Chapter 4

Amelia POV

I stayed in the hospital for two more days, behaving unusually docilely.

Alexander visited me daily, completely unaware. He looked at my abdomen with anticipation-where a prosthesis was carefully padded.

The night before I was discharged, Alexander sat by my bed, peeling an apple.

"Amelia, you've been so brave these past few days. Harper says you're recovering very well."

I picked up a slice of apple, chewed slowly, then casually remarked, "Yes, it's all thanks to Harper. You know, Alexander... when I chatted with Harper, she confided her dream to me. She's always wanted to be a researcher at UCLA Medical Center. It's one of the top obstetrics and gynecology research institutions in the world."

Alexander paused, the knife suspended above the fruit. "Really? She never mentioned it to me."

"She's too proud, too embarrassed to ask. Because she's Aurora's best friend, she didn't want you to think she was using her connections," I sighed, my tone serious. "But she's taken such good care of me. I'd feel so guilty if we didn't help her. Besides, if she studies there, think of what excellent medical care she could provide Aurora when she returns."

At the mention of "taking care of Aurora," Alexander's interest was piqued.

"You have a point," he nodded. "The Pierce Group has sponsorship funds at UCLA. Talent shouldn't be buried. This would be a career-changing opportunity for her."

"And it has to be soon," I added, pressing my advantage. "I heard the program starts next week. If she misses it, she'll have to wait a whole year."

"Alright. I'll have my assistant arrange it right away." Alexander was always decisive, pulling out his phone on the spot.

As he dialed, I lowered my head and took another bite of the apple.

Crisp. Sweet.

The next morning, Dr. Harper was summoned to the hospital director's office.

Instead of an inquiry into medical malpractice, she was offered a prestigious, fully funded scholarship to UCLA, along with a first-class ticket departing that very afternoon.

Rumor had it she nearly fainted with joy. She presumed Aurora had pulled strings with Alexander for her. She barely packed, rushing to JFK Airport to catch her flight to the West Coast.

She never dreamed that this so-called "bright future" was a golden cage I had built to silence her.

I needed her far away so she wouldn't discover that Aurora didn't want the baby to die-she wanted its heart. If Harper had stayed, she would have quickly realized her mistake.

...

I stayed in the hospital for three more days, refusing all visitors.

Alexander sent flowers and health supplements through his assistant, which I sent back. When he called, I pretended to be very tired, telling him to focus on his work. He praised me for being "understanding."

He had no idea I was recovering from a mother's most profound trauma.

The day of my discharge, the weather was overcast.

Alexander's assistant waited promptly at the door, respectfully opening the car for me.

"Madam, Mr. Pierce sent me to take you home."

"No need," I refused calmly, turning to hail a yellow cab.

In the rearview mirror, I could see the assistant's bewildered face.

The car drove towards Sycamore Estate. As we neared the entrance, I asked the driver to stop a good distance away. Through the car window, I saw an incredibly heartwarming scene.

Alexander, my parents, were all doting on Aurora, showering her with affection.

Aurora, dressed in an expensive white dress, pouted playfully, charming Alexander.

My mother lovingly tidied her disheveled hair.

The four of them stood together, like a perfect painting.

And I, like an outsider who couldn't bear the light of day, hid in a taxi, spying on everything that should have been mine.

My husband. My parents. Their devotion, a river that flowed only to the impostor who lived in my stolen skin.

And I had just ended an innocent life, all alone.

The familiar, rending ache bloomed again in my chest. This time, I didn't look away. I let my eyes drink in the scene, let it sear itself onto the marrow of my bones. I never forgot that these people had forfeited all mercy.

Only when their laughter had dissolved into the villa did I slip inside through the side door.

The villa was empty. They were probably all in the side parlor with Aurora.

I went straight upstairs to the bedroom and dialed the number of the Mother Superior at St. Jude's Abbey.

"Mother Superior, it's Amelia."

"Amelia, may God be with you," the nun's voice was calm and peaceful.

"Mother, I wanted to ask, does the abbey still take in broken hearts?" My voice had a slight tremor.

There was a long silence on the other end.

"The Lord's door is always open for you. Come, St. Jude's Abbey is always at your service."

"Thank you."

Then, I pulled out my phone again and drafted a scheduled email.

The recipient was Alexander.

The attachment was a photo.

A photo of that tiny, fully formed fetus, suspended in a jar of formalin.

I stared at the heartbreaking picture, my finger hovering over the send button, yet unable to press it.

Not yet.

I would wait for the perfect moment to drag them all into hell.