Chapter 2

Hettie is back.

The words were a death sentence. Karissa had always known about Hettie Lindsey, the woman Brady loved, the woman who had supposedly died in an accident years ago.

She had always told herself that she couldn't compete with a memory. A dead person was untouchable.

But now the ghost had returned to life.

"No," Karissa whispered, her voice trembling. "Brady, we're married. I'm your wife."

He scoffed, a cruel, humorless sound. "Wife? Do you really think you deserve that title?"

She couldn't answer. The villa was filled with Hettie' s presence. The garden was full of Hettie' s favorite flowers, the ones Karissa was allergic to. The decor, the colors, the very air she breathed belonged to another woman.

She had nothing here. Not a single thing was hers.

She swallowed the pain, trying one last time. "Brady, I have nowhere else to go. You're all I have."

Her family was gone. Her father had passed away, and her mother had disowned her for marrying Brady, whose family the Simons had allegedly ruined. She' d been working late the night her father had his heart attack, a choice she would regret for the rest of her life.

"The only family I have is Hettie," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He was stating a fact.

The words cut her deeper than any knife. For four years, she had believed they were family, a broken one, but family nonetheless.

He put on a fresh shirt and left without another word, the slam of the front door echoing in the cavernous house.

He left her with the divorce papers.

She stood alone in the dark, a sharp pain radiating from her stomach. It was getting worse.

She fumbled for her pills, swallowing a handful without water.

"I don't want a divorce," she whispered to the empty room. "Brady, please... don't leave me."

Her plea was lost in the silence. She closed her eyes, the darkness inside her matching the night outside.

She hated gardenias. The cloying sweetness of the flowers made her head spin. And she was allergic to them. Yet, the entire garden was filled with them because Hettie loved them.

Darcy was driving her to the hospital. Karissa couldn't stop coughing.

"Karissa, just let me have someone remove those damned flowers," Darcy said, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"No," Karissa said weakly. "He would be angry."

She knew it wasn't about the flowers. It was about the woman they represented. Brady would see it as an attack on Hettie's memory.

They arrived at the hospital. Her doctor, Callum Sullivan, was waiting. He was also her adoptive brother, the only real family she had left. He had been taken in by the Simons after his parents died, and he had always been fiercely protective of her.

He held up her latest scan results, his face grim.

"Karissa, you can't keep doing this," he said, his voice tight with anger and concern.

"How bad is it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"If you continue to neglect your treatment and let your emotional state deteriorate... you have three months left. At most."

She gripped the diagnostic report, her fingers turning white. Three months.

Callum' s voice softened slightly. "Where is he? Where is Brady?"

"He's busy," she lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

"Busy?" Callum's voice rose again. "Busy doing what? Does he have any idea what you're going through?"

He immediately regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, Rissa."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We can start palliative care. It will help manage the pain."

"Okay," she said, accepting her fate.

She walked out of his office, the doctor's words echoing in her mind. Three months.

She walked down the hallway in a daze, her mind numb.

She stopped dead.

Across the corridor, Brady was pushing a woman in a wheelchair. The woman was laughing, her head tilted back as she looked up at him.

Karissa recognized her instantly, even after all these years. Hettie Lindsey.

She was alive.

Then she heard Hettie' s voice, clear and triumphant, drift across the space.

"Brady, I'm pregnant."