“Open it now,” Xander demanded, his hand gripping my phone like it was his property — like I was his property rather than wife.
I forced my voice to stay calm, even as my skin crawled. “The password is my birthday.”
He snorted, thumbs tapping the screen. “Easy. December 5.”
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “That’s not my birthday. That’s Nadia’s.”
His fingers froze mid-tap. He looked up, confusion flashing across his face before it twisted into irritation. “So what? Why are you being dramatic again, Lauren? It’s not that important.”
Not that important. Three years of marriage, one lost child, and he didn’t even know the day I was born. But deep down, I knew — he could recite every detail about Nadia without missing a beat. Her birthday. Her favorite food. The exact shade of lipstick she wore to bed.
Me? I was just… here.
I looked away, voice hoarse. “It never mattered, did it?”
He didn’t answer. He just tossed the phone back onto the side table, already bored. “Never mind that. Get up. You’re being discharged today.”
I blinked. “What? I’m not ready — I can’t even walk properly yet.”
“So what?” His tone turned sharp. “You’re needed at home. Your mother’s birthday party needs arranging. You know how she is, and Nadia and I don’t have time to handle it.”
My mouth dropped open. “Xander, I can barely stand! And I’m not apologizing to Nadia. She gave me shrimp on purpose, she knew I was allergic—”
He rolled his eyes so dramatically it made my blood boil. “There you go again, always blaming someone else. You’re so stubborn, Lauren. This is exactly why you’ve never been at her level. She’s everything you’re not — useful, graceful, wanted. You? You should’ve died instead of our child.”
His words punched the air out of my lungs. But before I could find something — anything — to throw back at him, the door swung open.
Nadia drifted in, her soft fake smile plastered onto her perfect lips. She carried a bouquet of lilies, my least favorite flower, and cooed, “How are you feeling, sister? Do you need anything? We were so worried.”
I stared right through her, the rage in my chest a furnace. I was done pretending.
Xander’s hand pressed down hard on my shoulder. “Apologize to her, Lauren. Right now.”
“No.”
His grip tightened, nails digging into my skin. “Apologize.”
Nadia tilted her head, pouting. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Just say sorry, Lauren. I forgive you.”
Forgive me. For what? For surviving? For watching my baby die while they planned their perfect life?
I bit down the scream building in my throat and said nothing. No tears this time. Just cold silence. That seemed to annoy them more than any begging would have.
“Fine,” Xander snapped. “Be that way. But you’re still coming home to plan Mother’s party. You owe us that much.”
They dragged me out of the hospital before the nurse could even check my bandages properly. Back at the house, they left me in the guest room to recover — but I knew better. I was nothing more than a maid with a ruined womb and a name they could blame for their messes.
I forced myself out of bed that night. I found every piece of our so-called life together — the wedding album we never finished, the love notes he used to scribble when he still needed to convince me he cared, the designer dresses he gifted me after every scandal. All of it.
I dragged the box to the garden, the cold air biting at my bruised skin. One by one, I dropped the memories onto a pile. When the match flared, I didn’t flinch. I watched the flames eat the lace, the letters, the lies. Sparks rose into the sky like tiny ghosts, each one carrying a piece of the girl who once thought she was loved.
I whispered to the fire, “Few more days. Just a few more.”
Back inside, I lay on the cold sheets, heart pounding as my phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a single message from my father: Everything is ready. Noah will pick you up soon. It’s time to disappear.
I read it twice, my chest tightening in a strange, sharp way — part fear, part hope. Free. It didn’t feel real yet, but it was coming.
I pressed the phone to my chest and let out a shaky breath. I pictured Noah’s steady eyes, his warm voice telling me I was his. I pictured the way I’d walk out of this prison with nothing but a suitcase and my name finally wiped clean.
No more wife. No more daughter. Just Lauren — whoever that might be.
The next morning, they forced me to stand at the dining table, drawing up guest lists, talking about catering like nothing had happened. Nadia stood at Xander’s side, her hand resting on his arm like she’d never left it.
When our eyes met, she smirked — that little tilt of her lips that said, You’re still here. And you’re still nothing.
But inside, I felt it like a heartbeat under my ribs: Not for long.
Tomorrow, I'll be gone.
