Chapter 3

I had bought that apron back when I opened my very first diner. It was faded from years of washing, with my name neatly embroidered on the pocket.

I stared at those letters for a long, quiet moment.

Noticing my gaze, Freya looked down and scrambled to untie it. "Oh, I didn't realize this was yours.

"The housekeeper told me I could use anything in the kitchen, so I just grabbed it."

Vincent rolled my suitcase against the wall. "Freya hasn't been sleeping well lately. Her doctor suggested she stay with someone familiar for a while.

"Mom is too old to look after her, so I told her she could stay here for a few days."

"Where is she sleeping?" I asked coldly.

He paused, clearing his throat. "The study."

I looked up at him, disbelieving. "My study?"

That room held all my business ledgers, contracts, my baby's ultrasound photos, and every single letter I had written to my unborn child.

Vincent rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking exasperated. "Fiona, it's just a temporary setup. I had the housekeeper safely pack your things away."

I brushed past him and walked straight to the study.

When I pushed the door open, the room was completely unrecognizable.

My desk had been shoved near the balcony, and the small picture frames on the wall were gone.

A folding cot occupied the corner, its bedside table cluttered with Freya's pill bottles, a mug of water, and a nightlight.

I marched over to my desk drawer.

The lock had been pried open, completely ruined. Inside, the letters, the ultrasounds, the tiny baby socks, everything was gone.

My hands gripped the edge of the desk. "Where is my stuff?"

Freya hovered by the doorway, her voice meek and defensive. "Fiona, please don't get upset.

"I was just worried that seeing those things would break your heart, so I asked the housekeeper to put them in the storage room for now."

I whirled around, glaring at her. "Who gave you permission to touch my drawers?"

Her eyes immediately welled with tears. "I was only trying to help."

Vincent's tone sharpened as he stepped into the room. "Fiona, she's barely recovering from a traumatic accident. Watch your attitude."

I nodded slowly, a bitter smile touching my lips. "Right. She's recovering, so she has the energy to break my locks."

Vincent's face soured. "The housekeeper broke the lock by mistake, not her."

In the kitchen, the housekeeper instantly looked down, avoiding my eyes.

I didn't press further.

I turned on my heel and walked into the storage room.

A musty, damp smell hit me the moment I opened the door.

Cardboard boxes were piled haphazardly against the wall. The top one was crudely labeled "Maternity Items."

I knelt down and tore it open.

It contained nothing but a few pieces of my old maternity clothes.

The tiny socks, the beanies, the baby blankets, none of it was there.

I tore through the boxes one by one.

Finally, at the very bottom of the last box, I found a printed inventory sheet for a charity auction.

It said: [One crib, one bottle sterilizer, six unopened packs of diapers, twelve pieces of newborn clothing.]

At the bottom of the page, the donor's signature read: [Freya Sterling.]

Clutching the piece of paper tightly, I walked back out.

In the living room, Adeline had just arrived.

When she saw the paper in my hand, her expression turned indifferent.

"Keeping those things around will only bring you heartache," Adeline said, her tone completely matter-of-fact. "I told Freya to donate them to the charity auction to raise money for your late brother-in-law's memorial fund.

"Now that the baby is gone, what use do you have for them anyway?"

I stood dead center in the living room, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Those were my things."

Adeline frowned, her voice dripping with irritation. "Fiona, why are you being so incredibly petty? The King family has treated you nothing but well over the years.

"Freya is a widow; her life isn't easy. As her sister-in-law, what's wrong with helping her out a little?"

I turned my gaze to Vincent. He stayed completely silent.

Freya bit her lip, moving closer to Adeline.

"Adeline, please don't be hard on Fiona," Freya said, her voice soft with forced sympathy. "She just lost the baby and she's hurting.

"I can find the items myself, even if I have to buy them back with my own money."

Adeline immediately patted her hand, her expression hardening as she looked at me. "Don't enable her, Freya.

"She's just playing the victim to make this entire family revolve around her."

Vincent King finally spoke up, his voice tight. "Mom, stop it."

I stared directly at him, refusing to look away. "Do you think I'm playing the victim too?"

He looked away for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Fiona, you're still recovering. Let's not start a fight right now."

A fight. That was all this was to him.

Losing my baby, having my private drawers pried open, and seeing my child's nursery supplies taken for a charity auction were all just a "fight."

That night, Freya knocked on my bedroom door, holding a glass of warm water.

I didn't invite her in, but she stood at the threshold anyway, refusing to leave.

"Fiona, I know you blame me," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

When I didn't answer, she continued, "But Vincent has been completely running on fumes for years.

"Ever since you got pregnant, he's been running himself ragged between the office, the house, and checking on me.

"The night of the accident, he saved me first because he knew you were the stronger one, not because he didn't care about you."

I snapped my medical file shut, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

"Get out," I said, my voice cold.

Tears instantly welled in her eyes. "Please don't do this. Vincent is caught in the middle, and it's killing him."