Chapter 1
My name was Nevaeh Porter.
My husband, Rodney Sanford, made me mute with his own hands.
All because his one true love, Phoebe Rich, complained that my voice was too harsh.
The day he took away my voice, he pinned my head down and poured the poison straight into my mouth.
I fought, I cried, I begged him, but he never stopped.
The poison was scalding hot, burning my throat like a branding iron.
After he was done, I lay on the floor like a beaten dog, coughing so hard that it felt like my chest was being torn apart.
He stared down at me coldly. "Don't be scared. This is just temporary. Once Phoebe gets better, I'll give you your voice back."
Then he turned and walked away, not even looking back at me.
He had no idea that I was already carrying his baby.
It had been three months.
*****
My name was Nevaeh.
My husband was Rodney.
We got married three years ago.
On our wedding day, I stood at one end of the aisle in my wedding dress, watching him stand at the other end.
He was incredibly handsome, with a cold, chiseled look and a black suit that made him look like he was from the painting.
My heart was pounding.
From today forward, he was my husband. And I promised to love him and spend my whole life with him.
I started walking toward him step by step.
He looked at me with pure disgust in his eyes, like I was something dirty.
I froze for a moment.
When I finally reached him, I smiled at him.
He didn't smile back.
He turned to the officiant and said, "Hurry up!"
Upon hearing those two words, my heart sank.
When it was time for the toast, he made his rounds from table to table, glass in hand, clinking glasses with every guest, smiling, and exchanging pleasantries.
But he never once looked at me.
I trailed behind him with my own glass, tagging along like his sidekick.
Someone in the crowd shouted, "Come on, kiss the bride."
Rodney paused for a second.
Then he said, "She's not feeling well today."
I froze.
I wasn't feeling sick at all.
He didn't want to kiss me.
On our wedding night, I sat alone on the bed, waiting for him.
Midnight came, but he never showed.
It turned out that night, he was with Phoebe instead.
Phoebe was the girl Rodney could never forget. She was his unattainable love.
They were childhood sweethearts, and rumor had it they were about to get engaged. But then the Rich family ran into trouble, and Phoebe moved overseas.
When she left, Rodney promised her, "I'll wait for you."
Eventually, he married me.
It wasn't because he loved me.
The Sanford family needed a political marriage, and I was the convenient choice.
I was the girl the Porter family adopted. I had no background, no power, and nobody cared about me.
Marrying me sealed the deal for the Sanford family, and Phoebe wouldn't feel threatened.
What a clever scheme it was.
That night, I sat alone on the wedding bed, all night long.
I didn't cry.
I assured myself that it was fine. He was not used to me yet. I believed he'd see my worth over time.
I did everything I could to please him, but he never even looked my way.
That first year of marriage, I tried everything to make him happy.
I learned to cook his favorite dishes.
He loved beef steak, so I spent a whole month perfecting it. The first time, it was way too salty. The second time, it was bland. But on the third try, I finally got it right.
I brought it to him, looking at him expectantly.
He took a bite.
"It's okay," he said.
Then he set his fork aside and headed upstairs.
I stared at the plate of beef steak for ages, not knowing what to do next.
I learned the piano pieces he liked.
His favorite was "Wedding in a Dream." I secretly took lessons for three months, practicing until my fingers were numb from pain.
That night, he was home for once. I sat in front of the piano and played it for him.
When I finished playing, I turned around, hoping to catch his reaction.
He was scrolling through his phone, not even bothering to glance at me.
I started dressing like Phoebe.
If she wore white dresses, I bought white dresses. If she let her hair down, I did the same. If she wore a certain perfume, I made sure to wear it, too.
I became her shadow.
I thought that, if I could be enough like her, he'd actually notice me.
But it was all for nothing.
One day, I was watering the flowers in the garden when Phoebe came by.
She was dressed in a white dress, her hair loose, and wearing the same perfume.
She was my spitting image.
Phoebe paused when she saw me.
Then she smiled, like she found it funny. "Are you copying me?"
I felt my cheeks burn.
She walked right up to me and looked me up and down.
"You really nailed the look. Too bad..." She leaned in, whispering in my ear. "Wearing a white dress? You look like nothing but a country pumpkin."
I froze.
Phoebe walked off with a smirk, leaving me standing there.
That night, I stood in front of the mirror for what felt like forever.
She was right.
White dresses didn't suit me.
But I wore it anyway, because I wanted him to notice me, even if only for a moment.
One look from him was all I wanted.
It was the second year of our marriage.
One day, I came down with a fever.
It was 102°F.
I was burning up, my head was splitting, and I couldn't even lift a finger. All I could do was lie there in bed, totally wiped out.
I picked up the phone and called Rodney.
"Rodney, I... I have a fever," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, hoping he'd care a little.
But before I could even finish, he cut me off. "Call an ambulance yourself. I'm with Phoebe."
All I heard was the cold click as he hung up on me.
I stared at my phone, tears streaming down my face.
He told me to call an ambulance myself.
I was his wife, and he left me behind for another woman.
And I was so sick, burning up and completely alone.
My fever was at 102°F, but he didn't even care.
He said he was with Phoebe. I wondered what she was doing then.
She was drinking coffee, shopping, chatting, living her best life.
She was perfectly fine. Meanwhile, I was running a fever, weak and helpless.