, fastening the other end to the bumper of a nearby car.
“Liam, isn’t this too much?” Vanessa asked softly, though her eyes gleamed with delight.
“Too much?” Liam sneered. “She pushed a child. This is nothing. Take her to the abandoned racetrack outside the city—let her reflect there.”
The engine roared to life.
And then the car lurched forward.
The chain snapped taut, dragging me across the wet asphalt. The rain mixed with mud and blood, the friction tearing my skin raw. My hospital bandages soaked through crimson.
I heard Vanessa laughing inside the car, Liam’s harsh voice cutting through it:
“Faster. Let her remember this next time she disobeys.”
The pain dulled into something distant, almost unreal. Only one thought remained—
that the man I had loved for eight years was capable of this.
At some point, the car stopped.
They tossed me out like garbage onto the cold, rain-slick track. My body hit the ground with a wet thud. The pain in my abdomen came back in violent waves. Warmth spread beneath me—blood, soaking into the dirt.
The child I’d lost once more… was gone for good.
---
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in a hospital. White ceiling. White walls. The kind of white that made you feel small, hollow, and tired.
Even the act of breathing hurt. My arms were wrapped in bandages, my skin raw where it wasn’t covered.
The door opened.
Liam.
I turned my head away immediately. He sat down beside me, clearing his throat like he was about to discuss a minor inconvenience.
“I was too angry that day,” he said finally. “You never cared about racing. That car was useless sitting there. Noah just wanted to play.”
I said nothing.
He went on, almost sighing. “I admit I should’ve pulled you up sooner. But you were the one who pushed Noah first. You can’t hold grudges against a child.”
A child. That’s all he saw—never what he’d done.
The nurse entered then, breaking the silence. “Mr. Liam? The pain medication you ordered is ready. You can pick it up from the pharmacy.”
Liam stood up immediately. “Vanessa hurt her wrist driving. I’ll check on her. Rest here.”
And just like that, he left.
The door clicked shut behind him. The sound felt louder than thunder.
My chest tightened. Something inside me cracked open—not rage, not grief, just a hollow kind of clarity.
I picked up my phone, my hand trembling, and dialed a number.
When the familiar voice answered, I whispered, steady and cold:
“I’m ready. Come get me.”
---
I checked myself out of the hospital that afternoon and went home one last time.
The villa was silent. Liam, Vanessa, and Noah were gone.
I hurried upstairs to the guest room, grabbed my suitcase—just a few clothes, my ID, and the broken half of my championship medal.
As I reached the door, a sound stopped me—
the deep rumble of an engine from the garage.
Something in me twisted.
I turned, my heart racing—
Noah sat in the driver’s seat of Liam’s black SUV, his small hands gripping the wheel, his feet barely reaching the pedals.
The engine screamed.
The headlights flared—aimed straight at me.
“Noah!” I shouted. “Stop the car!”
But he didn’t stop.
He smiled—a twisted, hateful grin that didn’t belong on a child’s face.
“You killed my mom!” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “You’re a bad woman! I’ll kill you!”
The SUV surged forward.
I could smell gasoline, hear the shriek of tires on wet concrete.
In his eyes, there was no hesitation—only pure, unfiltered hatred.
The child I had raised, loved, and protected for eight long years—
was now driving straight at me.
The car hurtled closer.
Too fast. Too close.
There was nowhere left to run.
