Chapter 2

Britt's voice, laced with feigned concern, echoed in the empty diner. "Honestly, darling, I worry about her. You know, Jessi always said Kara had a temper. I just hope she doesn't do anything... rash." She squeezed Kane's arm and then turned to me. "I don't hold a grudge, Kara, not for any of it. Even though you lived my life for so long, I understand. My mother, Jessi, always taught me forgiveness."

She pulled Kane closer. "Let's just leave her be, Kane. She's clearly upset. We don't need to provoke her further. Maybe she'll see sense and take our offer." She shot me a triumphant glance. "She needs space."

Kane nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at Britt. He was so easily manipulated by her carefully crafted victim act. He opened the car door for Britt and Cleveland, then slid into the driver's seat. The engine purred to life, and the expensive sedan began to pull away.

Before the window could fully close, a sudden surge of desperation, sharp as glass, pierced through my numb exterior. "Britt! Wait!"

My hand shot out, slapping against the closing passenger window with a dull th thud. The electric motor, oblivious, continued its upward journey. A searing pain flared through my palm. "Agh!" I gasped, yanking my hand back just as the glass met the top of the frame. A deep crimson line bloomed across my skin.

Kane slammed on the brakes, the sudden jolt throwing me forward. He twisted in his seat, his eyes narrowed. "What the hell, Kara? Are you trying to hurt yourself or us? What do you want now?" His voice was accusatory, his concern solely for Britt.

I clutched my burning hand, tears pricking my eyes, not just from the physical pain, but from the raw wound of his distrust. "You don't understand," I choked out, my voice hoarse. "It wasn't a deliberate swap. There was a fire at the hospital, Britt! A fire!" My voice cracked. "My birth certificate, everything, was destroyed. It was an accident, Britt! A chaotic accident! Not some grand scheme to steal your life!"

Britt' s face, which had been a mask of feigned shock, hardened. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice losing its sugary sweetness.

"Jessi," I pleaded, ignoring Britt's cold facade. "My foster mother. Your biological mother. She's dying, Britt. She's at St. Jude's. She's been asking for you. She's been asking to see her daughter, her real daughter, before she goes." The words tasted like ash. My mother, my Jessi, was fading, and her last wish was for the woman who despised her.

Kane looked bewildered, glancing between us. "Jessi? Dying? I hadn' t heard anything."

"Of course you haven't," I snapped, my eyes fixed on Britt. "Because Britt cut her off completely. Just like she always did." My voice dropped to a whisper, thick with anguish. "Jessi raised you, Britt. She sacrificed everything. She worked herself to the bone in that diner, cleaning, cooking, just to put food on the table for you. She paid off your debts, covered your shady past. All those times you ran into trouble with the law, those 'incidents' at school, the police reports that mysteriously disappeared... Jessi paid for it!"

Britt flinched, a flicker of something, perhaps fear, in her eyes. It was gone in an instant.

I pressed on, fueled by a sudden, desperate strength. "She adored you, Britt. She thought you were brilliant. Even when you were running with those gangs, when you got arrested for shoplifting, when you threatened that girl with a knife in junior high... Jessi always made excuses for you. She always protected you! She thought she was doing the right thing by sending you to live with an older aunt, away from the 'bad influences' in our neighborhood, but she missed you every single day."

The past five years had been a blur of constant struggle. After the Daugherty family effectively erased my academic credentials and froze my accounts, I was left with nothing but Jessi. She took me in, her small, worn apartment becoming my refuge. But the world outside was merciless. The gossip websites, fueled by the Daugherty' s public statements, painted Jessi as a co-conspirator, a woman who had "stolen" a baby heiress and raised her to be a manipulative gold-digger. The online hate, the constant harassment, it broke her. Her health, already fragile from years of hard labor, deteriorated rapidly. She was dying of a broken heart, and a body worn out by endless worry and poverty.

"She's sick, Britt," I pleaded, my voice raw. "She's so sick. She just wants to see you. One last time."

Britt stared at me, her eyes cold, devoid of emotion. "Why should I? She abandoned me, remember? Sent me away. What kind of mother does that?"

My heart sank. I had known she would say that. Part of me, the logical, defeated part, had already anticipated this cold refusal. Britt had always been good at twisting reality to fit her narrative of victimhood. Jessi, my kind, sacrificing Jessi, was just another casualty of Britt's warped perception.

