I recognized her voice, and then I remembered. This was one of the women who’d ambushed me outside the hospital that day.

Her eyes met mine, and she tossed an ultrasound printout onto the table.

"I'm already pregnant with Drake's baby. I'm the lady of this house. Get out!"

"Cecilia's my woman, the lady of this house!" Drake Alexander strode in, his voice booming.

I picked up the ultrasound. The baby was three months along. Drake had a wild streak, sure, but he’d never actually slept with anyone.

It didn’t matter. My time was running out anyway. He’d gotten his wish: a child of his own.

Seeing my blank stare at the report, Drake tried to reassure me, "Cecilia, I wouldn't do things like that with someone else. You know me."

The other woman kept yapping, claiming Drake had been drunk that night, blacked out, and wouldn’t remember a thing.

Drake’s mom chimed in, earnestly trying to talk him down. She warned him that marrying me would make them a laughingstock, especially after the divorce and miscarriage news had gone viral in their social circles.

Right there beside me, Drake defied his mother. He declared he’d marry no one but me, and if pushed, he’d just take me and disappear.

That’s when his dad stepped in and slapped him.

Drake’s dad had always been the chillest dude. I’d never seen him lose it like that.

The other woman advanced and shoved me. "Used goods! Say something! Why are you playing innocent?"

"Get away from her! I never touched you!" Drake shoved the woman to the floor. The sheer chaos of the manor was making my head spin.

"Enough!"

The room went dead silent. Drake grabbed my arm. "Cecilia, I told you I wouldn't hurt you again. I'll take you away."

I shrugged off his hand, my voice ice cold. "Drake, who are you trying to impress with this whole devoted act?"

He looked stunned. "Cecilia, you can't talk to me like that. You know I love you."

Seeing the helpless look in his eyes twisted something in me, but I didn't have the luxury of time.

I put on a mask of indifference. "So what? You knew I was terrified of water, yet you still chucked me into the ocean."

He paled, his grip tightening on my hand. "Julien told me you'd secretly signed up for swimming lessons ages ago."

I shot back, "So without even knowing if I'd conquered my fear, you were willing to risk throwing me into the ocean?"

He froze. His parents rushed to pull him away.

I gently pried his hand off my arm. "Drake, let me go. You're the one who hurt me the most."

He turned and walked straight out the door. The moment it clicked shut, a single tear escaped my eye.

I calmly headed to the hospital, got into bed, and went through the motions with the doctors, all for pointless tests. The needle marks on my hands multiplied.

It did little for my illness, only softening the blow of my final journey.

Ten days later, the warm winter sun flooded the hospital room. I held my fingers up, gazing at them in the light, again and again.

Just ten days, and my fingers were even more skeletal.

The hospital room door creaked open. I turned to see my mother standing there. I looked at her, a flicker of confusion in my eyes.

She spoke, "Cecilia, I heard you're leaving."

She approached, reaching out to help me. I pulled away, slowly settling back onto the edge of the bed myself.

"Who told you?"

My mother didn't answer. Instead, she produced a delicate silver chain bracelet with a tiny cross pendant and fastened it around my wrist.

"You wanted this, didn't you? Mom's giving it to you now... Stop fighting with your father. Don't be mad at your little brother."

I frowned, utterly lost. Little brother? My supposed brother had been married for years.

This bracelet... Mom had bought it for him when he was born. To be exact, she’d bought it for him, not for me.

That day, I’d thrown a tantrum, and my stepfather had hit me. My mother, holding my brother, had just stared at me with utter disgust.

My mother continued, "I'm sorry... Just hang in there for now. When Mom has secretly saved enough money, I'll take you and your brother away."

"Mom, what are you talking about?" I asked, my voice strained.

"Your mother has dementia."

Drake’s voice cut through the air as he entered. He’d brought her here.

"How did you know I was here?"

I looked up at Drake, never expecting to see him again, not when I was on my way out.

He came closer, took my hand, and said, "Ever since we were kids, I always knew what you were thinking the second your eyes shifted. Did you really think you could fool me?"

So, my drastic change in attitude that day had put him on high alert. With his connections, digging up my situation was child’s play.

He told me my mother had always felt guilty about what happened back then, but she couldn't support me.

She'd had to swallow her pride and make a living with my stepfather, who ran a small café. She could only treat me poorly in front of him so he wouldn't target me.

After I was taken in by Drake's family, she'd felt a sense of relief. At least I didn't have to live in constant fear of getting beaten.

I glanced at my mother, her eyes clouded with confusion, then looked away. "How she treated me doesn't matter anymore."

Drake walked around in front of me, a roguish grin on his face. "But before, every time we went shopping, your eyes would always linger on mothers and daughters holding hands."