Chapter 1

Five days postpartum, and my stitches still ached.

But my husband, Michael Reed, was waving three plane tickets in excitement. "I can't waste my twenty days of paternity leave. Perfect time to take my parents to Sylvyn."

I was so furious that I grabbed a glass, ready to throw it towards him. Then a line of blood-red text floated across my vision.

[Oh my god. That cruise ship is going to hit a reef and sink tomorrow.]

[No survivors. That whole family of scumbags is going down.]

I froze. Slowly, I set the glass down. "You're right, honey. Your parents worked hard their whole lives. They deserve a nice trip."

Then I opened my insurance app and maxed out the accidental death coverage for all three of them.

*****

My name is Sarah Quinn.

It was the fifth day after my C-section.

The anesthesia had completely worn off, and now the pain from my wound was flaring up like crazy.

Every single nerve in my body felt like it was on fire.

My daughter was sleeping next to me, her little face scrunched up.

I didn't even have the strength to roll over.

The door swung open.

Michael burst in, his face flushed with excitement.

He was waving a few printed papers in his hand. "Honey. I've got some amazing news."

He was so hyped, like he'd won the lottery.

I frowned, and his excitement made my incision throb. "Keep it down. You'll wake the baby."

My voice was so dry and scratchy, like sandpaper scraping my throat.

Michael didn't care at all. He flung the papers onto the blanket right in front of me, like he was showing off. "Look. I snagged tickets for the Majestic Sevens cruise ship. Leaves next week.

"Three tickets. Me, Dad, and Mom.

"I can't spend all twenty days of paternity leave cooped up at home going stir-crazy, right?

"Perfect timing to take them on a seven-day, six-night cruise around the sea."

My mind went completely blank.

Twenty days of paternity leave wasn't for the baby and me after all. He was using it to treat himself and his parents to a vacation.

I stared at him, his face so excited it looked almost distorted. My eyes fell on those flashy, colorful tickets lying on the bed.

Rage exploded inside me, shooting up my spine all the way to my head.

I pushed myself up, trying to sit. The pain from my incision hit me like a knife, sharp and relentless. Cold sweat broke out all over me.

"Michael, look at me," I said, each word with icy clarity. "I just had a baby, and my incision still hurts.

"Our daughter is only five days old, and her jaundice still hasn't cleared up.

"And now you're going to leave us behind and take your parents on a cruise?"

Michael's smile froze on his face. He put the tickets away, a hint of annoyance flashing across his face. "Oh, come on, why are you always like this?

"I wanted to do something nice for my parents. They've worked their whole lives and have never even been on a real trip.

"Besides, it's not like I'm any help around here. I can't calm the baby when she cries, and you always say I'm hopeless at changing diapers.

"I've already hired a maternity nurse for you, double the pay, and she's on call 24/7. What more could you possibly want?"

He said it like he was totally justified, as if I was some crazy woman making a fuss.

I was shaking with anger. I reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.

I was ready to give this jerk a wake-up call with it.

But as my fingers brushed the glass, something totally unexpected happened. Out of nowhere, a line of blood-red text drifted across my vision. It looked like one of those comments that pop up in movies.

[Absolutely don't throw it. If you throw it, they'll cancel the trip.]

I froze. Was this a hallucination? Or was it postpartum depression?

Then, another line of blood-red text floated across my vision.

[Oh my god. It's the Majestic Sevens. Tomorrow's news will say it sinks in the middle of the ocean on the third day, early in the morning, because of sudden extreme weather and a mechanical failure.]

My heart stopped cold.

The third line of text popped up, full of schadenfreude.

[Over three hundred passengers and crew. No one's getting out alive. That cold-blooded family? Good riddance. They're all going down.]

My hand froze in mid-air, still reaching for the glass.

The chill on my fingertips was nothing compared to the coldness in my heart.

Michael saw I wasn't moving and figured he'd finally gotten through to me.

He walked over and gave my shoulder a heavy pat. The force of it sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through my wound. "Sarah, don't take it so hard.

"Family comes first, you know. I'm doing what a son should.

"Just focus on your recovery, and we'll bring you back a present when we get home."

I looked at him, the fire in my eyes fading away. In its place was a cold, lifeless calm he could never hope to understand.

I silently withdrew my hand. Then I flashed him a smile. It was a faint smile, barely there.

"Michael," I called out softly. "You're right. I guess I was being petty.

"Your parents really do deserve a break after all these years. Let them go out and enjoy themselves."

Michael was caught off guard. He clearly didn't expect me to give in so easily.

I kept my calm facade and went on, "Don't worry about a thing at home. The maternity nurse has everything under control.

"Just make sure you all enjoy yourselves out there."

I watched as Michael let out a deep sigh of relief.

Relief washed over his face as he smiled brightly. "I knew my wife was the best."

He leaned in, trying to kiss me.

I turned my head enough so he ended up kissing my hair instead. "Go on, go share the good news with your folks.

"They'll be over the moon."

Michael grabbed the tickets and dashed out of the room, practically bouncing with excitement. "Mom, Dad, we did it."

His excited shouts echoed from outside the door.

My smile faded, replaced by a chill.

I picked up my phone. The screen's glow lit up my pale face.

I didn't open the parenting app or bother with any postpartum recovery guides.

Instead, I opened the insurance app without hesitation. I searched for "overseas travel accident insurance."

I went straight for the one with the highest payout.

Insured persons. I entered their names, one letter at a time: Michael Reed, Robert Reed, and Linda Reed.

Beneficiary. I hesitated for a second. Then, I deliberately typed in my own name: Sarah Quinn.

I entered the payment password and confirmed.

A notification popped up: [Insurance purchased successfully.]

I shut off my phone and tossed it to the side.

The night outside was deep and dark.

I reached out and stroked my daughter's warm, tiny face. Don't be afraid, baby. I would make sure we get a fresh start, a clean future, just for you, for us.