3

Yes, I was pregnant.

That fateful night, when Ethan and Fiona's quarrel had escalated, he had turned to the alcohol, lost in his agony and rage.

Drunk and disoriented, he had mistaken me for her, and one reckless, passionate night led to this unintended consequence.

Not long after, I'd discovered the life blooming within me, a tiny, fragile seed of existence that would alter the course of my destiny.

Ethan knew, too—his eyes, once filled with fiery passion, now reflected a complex mix of emotions I struggled to decipher.

In my previous life, I had made him marry me in the name of indebtedness. My naivety was my downfall, and Fiona, seeing the unraveling of her own dreams, took her own life in a tragic, irrevocable act.

Ethan had transformed into a grotesque caricature of control.

He would shove food at me, relentless and unyielding, and when I refused, he would pin me down with the strength of a predator, forcing me to consume until my belly swelled with the weight of his tyranny.

When the time came for me to give birth, he abandoned me.

Ethan didn't even take me to the hospital.

I remembered the excruciating pain—a searing, all-consuming agony that made my limbs tremble and my vision blur. I screamed in agony, my eyes bloodshot, using every ounce of strength I had, but the baby remained trapped, lodged between life and death.

In the end, I bled to death, my life draining away as blood pooled beneath me, a crimson halo testament to my futile struggle. My child, suffocating within, became a silent victim of our shared tragedy.

Returning home from the hospital, I placed a hand on my still-moving belly, feeling the faint stirrings of the life within.

It was time to end this charade, to break free from the cycle of pain and manipulation.

I took a long nap, a brief respite before the storm.

Four hours later, a message from Ethan jolted me awake:

[My mom is sick. Come back now.]

Ethan was a brute, a man of few words and less compassion.

But his mother, Amy Moore, had always treated me with genuine kindness, a beacon of warmth in the otherwise icy landscape of our relationship.

Our parents had been friends before mine sacrificed themselves, and Amy had always treated me like her own daughter.

However, the tone of this message was clearly not Ethan's.

I knew him too well; he never used punctuation in his texts.

This wasn't from him—it had to be Fiona. Only she would dare to meddle with Ethan's phone to orchestrate this twisted game.

Even knowing it was a trap, I still went.

As soon as I stepped into the Moore Manor and opened the door, a bucket of icy water drenched me from head to toe.

The shock of the cold enveloped me, and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen, a cruel reminder of the life I carried.

The once-quiet room erupted with mocking laughter, a cacophony of derision that echoed through the halls.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw a group of young men and women standing around, their eyes glinting with amusement as they sized me up, eager to witness the spectacle.

And there, in the middle of them, was Fiona, her eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.

"Get her to kneel," she commanded, her voice dripping with malicious delight.

Before I could even gather my wits, a forceful kick sent my legs sprawling, leaving me defenseless on the floor.

Fiona's smirk was laced with contempt.

"Do you have any idea how much Ethan disgusts you? And you're stupid enough to slyly bear his offspring behind my back?"

With a menacing grasp, she seized a bottle of potent liquor, its contents promising a bitter fate.

"Thought you could make Ethan stay with your deceitful little wiles? In your dream, 'cause today, I'll make sure you regret carrying his baby," she hissed.

She lifted the bottle, anticipating my cowering submission.

Yet, I stood unwavering.

As Fiona poured the liquor's fiery contents into my mouth, I drank without resistance, swallowing every drop with obedient determination.

The bottle emptied swiftly, its contents now a part of me, leaving me unafraid and unburdened.

Ethan and the child? They were no longer mine to want or keep.

Once the last drop was gone, I met Fiona's gaze unflinchingly and inquired,

"Have you more to offer?"

She regarded me as if I had lost my sanity.

Then, her hand snatched a hot curling iron from nearby, its heat a palpable threat.

Brandishing it like a weapon, she pushed it toward my eyes—a cruel punctuation to her malice.

Suddenly, a shriek pierced the air. "Blood! She's bleeding hard, f*ck!"

A searing pain tore through my abdomen, bleaching my complexion to a ghastly pallor.

Fiona faltered momentarily, but her resolve hardened swiftly.

Discarding the curling iron with a careless toss, she stomped on my belly before anyone could intervene.

Blood gushed forth, staining the scene with its crimson tale.

A scream died on my lips as darkness enveloped me, swallowing me into oblivion.