Chapter 4

Allison Farmer POV:

The drive to fetch Cory was a nightmare. Every mile felt like a thousand, every turn of the wheel a fresh stab of pain. My body screamed in protest, but my mind was numb. I had gone to hell and back, enduring Cory's taunts and Christopher's callous demands, all for a promise he had no intention of keeping. The air hung heavy with the scent of impending doom, a suffocating premonition that settled deep in my bones. I delivered Cory to the airport, a silent, hollow shell of a person, my only thought being to return to my grandmother's side.

Christopher was waiting at the gate, a faint smile on his lips as Cory ran into his arms. He held her tight, his eyes glowing with an adoration he had never once shown me. They looked like a picture-perfect couple, their joy a stark contrast to the emptiness blooming inside me.

Cory, draped over Christopher' s arm, shot me a triumphant, vicious smirk. "Good job, little sister," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Finally doing something useful, are we?" Her eyes glinted with malice, a silent promise of more torment. She had won. She always won.

I just stared at her, my mind a blank slate. My grandmother. That was all that mattered. The image of her frail body, her shallow breaths, was burned into my mind. I didn't care about Cory's victory, or Christopher's adoration. My world had shrunk to a single, desperate prayer for my grandmother's life.

Christopher glanced at me, his eyes cold and dismissive. "You can go now, Allison. Your services are no longer required." His words were a dismissal, a final act of cruelty that sealed my fate. He didn't even bother to ask about my grandmother, about the money he had promised.

My phone rang, a shrill, jarring sound that ripped through the airport's muffled announcements. It was the hospital. My heart stopped. I knew. Before I even answered, I knew. The nurse' s voice was gentle, apologetic, but her words were a death knell. "Ms. Farmer... I'm so sorry. Your grandmother... she's gone."

The world exploded. The sounds of the airport, the distant murmurs, the announcements, Christopher's laughter-it all faded into a deafening roar. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the polished floor, the phone slipping from my numb fingers. A guttural scream tore from my throat, raw and anguished, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony.

"No!" I shrieked, my voice cracking, tears streaming down my face in hot, blinding torrents. "No! You promised! Christopher, you promised me the money! Why didn't you send it?!" I scrambled towards him, crawling on my hands and knees, my dress dragging on the dirty floor, my vision blurred by tears. "She's dead because of you! You killed her! You killed my grandmother!" My hands reached for him, desperate to grasp, to shake, to make him see the devastation he had wrought.

Christopher recoiled, his face twisted in disgust. "What are you talking about, Allison? Are you crazy? Still trying to cause a scene? My secretary just confirmed she's not even sick enough for surgery, you're just making it up." He stepped back, pulling Cory closer, shielding her from my desperate cries. His eyes were cold, devoid of any sympathy, any shred of understanding. "Stop this charade, Allison. It's pathetic."

"Charade?" I sobbed, my voice choked with pain. "She's dead! She's actually dead! Please, Christopher, take me to the hospital! Please!" My body shook uncontrollably, pain ripping through me, physical and emotional, indistinguishable now.

He just stared at me, his face impassive, a wall of stone. "She probably faked it, Allison. You're always so dramatic. She's fine. Now, go home. You're embarrassing me." He turned away, his arm still around Cory, and they walked off, disappearing into the crowd of travelers. He left me there, abandoned, alone in my grief.

I dragged myself to the hospital, my feet heavy with despair, my mind a chaotic mess of grief and rage. The fluorescent lights of the morgue were even harsher than those in the hospital room, casting long, cold shadows. My grandmother lay on a cold slab, her face peaceful in death, a stark contrast to the violent agony of her passing. I collapsed beside her, clutching her cold hand, my body wracked with sobs. "Grandma," I whispered, my voice broken. "I'm so sorry. I tried. I really tried."

The days that followed were a blur of grief and numbness. I arranged the funeral, a solitary figure moving through the motions, my heart a hollow shell. Christopher was nowhere to be seen. Cory, of course, was by his side, flaunting their happiness in lavish socialite parties, their faces plastered all over the tabloids. They were, it seemed, celebrating my grandmother's death in their own twisted way.

I saw pictures of them online, Christopher showering Cory with extravagant gifts-a diamond necklace for her "bravery," a luxury car for her "loyalty." Each photo was a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of how little my sacrifices, my love, my very existence, meant to him.

My distant relatives, a collection of judgmental aunts and uncles, appeared only to offer unsolicited advice. "Allison, you need to leave him," my Aunt Martha said, her voice stern. "He's poisoned your life. You have nothing left to lose."

Her words, usually irritating, now resonated with a chilling clarity. Nothing left to lose. She was right. My grandmother was gone. The last reason, the only reason, I had endured Christopher's cruelty was gone. The strings that bound me to him, to this life of misery, had finally snapped. A profound calm settled over me, a strange, terrifying peace.

I made the call to the clinic myself. The doctor' s voice was gentle, but firm. It was the right decision. This child, conceived in desperation and heartbreak, could not be brought into a world of such hatred. It deserved more. I deserved more.

I remembered the day I married Christopher, draped in a white gown that felt more like a shroud. I remembered the heavy weight of the diamond ring on my finger, a golden cage rather than a symbol of love. It was all for my grandmother, a desperate bargain to secure her future, a future that was now extinguished. The memories were distant, as if they belonged to another lifetime, another person.

The divorce papers were simple, straightforward. My signature, clear and decisive, felt like a lifeline. It wasn't just a legal document; it was my declaration of independence. I was free. Free from him, free from the lies, free from the pain. I was finally, truly, free. The ink on the paper bled into a new chapter, a chapter I would write for myself, far away from this gilded prison.

I started drawing plans, sketching out a new life. A life far from the city, far from the McDowells, far from everything that had caused me so much pain. A quiet coastal town, a small cottage, the sound of waves washing away the past. That was my future. A future where I could finally breathe.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Christopher. Funny, he hadn't bothered to check on my grandmother, or on me, in the days following her death. But now, now he wanted to talk. His message was a pathetic attempt at reconciliation, a belated offering after everything was lost. "Allison, I'm sorry about your grandmother. I know you're hurting. I should have been there."

My lip curled in a bitter smile. Apology? Now? When it was too late? He followed with another message, attempting to tempt me with the very things I now despised. "I've sent some money to your account. And a new car. Consider it a peace offering. Come back, Allison. I miss you. This house... it's empty without you."

Empty. He missed me? The man who had reveled in my suffering, who had called the police on me, who had caused my grandmother's death, now missed me. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. Did he even know what he was saying? Did he even care?

Then another message. "And about the baby... if you still want to keep it, we can. I'll take care of everything. Just come home."

My blood ran cold. He wanted the baby now? After telling me to get rid of it? After denying it was his? After all the pain, the betrayal, the final, unforgivable act of letting my grandmother die? Anger, cold and resolute, surged through me. My answer was swift, concise, and utterly devoid of emotion. "There is no baby, Christopher. And there will never be a 'home' with you. We are over."

I blocked him. I blocked Cory. I blocked everyone associated with the McDowell name. I deleted every photo, every message, every trace of the life I had been forced to endure. I packed a single suitcase, leaving behind the mansion, the wealth, the ghosts of a shattered past. I left the diamond ring on his pillow, a cold, hard circle of metal, a symbol of everything I was leaving behind. I stepped out into the crisp morning air, severing every last tie, every single connection to Christopher McDowell. My breath felt lighter, my heart, though broken, felt unburdened. The world awaited, a blank canvas, and I was finally ready to paint my own future.