“Come on, sweetheart,” Elise whimpered between uneven breaths. “Let’s go. Mommy can’t breathe right now. I don’t want you seeing something so ugly.”
Noah looked puzzled, but he wasn’t distressed. He simply stood up and followed without question. Adrian pulled Elise into his arms as if she were made of glass, something precious that could shatter at any second.
“Don’t cry, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re the only one that matters here. Come on, let’s go upstairs. Just… forget her.”
I was still kneeling on the floor, my hands trembling as I tried to gather the scattered ashes into one small, trembling pile. Then Noah suddenly broke free and rushed toward me.
His shoe came down hard.
Right onto the ashes.
“Witch!” he screamed. “You made my mommy cry!”
He stomped again.
The ashes flew apart.
“No—!”
Then he kicked the shattered remains of the urn across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud before breaking into even smaller pieces.
My body went completely still.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe properly. But my chest shook violently, and broken sounds tore out of my throat without permission.
Adrian strode toward me and seized my face with one hand, his fingers digging painfully into my cheeks as if he meant to crush my skull.
“That’s enough,” he said coldly. “Enough of this performance.”
I blinked at him. His face looked carved from stone—blank, unfeeling.
“I almost believed you,” he said slowly. “I almost did. For just one stupid second, I nearly felt sorry. Nearly cried. For your pathetic little boy.”
He leaned closer. I felt his breath against my skin.
“But then the hospital sent proof. Videos. Milo laughing in his bed. The doctor said you used him—told me you made him pretend to be sicker than he was. Said you were in on it. That you let it happen. All for attention.”
Behind him, I saw her.
Elise.
She stood halfway up the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the railing, her head tilted just enough. Her expression was soft—too soft.
A smile barely touched her lips.
Just the corner of it.
Like a confession slipping through a crack.
She did it.
She paid someone. Manipulated the story. Twisted Milo’s condition. Sent fake proof. Built the lie. And Adrian—he swallowed it whole. Again. And again.
They began walking upstairs. Elise slipped her fingers into Noah’s hand and leaned her head against Adrian’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her as if she were his entire universe.
“Let’s just go to bed,” she said gently. “I can’t deal with her anymore tonight.”
Noah glanced back once—but only for a heartbeat. Then he looked up at Elise again and followed her.
The house fell silent.
I stayed on the floor.
With what remained of my child.
With hands scraped raw.
With a mouth too dry to sob anymore.
I don’t know how long I lay there.
Hours, maybe.
Until even my heart seemed to give up trying.
---
That night, sleep never came.
Every part of my body throbbed. My knees were shredded, raw and burning. Dried blood crusted behind them—I hadn’t even noticed when it happened. I was still in the same clothes, still smelling of dust, grief, and bone. I curled against the wall just outside my room, hugging my knees to my chest like a shield.
Sometime after midnight, I heard coughing.
At first, I ignored it, thinking it was one of the maids. Then Adrian’s voice cut through the dark—frantic, sharp.
“Elise. Elise, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
I stayed perfectly still.
Elise sobbed loudly. Her voice was hoarse, exaggerated.
“I—can’t—breathe. Oh God, my stomach hurts! My chest, Adrian—I feel cursed. Ever since she brought that urn into this house, it’s like something’s been choking me.”
I heard the bed creak.
Footsteps.
Adrian pacing.
He swore under his breath.
“That bitch.”
Elise sniffled weakly, the sound trembling with fake fear.
“I overheard the maids talking… they said she bought something. Some kind of toxin. Maybe she hid it in the urn. Maybe she wanted to kill me. She hates me so much, Adrian. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. Not me. Not our baby.”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
And yet, I already knew—he would come for me.
The door burst open so hard it rattled the walls. Adrian stormed in, his face twisted into something monstrous in the dark.
He grabbed my wrist and hauled me up like I weighed nothing.
“You did this.”
I stumbled. My ankle buckled. My arm screamed in pain.
“You poisoned this house,” he snarled. “You cursed Elise. You sick freak. You knew she was pregnant and you still brought death into this place.”
“I didn’t—” I tried to speak.
“She could’ve died tonight!” he roared. “Is that what you wanted? You really want her dead?”
He dragged me down the hallway into her room like a criminal being paraded for punishment.
“Kneel,” he barked.
I didn’t move. I looked at him.
“Kneel and apologize to Elise.”
“No.”
The slap came so fast my vision exploded in sparks.
“On your knees.”
I refused again. It was the only thing I had left—my backbone.
He kicked the backs of my knees. I crashed to the floor. The same wounds tore open again. Blood soaked through my clothes. I felt it warm against my calves.
Elise sat on the couch like a queen. Hair flawless. Belly displayed proudly. A small blanket draped over her lap as if she were fragile. She cried into her hands—but her face held no sorrow. Only satisfaction.
“I don’t believe her,” Elise said softly. “She doesn’t even sound sorry. I can’t hear her pain. Make her louder, Adrian. I want to hear her beg.”
He stood behind me like a wall of shadow.
“Apologize,” he hissed. “Say it until she forgives you.”
I lowered my head. My lips trembled.
“I’m sorry.”
My voice was shredded. It barely sounded human.
“I’m sorry.”
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until my throat felt torn open. Until my voice broke completely.
Finally, Elise began to stand, pressing both hands to her stomach as if it were too heavy to carry. She swayed unsteadily, gasping for breath, her body trembling.
“T-Adrian… something’s wrong,” she whispered. “My stomach… I think I’m bleeding.”
