Chapter 2

Alondra Stein POV:

My own words, "I'll be there," echoed in my ears, a chilling promise. Hugo seemed relieved, a flicker of surprised gratitude in his eyes. He must have expected a fight, a scream, tears. But there were no tears left. Only an aching void.

"See, Mommy? Aunt Isabell will be so happy!" Jaret exclaimed, his small face beaming. He was so excited, so innocent. He didn't understand the dagger he was twisting in my heart. He just wanted everyone to be happy, especially the "sick" Aunt Isabell.

I just nodded, unable to speak. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. I was dying, and my family was celebrating another woman's feigned illness. My husband was renewing his vows with my sister. And I was supposed to be okay with it. More than okay, I was supposed to facilitate it.

"It's just a small ceremony, Alondra. Nothing binding," Hugo said, a placating tone in his voice. "Just to lift Isabell's spirits. You know, give her something to look forward to." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, more than me.

I looked at him, my husband, the man I had loved, the father of my child. His eyes shifted, unable to meet mine for long. Guilt. It was there, a faint shadow in his gaze. But it wasn't enough to stop him. It was never enough.

I remembered our wedding day. The promises, the dreams. The way he had looked at me, as if I were the only woman in the world. Where had that man gone? Had he ever truly existed, or was he just another one of Isabell's illusions, conjured to manipulate everyone around her?

My mind drifted back to the early days of Innovatech. Long nights, fueled by caffeine and an unshakeable belief in our vision. Hugo had been my biggest cheerleader then, my marketing genius, turning my complex code into elegant, marketable solutions. We were a team. A force. But even then, I had been working to prove myself, to earn the approval of my parents, who always seemed to prefer Isabell' s compliant nature over my independent spirit. I poured my life into that company, believing that success would finally bring me their love, Hugo's unwavering respect, and a stable future for Jaret. Instead, it had made me a target. A resource to be exploited.

And now, here I was. Stripped bare, on the brink of death, watching my family dismantle my life piece by piece. The anger, the rage that had simmered for so long, began to fade, replaced by a profound, chilling numbness. What was the point? I was dying. Soon, none of this would matter. The fight, the pain, the betrayal – it would all be over.

My gaze fell upon Jaret again, his innocent face alight with the prospect of "Aunt Isabell's happy day." He was just a child. A child who had been subtly poisoned against his own mother, taught that my exhaustion from illness and my dedication to work were neglect. How could I rage against him? How could I fight for a life that was already slipping away, a life my own family clearly didn't value?

Hugo, too, looked at me, a mixture of apprehension and hope in his eyes. He wanted me to agree. He wanted the path of least resistance. He always did. It was easier for him if I just faded away, quietly, without a scene. And I was too tired to deny him that.

A long silence stretched between us, punctuated only by Jaret' s excited fidgeting. I closed my eyes, a silent surrender. The battle was lost. The war was over.

"Yes," I finally said, my voice a ghost of its former self, yet firm. "I agree. I will be there. Happy for you both." The last three words were a lie, a cruel jest, but they swallowed them whole, relief washing over their faces.

Hugo's shoulders visibly relaxed. He looked genuinely surprised by my compliance. "Alondra, thank you. You're being very understanding." He even managed a weak smile. "It means a lot. Truly."

"Yay! Mommy is coming!" Jaret clapped his hands, his pure joy a sharp knife in my chest. He ran to hug me, his small arms wrapping around my waist, his head pressed against my stomach. I held him, tears stinging my eyes, knowing this might be one of the last times. He hugged me because he thought I was doing something good for Isabell. Not for me. Never for me.

The thought made my chest ache even more. I was a ghost already, haunting my own life, my own family.

"We should head to the hospital soon, then," Hugo said, his voice regaining its usual cheerfulness. "Isabell will be thrilled to hear the news." He paused, then looked at me. "Are you coming with us?"

I shook my head. "I have something else to take care of first. Some... loose ends." The "loose ends" were the final, lingering threads of my life. My last will and testament, ensuring that the small, personal keepsakes I cherished would go to people who actually cared. Not to my family. Not to them. And then, I had to ensure my physical body had no ties left either.

"Alright," Hugo said, a slight frown on his face. He didn't push. He never did, not when it came to anything that required actual effort or understanding from him. "Just don't be late for the ceremony. It's at sunset."

"I won't," I promised, my voice flat. "I'll be there."

I watched them leave, Hugo holding Jaret's hand, both looking excited for their visit to the hospital, their visit to Isabell. I was alone again.

I walked into my study, a room that had once been my sanctuary. My heart was a stone in my chest. I opened a hidden drawer in my desk, pulling out a small, worn box. Inside were letters from Ingrid, my estranged best friend, from years ago. Warnings about Hugo, about my parents' favoritism, about Isabell's true nature. I had dismissed them all, blinded by love and a desperate desire for belonging.

Now, those warnings were prophecies. I carefully placed the box in another, larger one containing my personal journal, a few old photos of Ingrid and me, and a tiny, faded teddy bear from my childhood. I sealed the box, wrote Ingrid's name on it, and left it on the chair. My last remaining connection to a life that had once been mine.

I took one last look around the house, at the life I had built, the life that was now being stolen. The walls, the furniture, the memories – they would all belong to Isabell soon. And I would be gone.

I stepped out of the house, the cool evening air kissing my face. I got into my car, the engine purring to life. The familiar streets, the neatly trimmed hedges, the glowing lampposts – I drank it all in. This was the last time. The last time I would see these familiar sights, the last time I would breathe this air of false promises and broken dreams.

The hospital loomed ahead, a monolithic structure against the darkening sky. A place of healing for some, a place of death for others. For me, it would be both. The end of one life, and perhaps, the beginning of nothingness. I parked the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. This was it. The final scene. The curtain call.