My fingers trembled as I typed my reply. Then do this for me, Joseph. Make everyone believe my daughter is dead. Make them think I’m dead too. I don’t want him anywhere near our lives ever again. Not after this. Not after everything he’s done.
The response came almost immediately. Done. I’ll take care of it. I’ll see you soon, love.
Love.
The word made something twist inside me, but I ignored it. Feelings didn’t matter anymore. Only freedom did. Only Sienna’s safety. I would accept whatever price came with that.
I set the phone aside and grabbed a suitcase from the closet. My movements were fast, mechanical—clothes shoved in without care, shoes tossed on top, jewelry swept from drawers. Each zip of the bag felt like sealing shut a chapter of my life I never wanted to reopen.
Then a voice sliced through the room.
“I’m really sorry about your baby,” Bianca said softly from the doorway, her tone dripping with fake sympathy.
I stiffened, my hands pausing mid‑fold.
“But honestly,” she went on, walking in like she belonged there, “you can’t blame him for doubting you. Especially after what your father did. You should’ve been honest about his scam from the start. Secrets always come back to bite.”
I kept my back turned, folding another dress with shaking hands. She was baiting me. I refused to snap.
Still, anger burned hot in my chest. My father’s sins were never mine. I had spent my whole life paying for mistakes I didn’t make. Why was I still being punished for his past? And why did she think she had the right to throw it in my face?
She moved closer, fingers reaching for my clothes. “So you’re leaving?” she said with a light laugh. “That’s for the best. You really don’t belong here anymore. Let me help you pack.”
“I don’t need you,” I said sharply, finally turning to face her. “Leave. I can do this myself. And don’t pretend—I know every word out of your mouth is an act.”
She ignored me and stepped farther into the room, touching things that weren’t hers.
Then her arm brushed the side table.
The vase tipped.
It shattered the moment it hit the floor.
My breath caught painfully in my chest.
Not that vase.
It was Sienna’s—the one she had made at school with her tiny hands, the one she painted herself, the one she won first prize for. My daughter’s proud little creation. Gone in pieces.
Something inside me snapped.