"She did it to protect you, Britt," I whispered, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. "She thought she was giving you a better life, away from our poverty, away from her mistakes. She believed it was for your own good. She loved you."

Britt just snorted, a harsh, humorless sound. "Love? That's a funny way of showing it."

The car window whirred down fully. Britt's face was close now, a chilling smile playing on her lips. "Your hand, Kara," she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. "You shouldn't be so clumsy. Here, let me see." She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away instinctively. "Oh, a little scratch. Nothing a band-aid can't fix."

Kane, ever the gentleman, tried to intervene. "Kara, let me see that. You're bleeding." He reached for my hand again, his touch hesitant.

I flinched back, pulling my hand away as if his touch burned. The memory of his hands, once so tender, now felt alien, contaminated. How many times had he held me, kissed me, whispered promises of forever? How many times had those hands traced my skin, making me feel cherished, safe? Now, they felt like a threat, a reminder of the betrayal that had ripped my world apart.

I remembered Clara, my best friend, teasing me about Kane. "You're glowing, Kara! You literally radiate happiness. God, I swear marriage has turned you into a lovesick puppy." I had laughed then, basking in the warmth of his affection, believing in our shared future.

The DNA test results, those damned papers, had been the catalyst. The Daugherty family, obsessed with their lineage, had insisted on genetic testing after some distant relative raised questions about my birth records. I had gone along with it, never doubting. Why would I? I was Kara Massey, the Daugherty heir's wife, a budding medical researcher.

Then came the fire. The old St. Jude' s Hospital, where Britt and I were born, had a devastating fire decades ago, destroying many birth records. It was a well-known tragedy. But Britt, consumed by her narrative, twisted it into a deliberate act. The papers came back, revealing Britt Harrell was the true heiress, not me.

Kane had been initially supportive. He' d held me tightly, promising nothing would change. "It doesn't matter, Kara. You're my wife. You're a Daugherty in my heart." He' d said words to that effect. He kept me in the mansion, kept up the pretense, even as Britt was brought into the fold, a "poor wronged girl" who needed to be compensated.

But the compensation became more than just money. It became Kane.

I walked in on them. In our bed. Britt, her eyes blazing with triumphant malice, her body intertwined with Kane's. His face, a mask of shame and regret, turned away from me.

"Kara, I'm so sorry," he had mumbled, pulling away from Britt, fumbling for a sheet. "I don't know how this happened. It was a mistake. I was feeling... guilty for Britt. She was so alone."

Britt, on the other hand, had simply stared at me, a cold, hard glint in her eyes. When I screamed, when I tried to lunge at her, she had simply smiled. A slow, chilling smile. She had walked over to me, her naked body unashamed, and knelt before me.

"Please, Kara," she had whispered, her voice innocent, almost childlike. "Forgive us. I know I've done wrong. I know I' ve taken your place. But I didn't mean to. You're so kind, so good. Please, just forgive Kane. He was just trying to make me feel better." She had looked up at me, her eyes wide, glistening with crocodile tears. The feigned remorse was so elaborate, so perfectly executed, it was almost believable.

But I saw the flicker. The subtle, triumphant arch of her brow, the barely perceptible tightening of her lips. She was enjoying this. Every agonizing second of it. She wanted to hurt me, to break me.

"You're a monster," I had spat, shoving her away. "You're a user, a manipulator! You're sick, Britt! You use people, you destroy lives! Do you have any idea what you've done to my family? My parents, who adopted me, they're devastated. My identity, my entire existence, it's a lie because of you!"

Kane, surprisingly, had defended her. "Kara, don't talk like that. Britt's been through a lot. You don't know what she's endured."

Endured? She was luxuriating in my life! "Endured what, Kane? A childhood where someone actually loved her? A foster mother who sacrificed everything for her? A family who took her in even after she showed her true colors?" I had scoffed. "You think I want anything from your family? Take it all! The money, the name, the prestige. I don't want any of it!"

I had rejected their settlement, refused any alimony. I just wanted out. To sever all ties to the Daugherty name, to the lie I had unknowingly lived.

"But... but why?" Kane had stammered, looking genuinely confused. "Why wouldn't you want to keep the house? The car? The financial support?"

"Because it's tainted!" I had screamed, my voice raw. "Because of what you did! Because of her!" I had pointed a trembling finger at Britt. "She's sick, Kane! There's something wrong with her! She's dangerous."

