My phone buzzed while I sat slumped against the edge of the bed, hollow from crying. I forced myself to look at the screen. Martin.
Don’t worry, his message read. I just sent that to test if your husband would act. He didn’t. Then divorce him. Got it? Gwen is safe with me. Not even hurt.
For a second, my chest loosened. Relief crashed over me, so sharp it nearly broke me again. My Gwen. Safe. My baby was alive.
My fingers shook as I typed back. Then do me a favor, Martin. Fake my baby’s death—and mine too. I never want him to touch our lives again. Not after this. Not after everything.
The reply came instantly. Consider it done. See you soon, love.
Love. The word made me flinch, but I didn’t care anymore. I needed freedom. I needed Gwen safe. Whatever it took.
I dropped the phone and pulled out a suitcase. My hands moved quickly, shoving clothes into it, tossing shoes, jewelry, anything I could carry. Every zip of the bag was a nail on the coffin of the life I was leaving behind.
Then came the voice I least wanted to hear.
“I’m so sorry about the baby,” Nadine’s syrupy tone filled the doorway.
I froze, my jaw tightening.