The hospital room was too quiet. Only the beeping of the monitor reminded me that I was still alive. My fingers trembled as I clutched the phone, the weight of what I was about to say pressing on my chest.
“Alright,” I breathed, barely above a whisper. “I’ll do whatever you ask. Even if it means marrying that man you once wanted for me. Just… please, come take me away.”
For a moment, there was nothing. Then a familiar voice came through—deep, careful, and steady.
“Clara,” my stepfather said softly. “Tell me the truth. Did Nathaniel hurt you again?”
My throat burned as I stared at the ceiling, trying to hold myself together. “Yes,” I murmured. “He did. Again. He betrayed me.”
Silence followed, thick and knowing. “You’ve called me before, remember? You begged me to come for you… and then you stayed.”
“This time is different,” I whispered, trying to believe it myself. “Come get me in a week. I’ll be ready.”
A long sigh came through the line. “Once you walk away, you don’t go back. Promise me that.”
“I promise,” I said, tears slipping past my lashes.
When the call ended, I just sat there, staring blankly at the ceiling. The silence felt heavier than before. This wasn’t my first plea for rescue. A year ago, I had made the same call—right after I found out my husband was sleeping with someone else.
My half-sister, Cassandra.
The memory still burned. I could’ve left then, when the pain was new and my pride still intact. But I didn’t. I let him convince me it was a mistake, that he loved me. I wanted to believe it so badly that I ignored every sign. And now, there was nothing left of me but exhaustion.
The door creaked open, pulling me from my thoughts. A nurse entered, holding a clipboard. “Ms. Vargas,” she said kindly, “you’re cleared for discharge. You can go home today.”
Home. The word meant nothing anymore.
I nodded weakly, pushing myself upright despite the sharp pain running through my ribs. It had been three days since the accident—if you could even call it that. Cassandra and I had been walking through the market when two men on a motorcycle snatched the necklace from around her neck.
The necklace Nathaniel had given her.
She screamed like she’d been stabbed, and before I could even think, Nathaniel was shouting at me instead of checking if I was okay.
“That necklace cost a fortune! Go after them, Clara!”
“What? Why me—” I didn’t finish. He shoved me forward before I could protest. Cassandra pretended to faint while he hovered over her, and I—like an idiot—ran. I slipped, slammed into the pavement, and woke up here, bruised and broken.
When I texted Nathaniel about my injuries, his only reply was: “Cassandra scraped her knee. I’m busy taking care of her.”
By the time I got home that afternoon, my body ached everywhere, but what hurt more was the emptiness waiting for me. My father, Hector, sat at the dining table, calmly eating his lunch as if his daughter hadn’t just been hit by a motorcycle.
He didn’t even look up. “So?” he said between bites. “Did you get the necklace back?”
I clutched my bag tightly. “No. They got away.”
The spoon clattered against the plate. His face twisted in disgust. “Useless,” he muttered. “Just like your mother. I should’ve never taken you in when she died. Should’ve left you with that pathetic stepfather.”
I said nothing.
“Get out of my sight,” he barked. “No dinner for you this week. Maybe hunger will teach you some value.”
My hands shook, but I kept my head down. Then, from the garden, I heard laughter—Cassandra and Nathaniel walking in together, arms intertwined. When they saw me, they quickly separated, pretending innocence.
“Father, please don’t scold her too much,” Cassandra said sweetly, though her eyes glimmered with mockery. “It’s not her fault… but it was Nathaniel’s gift.”
Nathaniel let out a short laugh. “She’s pathetic. My wife, and yet I can’t even introduce her to anyone without embarrassment.”
“Nathaniel,” Cassandra said softly, pretending to scold him, “she’s still my sister.”
Hector snorted. “Yes—but the useless one.”
Their words barely reached me anymore. I was past the point of feeling.
I walked upstairs, shut the door, and let the tears fall silently. Then, I reached for my phone.
“Hello?” my lawyer answered after a few rings.
“I’m filing for divorce,” I said quietly.
There was hesitation on the line. “Are you certain, Mrs. Vargas? You’ve said that before.”
“I mean it this time.”
“You’ll still need his signature,” he reminded gently. “That might be difficult.”
“I’ll handle him,” I replied. “Just prepare the papers.”
Before I could end the call, a harsh voice cut through the air from outside my door.
“Papers? Sign? What the hell are you talking about?”
Nathaniel’s voice.
He’d been listening the whole time.