Kane had looked at me, then at Britt, who was now weeping silently, her face buried in her hands. "Kara, please. You're being irrational. Britt is fragile. She's just been through so much trauma. You can't just accuse her of being 'sick' without proof."

"Proof?" I had laughed, the sound hollow and broken. "You want proof? Ask her about her past. Ask her about the men she's been with. The one who warned me about her, the one who told me she had a... a condition. Something she passes on, like a disease. She's infected you, Kane. She's going to destroy you from the inside out."

Kane's face had contorted in disgust. "Get out, Kara. Just get out. You're delusional." And then, he had slapped me. Hard.

The sting on my cheek had been nothing compared to the pain in my heart. He had hit me. The man who swore to protect me, who had once looked at me with such adoration, had just struck me for defending myself, for speaking the truth.

"You think I'm delusional?" I had whispered, my voice trembling, tears finally streaming down my face. "You're the fool, Kane. You're so blinded by pity, by her lies, that you can't see what she really is. You're going to regret this. Mark my words."

He had looked at me with such coldness, such utter disdain, that it had finally clicked. He didn't love me anymore. He hated me. He truly believed I was the villain, the one trying to hurt Britt. He had chosen her. He had chosen the lie.

In that moment, everything I had fought for, everything I had believed in, crumbled. I let go of him. I let go of our life, our future. I let go of Kane. The only thing I clung to, the only fragile hope remaining, was Cleveland.

"You can hate me, Kane," I had said, my voice empty. "You can believe her lies. But my son. He's still my son. I want to be a part of his life."

His eyes had narrowed. "No. You're unstable, Kara. You're a danger to him. I won't let you anywhere near Cleveland. You'll just poison his mind with your bitterness. He's better off without you."

And just like that, he had sealed my fate. My son, too, was ripped from my grasp. I walked out of that house, the house I had believed was my home, with nothing but the clothes on my back and a shattered heart.

Jessi, my foster mother, was waiting for me at the curb. Her face was etched with worry, her eyes red from crying. She hugged me tightly, her frail body shaking. "Oh, Kara, my poor girl. I'm so sorry. I never wanted this for you."

She took me back to her tiny apartment, the familiar smell of old wood and Jessi's homemade cookies a balm to my raw soul. It was cramped, humble, a far cry from the Daugherty mansion, but it was home. My only home.

But even that comfort was fleeting. Jessi's health, already precarious, plummeted. A week later, she was diagnosed with advanced heart disease. The doctors said she needed immediate surgery. The cost was astronomical.

I had nowhere to turn. I had swallowed my pride, gone back to the Daugherty mansion, and fallen to my knees before Britt. "Please, Britt," I had begged, my voice raw with humiliation. "Jessi is dying. She needs surgery. Please, she's your mother, your biological mother. Help her." Britt had just looked down at me, a cold, detached expression on her face, before turning away without a word.

Then I had gone to Kane. He had merely shaken his head. "I'm sorry, Kara. I can't. Not after everything. I can't trust you."

Desperate, I had taken out a series of high-interest loans, mortgaging my future, sacrificing everything to save the only person left who loved me unconditionally. The medical debt was staggering, a crushing weight that promised a lifetime of servitude. A lifetime pushing carts, scrubbing floors, anything to make ends meet. My medical research degree, the one Kane's family had so casually erased, was a cruel joke. Without it, I was just another struggling worker in a country that valued credentials above all else.

My current meager income as a waitress was a drop in the ocean of debt. It was a suffocating reality, a constant reminder of my helplessness.

"Ring! Ring!"

The harsh jingle of the diner phone startled me, pulling me back to the present. Bill, the manager, answered it, his face paling. He held the receiver out to me, his hand trembling. "It's St. Jude's. They said it's urgent, Kara. It's about Jessi."

My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. A cold dread seeped into my bones. I knew. I just knew.

"Hello?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"Ms. Massey? This is Nurse Helen from St. Jude's. It's about Mrs. Marshall. She's taken a turn for the worse. You need to come to the hospital. Immediately."

The phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the counter. The world spun. Jessi. My Jessi.

The urgency in the nurse's voice, the suddenness of it all, sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. I rushed out of the diner, my mind a whirlwind of fear and despair.

I didn't know what I was walking into, but I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that my life was about to unravel even further. The phone call was a prelude to something far more devastating than just a hospital visit. It was a warning.