Chapter 2
He froze for a moment, clearly not expecting me to be so decisive, then finally took the papers.
I looked at him and suddenly laughed.
"Edward, from today on, we're done. I wish you and Isabelle a long, happy life together—and may you never have a child to call your own."
With that, I turned away, not even sparing him a glance. Step by step, with every limb feeling heavier than the last, I made my way deeper into the obstetrics ward.
As soon as I turned, the tears finally spilled over.
Goodbye, Edward.
And, sorry, baby.
In the end, I couldn't keep the baby.
The doctor said my emotions were too intense, and all the exhaustion from running around was just too much. The baby... was gone.
Lying on that cold operating table, it felt like a piece of me was taken away—along with the tiny life that hadn't even begun to form.
I stared up at the ceiling, numb, until Sophie burst in and wrapped me in her arms, crying her heart out.
"Emma! Are you alright? Where's that jerk? I swear, I'll kill him!"
Sophie was my best friend—the only person who really knew what I was going through.
I looked at her red, swollen eyes and tried to force a smile, but nothing came out.
"Sophie, I don't have a home anymore."
That one sentence made Sophie cry even harder.
She gripped my hand tight, like she was trying to pour all her strength into me.
"Emma, you still have me! Let's ditch that bastard and make a fresh start!"
A fresh start?
If only it were that easy.
The Grant family practically ruled Maybury. If Edward so much as snapped his fingers, I'd be blacklisted everywhere—finding a job would be impossible.
And Isabelle? She was so scheming—there was no way she'd ever let me walk away without a fight.
I closed my eyes, my head spinning.
Edward's cold stare, Isabelle's smug, and... the baby I'd lost forever.
All those scenes kept replaying in my mind, like a movie I couldn't turn off.
Hatred grew inside me, twisting like wild vines, taking over my heart.
Why should I let them get their happy ending?
Why was I the one who has to suffer all this alone?
A crazy idea started to take shape in my mind.
I snapped my eyes open, grabbed Sophie's hand, and said, my voice hoarse but unwavering, "Sophie, help me."
"What?"
"Help me... fake my death."
Sophie's family was powerful—making this happen was no big deal for her.
Three days later, a medical certificate claiming Emma Reed had died from fatal hemorrhage during a miscarriage, along with a cremation certificate, landed in Edward's assistant's hands.
Meanwhile, I took the new identity and a bundle of cash Sophie had prepared for me, and boarded a plane heading south.
As the plane took off, I looked back one last time at the city I'd called home for more than 20 years.
Everything I ever loved—and everything that ever hurt me—was right here.
From this moment on, Emma Reed was dead.
The only thing left was a brand new me, living for myself alone—Emilia Reed.
Three years later. Millgrad.
"Mom! Look! It's a shooting star!"
A little boy in Ultraman pajamas was leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, his finger pointed excitedly at the night sky.
I set down my paintbrush and walked over to scoop him up in my arms.
"Charlie, that's not a shooting star. It's just a plane," I said softly.
He was Charlie Reed—my son.
Back then, the doctors told me the baby was gone, but it was a mistake.
The day after I decided to 'die,' they found a heartbeat—my little fighter's heart was still beating.
He was the best gift the universe ever gave me.
For the past three years, I'd been making a living by painting, and now I was a pretty well-known children's picture book author.
Life with Charlie was peaceful and full of happiness.
Edward, Isabelle, everything about them and what happened—it all felt like it belonged to another lifetime, so far away and blurry.
Charlie tilted his little face up at me, his big, bright eyes sparkling like little gems.
"Mom, are the people on that plane going to see Dad?" he asked, wonder filling his voice.
My heart gave a little jolt.
Charlie was three now, and he was starting to get curious about dads.
I gently stroked his head and said softly, "Charlie, remember what Mommy told you? Your dad went to a place really, really far away, and now he's become a star in the sky, watching over us."
It was the story I'd spun just for him—a little fairy tale to keep his world safe.
Charlie nodded, half-understanding, his tiny hand clutching my shirt.
"But Molly at kindergarten said her dad gets her big Transformer toys. Mom, will my dad get me one too?" he asked.
My throat tightened—I was at a loss for words.
Seeing the longing in my son's innocent eyes, it felt like a needle was piercing straight through my heart.
All I could do was hold him even tighter.
"Yes, Charlie. Whatever you want, Mommy will get it for you," I said softly.
Charlie snuggled into my arms and didn't say anything else.
But I knew this question would come up more and more in the future.
How long could I keep hiding the truth from him?
The next day, after I dropped Charlie off at kindergarten, Sophie called me.
"Emma, check the business news!" she said, sounding more excited than usual.
I felt a sense of dread as I opened the news app on my phone.
The headline of the business section was a huge photo, almost covering the whole screen.
In the picture, an immaculately dressed man stood under the spotlight, surrounded by reporters.