I nodded, then nodded again. "Divorce means we never have to live with Dad again. Then you won't cry because of him."
She smiled ruefully and kissed my forehead. "Alright. I'll give him one more chance. If he doesn't change, then we'll divorce."
...
Three days later I was discharged. It was also my birthday. Mom threw me a grand party.
Just as we were about to cut the cake, Bella arrived—bringing a whole funeral procession with her. She stormed in wailing.
"My poor son," she sobbed. "Only four months old and burned alive. The mastermind walks free and now throws a birthday party for her child—how unfair the heavens are!"
"My son—oh, it's my fault. I couldn't fight like Miss Andrews to use power and get revenge. Boohoo—"
Her cries drowned the music. Guests who had been smiling at our celebration turned pale and stared at Mom and me with strange, sympathetic eyes.
Mom's face went cold; she signaled the bodyguards to throw Bella out. But Bella pressed a hand to her belly and hissed.
"Gianna, I'm pregnant again. Last time you killed my baby—Steven let you go. But this time he's already warned you: if you lift a finger against me again, he'll make sure you die in a heartbeat."