Chapter 3

Evelyn POV:

A tense silence filled the room. Detective Miller' s pen hovered over his notepad. Eugene' s face froze, the mask of the grieving husband cracking for a fraction of a second.

Hollis, ever the performer, burst into a fresh wave of sobs. "It' s all my fault!" she wailed, rushing to the other side of the bed. "I shouldn' t have wandered off in the park! Bad men took me and then they hurt Mommy!"

"Shh, sweetie, no," Eugene said, instantly snapping back into character. He pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair. "It' s not your fault. It' s those monsters. Don't you worry, the police will catch them." He looked at the officers, his expression a careful blend of sorrow and paternal strength. "She' s been through a terrible ordeal. She' s blaming herself."

The detective' s face softened with sympathy. "Of course. We understand. Son, you' re a hero for getting your mom help."

The officers left soon after, promising to check back in. The moment the door clicked shut, Eugene' s demeanor changed. The performance was over.

"What was that, Evelyn?" he hissed, his voice low and menacing.

I ignored him and looked at Hollis, who was still clinging to his leg, peering at me with wide, watchful eyes.

"Hollis," I said, my voice raspy. "Did the bad men hurt you?"

She shook her head, her lower lip trembling. "They just... they put me in a car. And they told me to call you. They said if I was a good girl and did what they said, they wouldn' t hurt you too bad." She buried her face in Eugene' s trousers. "I' m sorry, Mommy. I was so scared."

For a heart-stopping second, I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe this was all a terrible misunderstanding, that my daughter was a victim, not a conspirator. The maternal instinct to protect her, to absolve her, was a powerful, physical ache in my chest. But the memory of her words, "I like Brenna better anyway," was a wall of ice that instinct couldn't penetrate.

I looked away from her, back to the architect of my ruin.

"I' m not changing my mind, Eugene," I said, the words tasting like metal. "The divorce is happening. And you' re not getting a dime."

His face contorted with a flash of rage. "Are you insane? After everything that' s happened? You' re still on about this?"

"Especially after everything that' s happened." I held his gaze. "Sign the papers, or the first call I make when I get a new phone is to a reporter."

"You wouldn' t dare."

"The only thing I was afraid of was losing my daughter," I said, my voice hollow. "Now it seems she was already gone."

He flinched as if I' d slapped him. He looked down at Hollis, then back at me, his expression a mixture of fury and frustration.

"I have to go," he said abruptly. "I have... I have things to take care of. Business." He practically fled the room, dragging a confused Hollis with him.

Left alone in the sterile silence, I felt the full weight of my new reality crash down on me. My body was broken, my family was a lie, and my heart... my heart was a barren wasteland.

A few hours later, my new phone, a courtesy from the hospital, buzzed on the bedside table. A text from an unknown number.

Evelyn, I was so horrified to hear what happened. Eugene told me everything. I can' t imagine what you' re going through. Please know I' m thinking of you.

There was no signature, but I knew who it was from. Brenna. The audacity was breathtaking.

I just want you to know, a second text followed, that whatever you think is going on between me and Eugene, it' s not like that. He' s been a mentor, a friend. He talks about you all the time. He loves you and Hollis so much. He' s just a good man who feels sorry for a girl from the sticks.

A good man. The words were so obscene I almost laughed.

You' ve done so much for me, Evelyn, the third text read. I owe you everything. I hate to see you treat him this way. He' s been working so hard, trying to keep up with your family' s expectations. You should appreciate him more.

I stared at the screen, a cold rage building inside me. This wasn' t an apology; it was a power play. She was staking her claim, painting me as the ungrateful, hysterical wife.

I thought of the day I' d met her. She' d stood in my office, her cheap clothes clean but worn, her eyes burning with an ambition that was almost frightening. I had seen myself in her, a younger version, before life had softened my edges with privilege. I had wanted to give her the world.

And in return, she had helped my husband take mine away.

The fable of the snake came back to me, its fangs dripping with my own misplaced kindness.

My fingers trembled as I typed a reply.

Stay away from me. Stay away from my husband. Stay away from my daughter. The next time I see you, I will not be so civil.

I blocked the number and threw the phone onto the empty side of the bed, my heart hammering with a fury that was almost as painful as my injuries.

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