The bucket of murky water she had just poured now soaked me from head to toe. My hospital band still clung to my wrist. I hadn’t even made it past the garden gate.
Sandra came rushing down in her silk robe, her voice all fake concern. “I’m so sorry,” she cooed. “I didn’t mean for it to hit you—really, I was just cleaning the balcony!”
She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You deserve this. You’re garbage. A walking waste. No wonder Marco hates you.”
Before I could speak, a hand yanked Sandra back. Marco.
“What are you doing near her?” he snapped, brushing imaginary dirt off her arm. “You’ll ruin that dress just by being close to her. Stay away from trash.”
He turned to me, eyes narrowed with disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you come back here looking like a drowned rat?”
I tried to stand straight, my voice weak. “It was Sandra… she poured—”
He raised his voice. “So now you’re blaming Sandra? What, to get my attention? You really are pathetic. You already killed our baby, and now you’re playing victim again? What purpose do you even serve in this house?”
I flinched. The pain wasn’t new, but each word still sliced deeper.
He grabbed my wrist, dragging me through the backyard toward the pool. “Since you’re already wet, go clean yourself—and that damn pool—with your dirty self. I have guests coming, and I don’t want them smelling your misery.”
With a hard shove, he pushed me into the water.
“I want you to cook and serve them,” he said as I surfaced, gasping. “Got it?”
Sandra walked up, feigning concern again. “Marco, are you sure? She’s not fully healed yet. I can do it.”
“No,” he snapped. “You’ll stay with me. Let her do what she does best! She wanted to be my wife, then she should do better!”
The cold stung every part of me as I lay half-submerged, my arms trembling. The weight of the soaked clothes made it impossible to move quickly. My entire body ached, the scarred skin on my arm pulling sharply with every breath.
And then, memories came rushing back — seven years ago.
The crash. The rain-slicked road. Harriet’s scream echoing in my head like a ghost that never left. My twin sister Harriet.
She’d always had Marco wrapped around her little finger. They were inseparable, the perfect couple since college, the couple everyone envied. But behind those perfect smiles were cracks I’d seen but never dared to name.
That night, Harriet was furious. I still remember her grabbing my keys off the kitchen counter, her eyes wild with betrayal. She’d found out Marco had been seeing someone else — maybe even Sandra — but she wouldn’t listen when I told her to wait, to calm down, to stay home. She said she’d confront him, end it all on her terms.
I’d tried to stop her. I ran after her, jumped into the passenger seat, begging her to pull over, to talk to me. But she drove like a woman possessed, the rain hammering the windshield, the wipers useless against the sheets of water.
The headlights of an oncoming truck blinded us for a second, then tires screeched, metal crunched, and the world flipped upside down.
When I woke up, Harriet was gone. They said she died instantly.
And Marco? He never even asked what really happened. He never listened when I tried to explain that Harriet was the one behind the wheel, that I’d been the one screaming for her to slow down.
But in his eyes, I killed her. The twin who was everything. And from that day on, he made sure I paid for surviving. Marco never let me forget it. He proposed to me six months after the funeral. I thought it was grief turning to love. I told myself he had forgiven me. That maybe… maybe he could fall for me too.
But the moment we were married, the truth came out. He wanted to torture me. The mistresses started flooding in. He’d bring them home. Make me serve them drinks. Sometimes, he’d make me stand there while he moaned Harriet’s name in their bed. Like a sick, cruel ritual.
And then came Sandra. My best friend. My last ally. Until she became the sharpest blade.
I don’t know how long I was in the pool. But when I tried to climb out, my body gave in. My limbs burned. My head spun. Water rushed into my throat, and I gasped. “Help…” I whispered, clawing at the edge.
From the balcony, Marco looked down with disinterest. “I know you’re just doing this for attention. You can swim, Hayley. Don’t waste my time.”
And then… nothing.
The next time I opened my eyes, I was on the edge of the pool, half-drenched and freezing. The garden lights were now lit, laughter echoing in the distance.
The party had started. And I—still in my soaked clothes—was nothing but a sideshow. I turned my head slightly and saw Marco and his friends laughing nearby, drinks in hand.
“You’re really making her suffer,” one of them chuckled. “What if she divorces you?”
Marco smirked, swirling his glass. “She wouldn’t dare. That woman owes me. She killed Harriet. This is the least she can do. Even if she tries, I’ll crush it. I’ll bet a million bucks she won’t last a day without crawling back.”
Their laughter rang in my ears as I dragged myself toward the house.
But they were wrong.
Because in my pocket was a message.
From the lawyer: “Your father agreed. He’ll be picking you up in five days. Your mother’s transfer is scheduled. Everything is in place.”
I pressed the phone to my chest, clutching it like a lifeline.
Just a few more days.
Then I’ll be gone.
Then… I’ll finally be free.
