But the child stared back with strange, distant eyes.
He would mumble “Grandma,” but never once called me Mom.
Needles seemed to pierce my heart.
To see my son more, I began trying to win over Deborah.
I gave up every shred of dignity and pride, serving her like a maid—all for a smile, for permission to hold him a little longer.
Yet my humility only earned her growing contempt.
And Austin? He turned a blind eye to it all.
His career expanded; his time at home dwindled.
Our conversations shrank to a few hollow pleasantries.
When I discovered I was pregnant, he was overseas, entangled in a scandal with a young model.
I sent him the pregnancy test. His reply was just two words: *Keep it.*
I don’t know what state I was in when I gave birth to Audrey.
Just like with Walter, Deborah took her away as soon as she was born.
This time, I didn’t even have the strength to resist.
Back-to-back pregnancies and the torment within pushed my body and mind to the brink.
Clumps of hair fell out; my frame grew gaunt, almost unrecognizable.
The mirror showed a sallow face, hollow eyes—a flower withered overnight.
On the rare occasions Austin came home and saw me, his brow would furrow.
Once, tracing the stubborn stretch marks across my stomach, his voice held a hint of disgust. “Why are they so ugly?”
That night, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried until dawn.
Not long after, I did the most foolish thing: I slit my wrists.
Being saved changed nothing.
Deborah despised me even more. She called me unlucky, a madwoman.
To protect the family’s reputation, Austin told everyone I’d only cut my hand by accident.
He hired the finest psychiatrist—not to heal me, but to hush the talk.
Then he began to restrict me. No going out. No seeing friends.
“Barbara,” he said, “you’re unstable right now. Just stay home. If you need anything, tell me.”
I became a canary in his cage—no longer beautiful, feathers tattered and dull.
My life had sunk into utter darkness.
The only thread keeping me going was my mother.
Already frail, she was struck by a hit-and-run driver on her way to visit me.
The surgery she needed was costly, and the driver was never found.
I didn’t dare tell Austin; I knew he wouldn’t help.
So I began secretly selling the jewelry he’d given me, scraping the money together bit by bit.
I told myself: endure a little longer. Once I had enough for the surgery, once Mother recovered, I would find the strength to leave.
But I never made it to that day.
Just when the darkness felt deepest, a woman named Violet appeared.
A rising starlet, pure and lovely—the spitting image of me at eighteen.
Austin became almost obsessed, spending lavishly to lift her to the top.
Soon the whole city knew Mrs. Austin was out of favor, and Violet was the one on his mind.
I became high society’s laughingstock.
I didn’t care.
By then, my heart was already numb. All I cared about was my mother’s health.
When I’d finally saved three hundred thousand and was about to wire it, the hospital called. Her condition had suddenly worsened; she needed bypass surgery now—at least a million.
A million. An astronomical sum.
Everything I had came to less than half that.
I had no choice but to beg Austin.
For the first time, I went to his company.
His secretary stopped me with a professional smile. “Mrs. Austin, Mr. Austin is with a guest. Would you mind waiting?”
I waited three full hours, from afternoon into evening.
At last, Austin stepped out of his office with Violet tucked under his arm.
When Violet spotted me, a smug smile flickered. She leaned her head against his shoulder and cooed, “Austin, is this your wife? She looks so… worn out.”
Austin frowned, his voice icy. “What are you doing here?”
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. *For Mother,* I told myself, *endure.*
I lowered my head, my voice barely a plea. “Austin, my mother is critically ill. She needs a million for surgery. Can you… lend it to me?”
Before he could speak, Violet gasped dramatically. “A million? Darling, money doesn’t grow on trees. And who knows if she’s even telling the truth? What if this is just a scam?”
I looked up, staring straight at Austin.
Hoping for just a sliver of trust—a shred of pity.
But there was none.
His eyes held only suspicion and impatience.
“Barbara, have you really sunk so low you’d lie for money now?”
My world shattered in that instant.
So, in his heart, I was just a scheming liar, willing to do anything for cash.
I laughed, laughed until tears streamed down my face.
I don’t know how I made it back to the villa. I only knew it was over—for me, and for my mother.
That night, I found out I was pregnant again.
Staring at the two bright red lines, I felt nothing but hollow irony.
Before I could decide what to do, Violet came to me.
With a slight swell in her belly, she looked down her nose and announced, “Barbara, I’m carrying Austin’s child. A boy. If you know what’s good for you, get out of the Austin family and give up your title.”
Studying that face, so reminiscent of my younger self, I felt only disgust.
Coldly, I replied, “As long as I don’t divorce him, what’s in your belly will remain a bastard—unfit to be seen.”
Furious, she lunged and shoved me.
I stumbled back, lost my footing, and tumbled down the stairs from the second floor.
Warm blood pooled beneath me.
I lost my third child—an eight-month-old, fully formed baby boy.
When Austin rushed to the hospital, I had just come out of surgery.
He looked at my pale face, his expression unreadable.
I thought, surely he must feel some shred of guilt.
But his first words were, “Violet says you pushed her first. She almost lost the baby, too.”
Looking at him then, the world seemed absurd, laughably cruel.
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see him anymore.
A few days later, the hospital called. My mother had passed away, having missed the last window for surgery.
