Eventually, she perched on the edge of my bed, her legs crossed and her posture casual. The crisp white shirt she wore hung loosely on her slender frame, the collar slipping down one shoulder.
"Don't you understand what I'm saying?" she said, her tone sharp yet deceptively sweet. "Tristan loves me. If you're smart, you'll abort your child and divorce him immediately."
Her words hit with the force of a slap, but my heart was beyond breaking. I had no more tears to shed. My lips moved mechanically, forming the response I knew would defuse her venom.
"I've already aborted the baby," I said quietly, my voice flat. "You can rest assured."
For a moment, Anya's expression flickered with doubt. Then she snorted, her lips curling into a cold smile. "You say you've aborted it, but if I find out you lied to me...." Her voice trailed off, a threat heavy in the air. "I won't let you off."
With that, she stormed out, her bare feet thudding against the floor.
As the door slammed shut, a strange calm washed over me. Strictly speaking, Anya was my stepmother's daughter—a product of my father's betrayal. My father had abandoned my aging mother years ago, leaving her to wither away in loneliness.