Still, he never showed up.
When I finally escaped, barely alive, covered in blood and filth, I crawled back home—only to find my daughter locked in a dog cage, emaciated and filthy, eating food scraps.
She was hugging a framed photo of me—my memorial. They had declared me dead.
Meanwhile, my husband was joyfully throwing a lavish party to celebrate the one-month birthday of his and her child, proudly announcing their upcoming wedding.
I held my daughter close, her tiny frame trembling in my arms. Through tears, I whispered to her, “Sweetheart, You don't need that kind of father. Not anymore.
***
When I stormed into the courtyard of the Wright Clan’s private estate, Milford was gently sliding a vintage gold ring onto Malissa’s finger—the same ring that had been passed down through generations, the symbol of the Wright Clan’s Lady of the House.
At that moment, Milford announced their wedding would take place in three days.
Malissa was holding a newborn baby boy, just a month old. She leaned into Milford’s chest with a bashful smile, playing the part of a glowing new mother, perfectly in love. The picture of domestic bliss.
Milford turned to smile at the crowd. Then, that’s when he saw me.