Chapter 2

The sun beat down without mercy. Looking at my feet, I saw they were growing faint, almost translucent, in the harsh light.

The moment I drifted into the yard, the shrill voice of my mother-in-law, Mabel, assaulted my ears. "I told you not to marry her," she yelled, "but you never listen. That sly little tramp. God knows whose bed she's warming this time! Seven days gone!

"When she comes back, you divorce her. Get rid of that baby. We don't need a bastard child in this family!"

I moved to stand before Edward. He sat with a thunderous expression, glaring at his phone screen. My name, Lucy, glowed back at him.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He snatched it up, and the instant he saw the caller ID, the storm in his eyes cleared. "Charlotte?" he answered. "Is everything all right?"

"Edward, is Lucy still not back?" Charlotte's honey-sweet voice came through the speaker.

Charlotte?

I rested my chin in my hand, watching him.

Charlotte was his first love. He'd said it to my face: if not for me, he and Charlotte would have found happiness. Well, he got his wish. I was dead. They were free.

"No," Edward said, massaging his temples, his gaze turning hard. "Forget her. She's always throwing tantrums, making scenes. She'll come back in a day or two."

Yes. Charlotte knew that. Lucy might wilt in misery, but she would always cling to Edward.

Concern oozed from her voice. "Edward, maybe you should try to find her. She is pregnant. What if something goes wrong?"

"She's a survivor," he said. "Even her own father couldn't break her spirit. She'll land on her feet."

His tone, so scornful a moment before, softened to silk when he spoke to Charlotte. "Don't worry about it. You get some rest. If your ex bothers you again, I'll make sure he ends up behind bars."

"Okay," she said. "And Edward, thank you for being with me last week. I couldn't have gotten through it without you."

After the call ended, Mabel settled herself beside Edward on the couch. "Charlotte got divorced?" she asked.

"Mhm," Edward muttered, scrolling absently on his phone. Suddenly, his thumb froze over a news headline.

The headline read: [Drunk Driver Flees After Striking Multiple Pedestrians].

Mabel's eyes gleamed with calculation. "Why not give Charlotte another chance?" she said. "Sure, she's not the beauty Lucy was, but she has a good family and is a proper match for ours."

Edward pushed himself up from the couch. "We'll see," he said.

Then he snatched up his keys and jacket and left.

"I know you, boy," Mabel said with a triumphant smile. "I'll box up that little tramp's things, then go and bring Charlotte home."

I stood before Mabel as memories surfaced: her instant dislike the day we met, her false accusation that I had stolen from her.

Back then, Edward wasn't like this. He'd defend me and confront her.

When did he change?

A wave of melancholy washed over me as I thought back to our story.

*****

We met in college. Our story was a clichéd drama. He was old money; I was a scholarship student working two jobs.

My mother died young, and I grew up with my father. I learned early that my looks were a curse. By middle school, boys hovered around me. My father's response was always the same: a beating and the accusation that I was asking for it.

I grew up under the shadow of his violence. Through high school and college, I paid my own way with secret jobs.

In college, I crossed paths with Edward, the rebellious heir.

For a time, he was my fortress, my sole sliver of light in a world of shadows.

He had my back. When my father hit me, he'd stand up to him.

He respected my work ethic. He'd even join me for grunt work, clocking minimum-wage hours all summer.

Back then, I truly believed fate had finally cut me a break.

But marriage changed him. He grew volatile and suspicious, an echo of my father. A simple trip to work sparked accusations of infidelity.

So I quit and became a full-time wife, tethered to the house and to him.

Years of childhood deprivation left my body weak. Conceiving was a struggle.

He was supportive at first, sharing my careful diet and even piling on the pounds with me.

Things were good, but then, one day, I came down with a raging fever...

*****

My thoughts were interrupted as I saw Mabel march into our bedroom with Martha, the housemaid, and begin tearing our wedding portraits from the walls.

"I never could stand the sight of her," Mabel exclaimed. "A cheap flirt just like her mother!"

Martha opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. After a moment of tense silence, she ventured, "It's been a week since Lucy left. I can't help but worry."

"Worry? She's likely with that Samuel. I always knew that thing in her belly was his. Our family has always been blessed with sons—of course she was carrying a useless little girl!"

"I wasn't unfaithful. Samuel is just a friend. And my daughter is not useless!" I argued loudly, just like I always did when I fought with her, but this time she couldn't hear me.

"But," Martha met Mabel's gaze, lowering her voice, "that incident with Lucy and Mr. Grant... you orchestrated it."

Mabel's laugh was icy. "What if I did? That girl was never worthy of our family. Keep your mouth shut around my son, unless you want to find yourself jobless and blacklisted in this town."

I went still. The truth, cold and sharp, finally pierced me: the entire affair had been a fabrication, engineered by her.