Chapter 2

Each of his words was like a knife twisting in my chest.

A joke? God, how I prayed this tragedy was just a cruel joke. If only my daughter were safe at home, waiting for me with her bright smile...

"You've lived comfortably all these years. Do you know who earned that for you? Me!" His breath hitched audibly. "You'd better think about pleasing me, Eleanor!"

Before I could speak, a nurse approached and extended a clipboard. "You're the mother of the deceased girl, aren't you? Please sign here."

Arthur's scoff crackled through the phone. "Eleanor, are you seriously dragging a nurse into this charade to trick me into coming back?"

I gave the nurse a tight nod and signed the paper, my fingers trembling slightly. Ignoring Arthur's sneering voice, I hung up.

What a heartless bastard.

Hours later, while I was resting at home, the front door opened.

"I'm back. What now, huh? What do you want?" Arthur sprawled on the sofa, his head propped lazily on his hand.

My eyes were raw and swollen from two days of silent weeping. A fragile thread of resolve—the knowledge that my daughter deserved peace—was the only thing holding me upright.

"We need a divorce."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"This..." I gestured vaguely at the opulent room, at the cold emptiness of it all. "This isn't a family. I want a divorce."

He stared at me and barked a harsh, mocking laugh. "What about our daughter? Have you persuaded her to turn against me too? Going to make her run off with Mommy?" He sat up straight. "It won't work! Everything here is mine. You'll walk away with nothing."

A wave of crushing weariness washed over me. "I don't want anything. Keep it all."

I pulled the folded papers from my worn handbag and set them carefully on the glass table.

He stiffened in disbelief. "Is... is this real?"

It couldn't be any faker than your grief, I thought bitterly.

"Be at the courthouse at nine tomorrow morning," I said, my voice flat. "Just do this one last thing for us."

"Enough!" He surged off the sofa, tearing his tie loose in one furious motion.

Before I could react, his hand clamped around my throat, slamming me against the cold wall.

"Do you think you can push me like this?" His voice was low and dangerous. "My patience is gone."

The image of our daughter's body on the floor—lifeless, still—collided with his cruel dismissal in my mind. Agony burned through my chest.

"Go ahead," I rasped. A bitter smile touched my lips as I went limp. "Strangle me. I've got nothing left to lose."

"Eleanor, you're insane!" he shouted, recoiling as if he'd touched fire.

Fear flashed in his eyes before anger drowned it out. "Christ! Are you seriously this jealous of another woman? I thought you were the rational one..."

"Shut up!"

Days of grief and rage finally exploded. My palm cracked across his face with all my strength.

"You're still thinking about her!" My voice tore raw from my throat. "While your daughter is dead! She's gone, Arthur! Dead!"

My scream ripped through the penthouse. "You are absolute scum!"

He went utterly still. Then, without a word, he strode toward our daughter's room. He emerged moments later, wearing a mask of cold disdain.

"Great. You're even faking her death to get back at me." His lip curled. "From now on, stay away from my daughter! Don't ever see her again!"

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the frames on the walls.

I didn't know how long I sat on the floor, my breaths ragged. Finally, moving like a ghost, I began gathering my daughter's things. The familiar scent clinging to her blanket nearly undid me.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently on the table. It was a call from the cemetery staff.

"Mrs. Hayes?" a panicked voice yelled over the chaotic background noise. "You need to come now! A lunatic is digging up your daughter's grave, cursing and swinging a shovel. We can't stop him. Please, hurry!"