Chapter 2

"How could you?" I screamed at him as they put me in the back of the police car. "We were married! I loved you!"

Ethan just watched, his expression unreadable. Sabrina was there now, wrapped in a blanket, being comforted by my biological father, Mr. Clark. She was crying, her shoulders shaking. The perfect victim.

"You were a placeholder, Jennifer," Ethan said, his voice low enough that only I could hear him through the open window. "A mistake that needed to be corrected. This is for Sabrina."

The car door slammed shut, cutting off the world.

At the station, the interrogation was a blur of accusations. They twisted my words, my history. My biological parents, the Clarks, arrived. They didn't even look at me. They went straight to Sabrina, hugging her, shielding her.

My father, the man whose blood ran in my veins, finally turned to face me. His face was contorted with rage.

"You worthless girl," he spat. "After everything we've done for you, you try to destroy your sister's life?"

"She's not my sister," I said, my voice trembling. "And I didn't do it. Ethan is lying. She was driving."

His hand came out of nowhere. The slap echoed in the small room, my head snapping to the side, my cheek burning.

"You will not speak that lie again," he hissed. "You will confess. You will take responsibility for what you've done."

I looked from his hateful face to my mother's cold one. I saw Sabrina peeking from behind them, a tiny, triumphant smile on her face. In that moment, I knew I was utterly alone. There was no one to fight for me.

My lawyer, a man my father had hired and was clearly paying, advised me to take a deal. A confession would mean a lighter sentence. A trial, he said, would be messy, and with my history and "emotional state," I would likely lose and get a much longer term.

The stress was a physical weight on my chest. I could feel my baby, a tiny flutter of life inside me, and a wave of terror washed over me. I couldn't put my child through the trauma of a long, public trial. I couldn't risk the stress causing a miscarriage.

I looked at my parents. "Fine," I said, my voice dead. "I'll sign it."

I took the pen. "This is for my baby," I told them, my eyes locking with my father's. "And it's the last thing I will ever do for you. After this, we are done. You are not my family."

I signed the confession, the ink sealing my fate.