Chapter 2

Abigail Cardenas POV:

The warehouse hummed with a different kind of silence after they left. One where their lingering presence still pricked at my skin. Edgar had wanted to say more, I knew it. But there was nothing left to say. For him, maybe. For me? Everything.

But that "everything" was buried deep, under concrete and steel. My life was about survival now, not reliving ghosts. My hands, calloused and stained, were a testament to that. They were for lifting boxes, not holding hands.

My shift ended, and the cold night air bit at my exposed skin as I walked home. Home. The word was a cruel joke. It was a single room above a greasy spoon diner, the air thick with stale cooking oil and desperation. The mattress sagged in the middle, a perpetual valley of my weariness. The single window looked out onto a graffiti-scarred brick wall. It was a far cry from the sleek penthouse I once shared with Edgar, the one with panoramic city views.

A sudden, insistent pounding on my thin door startled me. My heart jumped into my throat. Rent was due yesterday. Mrs. Henderson, the landlady, was notorious for her late-night demands.

"Just a minute!" I called out, my voice raspy. I tightened the belt on my worn bathrobe, bracing myself for the usual tirade about overdue payments.

I unlatched the deadbolt, pulling the door open just enough to peer through the crack. My eyes widened. Not Mrs. Henderson.

Edgar stood there, his expensive suit looking ridiculously out of place in the grimy hallway. Next to him, Celena Lamb, draped in a silk coat that probably cost more than my annual rent, her perfect blonde hair gleaming under the weak hallway light. She clutched a designer bag, and her eyes, once predatory in a courtroom, now held a calculating gleam.

"Abigail," Edgar breathed, his face etched with concern.

I tried to slam the door shut, my hand stinging as Edgar' s foot jammed in the gap. He pushed it open with surprising force, propelling himself and Celena into my tiny room.

Celena took a step inside and instantly recoiled, a hand flying to her nose. Her gaze swept over the cramped space, the peeling wallpaper, the single hotplate on the floor. A shudder ran through her, a clear shiver of disgust.

"My God, Edgar," she whispered, her voice dripping with fake pity. "Is this really how she lives?"

I glared at her, my fists clenching at my sides. "Get out," I hissed, pointing to the door. "Both of you."

Celena ignored me, her eyes finally landing on my face. She let out a small, theatrical gasp. "It truly is you. Edwin and I were just saying... you know, after all these years, being presumed dead, the funeral, everything..."

My blood ran cold. The funeral. The mockery of it all. "What do you want?" I asked, my voice dangerously low.

She smiled, a saccharine, venomous smile. "We just came to see if you were... alright. After all, you were declared legally deceased." Her gaze flickered around my squalid room again, a silent judgment. "Though 'alright' seems a bit of a stretch, doesn't it?"

My hands trembled with a rage so potent it threatened to consume me. "Are you finished gloating?"

Celena chuckled, a brittle, unpleasant sound. "Oh, Abigail, don't be so dramatic. We're just trying to help." She paused, then placed a hand on her slightly rounded belly. "Edgar and I, we're expecting. A fresh start for our family, you know?" Her eyes, cold and triumphant, met mine. "A real family."

My breath caught in my throat. I stared at her, then at Edgar, who was avoiding my gaze, his face pale. The news hit me like a physical blow, even though it shouldn't have. What was one more betrayal in a lifetime of them?

"Are you quite done?" I said, my voice barely a whisper, but laced with an icy dismissal that seemed to surprise her. "Then leave."

Celena blinked, caught off guard by my lack of reaction. She had expected tears, hysterics, a scene. Instead, she got nothing.

Edgar, his voice hoarse with what sounded like genuine regret, finally spoke. "Abigail, please. Let us help you. You don't have to live like this." He pulled out a thick wad of cash from his wallet, offering it to me. "And here. For a fresh start. Celena and I, we've even found a position for you at one of our branch offices. It' s a clean slate. A new identity, even."

Celena chimed in, "Think of it as... old friends catching up. We were worried about you, after all." Her smile was sickly sweet.

I looked at the cash, then at the sleek business card she held out. "Friends?" I laughed, a harsh, dry sound. "You call this friendship?"

Celena grabbed Edgar's arm, pulling him towards the door. "Come on, darling. We've done our good deed. She clearly doesn't appreciate it."

Edgar hesitated, his eyes lingering on me, filled with a desperate plea. "Kody misses you, Abigail. He talks about you all the time."

I didn' t flinch. Not anymore. I slammed the door shut with all my might, the flimsy wood rattling in its frame.

The silence that followed was a relief, but it was short-lived. I looked at the cash Edgar had pressed into my hand, then at the business card. With a snarl of disgust, I tore the card into tiny pieces, letting them flutter to the floor like ash. The money I threw onto the hotplate, watching the cheap bills curl and blacken at the edges.

Their 'help' wasn't help. It was guilt. An attempt to buy absolution for the wreckage they had caused. But my life, my dignity, wasn't for sale. Not anymore. And certainly not to them.