Forgive me. For what? For surviving? For watching my baby die while they planned their perfect life?
I bit down the scream building in my throat and said nothing. No tears this time. Just cold silence. That seemed to annoy them more than any begging would have.
“Fine,” Xander snapped. “Be that way. But you’re still coming home to plan Mother’s party. You owe us that much.”
They dragged me out of the hospital before the nurse could even check my bandages properly. Back at the house, they left me in the guest room to recover — but I knew better. I was nothing more than a maid with a ruined womb and a name they could blame for their messes.
I forced myself out of bed that night. I found every piece of our so-called life together — the wedding album we never finished, the love notes he used to scribble when he still needed to convince me he cared, the designer dresses he gifted me after every scandal. All of it.