"Victor! Come back! Please, come back now! Talia's having an asthma attack—she's going into shock! Come back and take us to the hospital! I'm begging you!"

But the voice on the other end wasn't Victor's frantic response.

It was a woman's voice—soft, syrupy, laced with drowsiness and mockery.

Rebecca.

"Oh my, if it isn't Odette."

"Victor left this phone at my place."

"So you really signed the divorce papers?"

"Yes, I signed them. Can you reach him now? Tell him to come back—something's happened to Talia—"

I fought to keep my composure.

A soft laugh came through the phone.

"Talia's having an asthma attack? Please. You'd do anything to save this marriage—cry wolf enough times and no one believes you anymore."

In my arms, my daughter let out a feeble whimper. Something inside me snapped.

"Make him come back! She needs help! This is his own daughter! Rebecca, you'll pay for this!"

Rebecca just laughed, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Honestly? It'd be better if she died. Victor's going to have a new child anyway."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stood there in the bitter wind, clutching my daughter as her body went limp in my arms. The hatred that surged through me in that moment—it eclipsed even my terror.

Victor. Rebecca.

If anything happens to my daughter tonight, I will bury your entire family with her.

In the end, that ambulance with its flashing blue lights became the regret I would carry for the rest of my life.

The doctor emerged from the ER, pulled down his mask, and shook his head.

The world didn't collapse. It simply went silent. Completely, utterly silent.

I didn't cry. I just felt something blunt push into my chest and start sawing back and forth until the pain turned to numbness.

I went through the motions mechanically—paperwork, selecting a burial plot, arranging the cremation.

Every form required a family member's signature. The pen trembled so violently in my hand I could barely write.

Somewhere in that haze, I called Victor.

I wanted to tell him our daughter was gone.

I wanted him to see Talia one last time.

First call—rejected.

Second call—rejected.

The third time, my phone buzzed with a text notification.

Victor: Stop calling to harass me. Talk to my lawyer if you have something to say. When you've come to your senses, meet me at the county clerk's office.

I stared at those cold words until my eyes burned dry. Not a single tear fell.