Chapter 6

The pregnancy symptoms were a thousand times worse than I ever imagined. I was throwing up so much I lost track of time. Anything I ate came right back up, and in the end, I was surviving on nothing but plain water.

My stomach felt like it was burning up, but I didn't even have enough money for the cheapest anti-nausea meds.

One night, out of nowhere, a sharp pain ripped through my stomach. I rolled off the bed and curled up on the cold, damp concrete floor, my clothes soaked with cold sweat.

I didn't have the money to go to the hospital, and I was too scared to call for help. All I could do was bite down hard on my lip, clutching my stomach. I kept repeating in my head, 'Please, don't let anything bad happen.'

In that moment, hatred and a strange, twisted bond tangled together inside me. I hated this baby. He was the filthiest mark Owen left on me, a constant reminder of how stupid and humiliated I was.

But in the endless loneliness, the baby was the only living thing connected to me by blood. He was the only real reason I had to keep going.

The signal in the basement was awful, so sometimes I'd make my way up to the stairwell to grab a bit of signal and get online.

One day, I stumbled across a piece of financial news.

In the photo, Owen was decked out in a designer suit, holding a glass of champagne, chatting happily with a stunning socialite. His handsome face wore that perfect smile, radiating confidence and charm. He was back in Jodonia, still the golden boy everyone adored.

The article called him a young, talented rising star, the hottest new name in the business world.

I stared at the screen, at how polished and successful he looked, then glanced down at my own hands, dry and brittle from malnutrition, and the damp, filthy basement around me.

The gap between us felt like an invisible hand choking me.

Why? Why did he get to destroy everything I had and still live in the spotlight?

Hatred wrapped around my heart like creeping vines, squeezing so tight I could barely breathe.

My phone buzzed. It was Mom calling.

I drew in a shaky breath, gathering every bit of strength to steady myself before swiping to answer.

"Claire, why did it take you so long to pick up? Is the signal bad?" Mom asked.

"Yeah. Mom, I switched internships, and the signal here isn't great," I replied, doing my best to sound cheerful, like nothing was wrong.

"Oh, that's good. So, when are you coming home? I miss you," Mom said, her voice careful and probing.

My chest tightened sharply, the pain almost unbearable.

"Really soon, Mom. Once I finish up this project, I'll come home to see you. Remember to take your meds, get plenty of rest, and don't worry about me, okay?" I said.

"Alright. I won't worry," Mom answered.

After hanging up, I couldn't hold it together anymore. I clutched the cold pillow, buried my face deep in it, and cried my heart out. My tears soaked the musty pillowcase, but I kept my sobs quiet, terrified the neighbors might hear.

Sorry, Mom.

I was so ashamed I wanted to smack myself hard. Not only had I failed to make her proud, I'd turned into a liar through and through, a coward too scared to even go home.

*****

Meanwhile, in a law office on the top floor of the city's CBD, Eugene was alone.

He slipped a file into the shredder, leaving behind a single sheet of paper. On it were a flight number and an unremarkable address in a small southern town.

His gaze was distant as he looked out at the traffic below, the expression behind his glasses impossible to read. He hadn't handed this information over to Owen's father, Mortimer Fleming.

Eugene's so-called "mercy" was just the cover for something much more calculated, something that would play out over the long run.

*****

The days passed by with morning sickness and hunger.

One day, while cleaning up, I found an old book wedged under the bed, abandoned by whoever lived here before. The cover was battered and caked in dust.

I brushed off the dust and read the title: [Fundamentals of Jurisprudence.]

I flipped it open, and a bold line of text caught my eye, burning itself into my mind like a hot iron.

It read, [Fairness and Justice.]

I couldn't look away from those words.

Fairness? Justice?

I used to believe in all that, but these past few months had shattered it to pieces. Eugene turned everything upside down in court, everyone lied on the stand, the school didn't care, and my landlord sneered at me.

Where was fairness? Who gave a damn about justice for me?

A cold, ruthless idea burst forth in my heart, scorched and barren from hatred and despair.

If the world refused to give me justice, then I'd seize it with my own hands.

I would become a lawyer.

I'd rise to Owen's level, maybe even higher. I'd personally drag him, and everyone and everything behind him, right onto the stand for judgment.

This wild idea became the only straw I could cling to, the thing keeping me afloat. It cut through the haze and brought a piercing clarity.