Thatcher&#x27;s Death, My Liberation

Antarctic Triumph over Love

Chapter 1 of Thatcher's Death, My Liberation

"Where is she?" His voice cut through the quiet workshop like a blade.

I set down my tools carefully, trying to steady my trembling fingers. "Who?"

"Don't play games with me, Rose." He stepped closer, his expensive cologne filling the small space between us. "Liberty. Where is she?"

I shook my head, genuinely confused. "I haven't seen her since—"

"The last time you saw her was three days ago," he finished for me, his eyes narrowing. "At your little charity event. And then she disappeared."

He moved around my workspace, picking up and examining my designs with casual disregard. One fell to the floor, the delicate metal links scattering across the concrete.

"Thatcher, I don't know where she is," I said quietly. "If she's missing, you should call the police."

He laughed then, a cold sound that made my skin crawl. "The police? That's rich coming from you."

"I'm not hiding her," I insisted, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Why would I?"

His hand slammed down on my workbench, making me flinch. "Because you've always hated her. Because you couldn't stand that she was carrying my child."

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The mention of Liberty's pregnancy still felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he demanded, gripping my chin and forcing me to face him. "You have twenty-four hours to tell me where she is. Or there will be consequences."

"Thatcher, please—"

"Twenty-four hours, Rose." He released me with a slight push and straightened his jacket. "Don't test me on this."

After he left, I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me. What did he mean by consequences? What more could he possibly take from me?

---

The next evening, my phone rang as I was preparing dinner. Thatcher's name flashed on the screen.

"I don't know where she is," I said before he could speak.

"Then you've made your choice." His voice was eerily calm.

"Thatcher, please listen to reason—"

"Dr. Reynolds," he said, apparently addressing someone else. "This is Thatcher Edwards. I need to make a change to Georgia Mitchell's treatment plan."

My blood ran cold. "No! Don't you dare touch her medication!"

"I'm authorizing the immediate cessation of her current treatment protocol," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "No further doses are to be administered until further notice."

"Stop this!" I screamed into the phone. "She needs that medication to survive!"

"Then you should have thought about that before you decided to hide my pregnant girlfriend." His voice was ice. "Dr. Reynolds, is that understood?"

A pause, then: "Yes, Mr. Edwards. I'll... I'll make the arrangements immediately."

"Thatcher, please," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Please don't do this. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" he echoed. "Then tell me where Liberty is."

"I don't know!" I cried. "I swear I don't know!"

The line went dead.

---

Three days later, I was working in the garden when I heard a crash from inside the house. I rushed in to find Georgia collapsed on the kitchen floor, her breathing labored, her skin pale and clammy.

"Georgia!" I dropped to my knees beside her. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "Rose... can't... breathe..."

I called 911 with shaking hands, then gathered her in my arms, rocking her gently until the ambulance arrived.

At the hospital, Dr. Margaret Chen met us in the emergency room. Her face was grave as she examined Georgia.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"The medication," I choked out. "Thatcher ordered them to stop it."

Dr. Chen's eyes widened in horror. "That's impossible. Without that medication..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.

Hours later, after desperate attempts to stabilize her, Dr. Chen led me into a private room.

"Rose," she said gently, "the delay in treatment has caused significant organ damage. We've done everything we can, but..."

"No," I whispered. "No, there must be something else we can try."

Georgia lay in the hospital bed, looking so small and fragile against the white sheets. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale a visible struggle.

"Can I be alone with her?" I asked.

Dr. Chen nodded and quietly left the room.

I took Georgia's hand in mine, feeling how cold it had become.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, tears falling onto our joined hands. "I'm so, so sorry."

Her eyes opened briefly, finding mine with effort.

"Rose," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "Don't... blame... yourself..."

Her hand went slack in mine as the monitor beside her bed began to wail its terrible warning.

And in that moment, something inside me died alongside my sister.

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Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

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Rejected by Fated Mate

The scent of antiseptic and herbs filled the air as I guided my mother's wheelchair into Lilith's treatment room. Hope fluttered in my chest—maybe this new healer could ease the chronic pain that had plagued my mother since the accident that left her paralyzed. "Thank you for coming," Lilith said, her voice dripping with false sweetness as she gestured toward the examination table. "I've been studying your mother's case. I believe my traditional methods might help where others have failed." My mother smiled weakly, her once-vibrant face now hollow with pain. "Anything that might help, dear. The pack doctor said there's little they can do." "I need to fetch some water," Lilith said, turning to me. "Would you mind? It's just down the hall." "Of course," I replied, squeezing my mother's hand before leaving them alone. The hallway seemed longer than usual.