Chapter 2

Atlas never loved me. He made that clear from the start. His eyes, once so full of a playful spark, now held only a cold disdain when they landed on me. It was a look I knew well, a heavy blanket that smothered any flicker of hope I dared to hold onto.

"Love?" he'd scoffed once, after I'd timidly asked him if he could ever feel something for me, anything. "You think this is about love, Elsie? This is about a debt. An obligation. Your mother saw to that." His words were like sharp pieces of ice, shattering whatever fragile little dream I had built. "You're a shackle, Elsie. A reminder of a past I want to forget."

I had believed Momma. I had believed her when she said he had to love me, that it was destined. But Atlas had ripped that belief apart, piece by painful piece. My innocence, my trusting heart-they were no match for his bitter resentment. I was just collateral damage, a living monument to a forgotten tragedy.

Ten years ago, the world stopped spinning for me. The screech of tires, the smell of burning rubber, the sound of metal tearing apart. It was a blur of terror. Atlas, young and reckless, had swerved to avoid a deer. We crashed. I remembered the impact, the sudden, violent jolt. Then, bright lights, flashing and blinding. Atlas, bleeding, pinned under the dashboard. I was just a kid, but something inside me surged. I pulled. I pulled with all my might, a strength I didn't know I possessed, until he was free. Just as I dragged him from the wreckage, the car exploded.

I woke up months later in a hospital bed, the world a hazy, muted place. My head hurt all the time. The doctors used big words like 'Traumatic Brain Injury.' They said my brain didn't work the same. That I was like a six-year-old, trapped in a growing body. Momma cried a lot. She said I was her little angel, broken but still precious.

The Forbes family, Atlas's parents, had been grateful. Overly so. They offered money, the best care. But Momma, Ida Pittman, she saw more than just gratitude. She saw an opportunity, a way to secure my future when she was gone. She was already sick, wasting away with cancer, her prognosis grim.

She cornered Atlas's father, Mr. Forbes. "My Elsie saved your son," she'd pleaded, her voice thin and desperate. "She gave up her mind for him. What will become of her when I'm gone? Who will protect my innocent girl?"

She didn't ask for money. She asked for a promise. A marriage. To bind Atlas to me, to ensure I would always have a home, a protector. Mr. Forbes, burdened by guilt and a sense of duty, agreed. Atlas, just barely out of his teens, fresh from his recovery, was forced into the arrangement.

He hated it. He hated me.

He would sometimes grab my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "Look at what you did," he'd hiss, his eyes blazing with fury. "Look at what your mother did! You ruined my life, Elsie. You trapped me."

I would cry, my small, simple heart unable to understand his anger. "But Momma said... Momma said you would love me," I'd sob, my vision blurry with tears. "She said you were my brave prince."

He'd throw his head back and laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. "Prince? I'm your jailer, Elsie. And you, you're the inmate."

One night, after another one of his angry outbursts, I ran to Momma. "Momma, please," I begged, clutching her hand, already frail and cold. "I don't want to be his wife. He hates me. He hurts me."

Momma's eyes, clouded with pain and a fierce, dying light, looked at me. "You must, my child," she whispered, her voice raspy. "It's for your own good. When I'm gone, he will be all you have. He owes you. He will protect you. You just have to be good. Always be good. And one day, he'll see."

She died a few weeks later. And I, the good girl, tried to fulfill her last wish. I tried to be good. I cleaned his study, even though I often broke things. I cooked him burnt meals, even though he never ate them. I left little notes on his pillow, scrawled with childish drawings and clumsy words of affection. He shredded them.

He kept Kacie hidden at first. Then, he stopped caring. He' d make me sit in the living room, quiet as a mouse, while he and Kacie laughed, touched, and kissed on the sofa. "Look, Elsie," Kacie would say, her voice sugary sweet, her eyes glinting with malice. "Atlas loves me. Not you. You're just... his obligation."

My heart would ache, a dull, constant throb. But I still clung to Momma's words. Be good. He will see.

One time, after I accidentally broke a vase while trying to dust it, Atlas dragged me down into the cellar. It was dark, cold, and smelled of damp earth. "This is where useless things go, Elsie," he'd snarled, locking the heavy wooden door behind him. "Just like you."

I cried for hours, huddled in the corner, clutching my locket. But even then, a small, foolish part of me still hoped. Maybe he'd come back. Maybe he'd realize he needed me. Maybe he'd bring me a blanket. He never did.

Then came the day Kacie announced her pregnancy. She flaunted her growing belly, her triumphant smile aimed directly at me. "Atlas is going to be a father," she crowed. "A real family. Not this... arrangement."

Atlas, caught between the two of us, grew even more volatile. He told me he was going to take me to a facility, a "special place" where I could be "happy." I knew what that meant. Abandonment.

Kacie, seeing her chance, capitalized on his decision. One evening, she cornered me in the kitchen. "Elsie," she said, her voice unusually kind, almost friendly. "Atlas is worried about your headaches. He bought you these special vitamins. Take them. They'll make you feel better for the trip." She pressed a small, unmarked bottle filled with tiny white pills into my hand. "Just one, every morning. Promise?"

I believed her. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to be well for Atlas.

The pills made me sick. My belly hurt. But Kacie just smiled. "It means they're working, sweetie. You're getting stronger."

Just before we left for Aspen, Kacie had a dramatic "fall" down the stairs. She screamed, clutching her stomach. Atlas rushed to her side, his face pale with fear. "My baby!" she cried, looking at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Elsie pushed me! She's jealous!"

Atlas's eyes had been a raging storm when he looked at me. "You little monster," he'd roared. "How dare you?"

He didn't hit me, not then. But his words were worse. They were hammers, pounding away at the last vestiges of my hope. He had decided, right then, that I was no longer just a burden, but a threat. He needed me gone. Permanently.

Later, as we drove, Kacie rested her head on Atlas's shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss. "I can't believe she tried to hurt our baby," she murmured, her voice shaky. "What if something happens? What if I lose it?"

Atlas stroked her hair, his gaze fixed on the road, but his grip on the wheel was white-knuckled. "Nothing will happen to our baby, Kacie," he vowed, his voice tight with resolve. "I promise you. She won't ever come between us again." He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes burning with a cold fire that pierced through me, even as a ghost. "Ever."

And then, he had turned up the music. And I, the forgotten wife, the burden, the monster, was left to die in the cold, dark cargo hold, my lifeblood spilling out, unheard, unseen.