Chapter 3

The funeral was a blur. Small, quiet. Just Sarah and her father, David. Mark and his family did not attend. Eleanor had sent a ridiculously large wreath, a tasteless display of wealth that Sarah had promptly told the funeral director to discard. Lily' s ashes were in a small, plain urn. Sarah held it close.

After, back in the silence of her father' s modest apartment, the full weight of it all crashed down on her. She collapsed, the urn slipping from her grasp, thankfully caught by David before it hit the floor. He held her as she sobbed, great, body-wracking sobs that tore from her soul.

A week later, Sarah stood before Eleanor Hamilton in the Hamilton family lawyer' s office. Eleanor was all business, her expression unreadable.

"You're serious about this, then," Eleanor stated, not a question.

"Completely," Sarah said. Her voice was stronger now, edged with a resolve that surprised even herself.

"You'll get nothing, you know. The prenuptial agreement is ironclad."

"I want nothing," Sarah said. "Nothing from you, nothing from Mark. Just my freedom."

Eleanor studied her. "You were a good match, on paper. An heir was produced. It's a shame it ended this way."

The casual cruelty of it, the dismissal of Lily as merely "an heir," fueled Sarah's resolve. "A shame? My daughter is dead, Eleanor. Because your son is a neglectful, abusive man who cares more about his image and his mistress than his own child. Because you raised him to believe he was entitled to everything and accountable for nothing."

A memory surfaced, vivid and painful. Sarah, pregnant with Lily, feeling unwell. Mark had a crucial business dinner. Eleanor had insisted Sarah attend. "The family must present a united front, Sarah. Your feelings are secondary." Sarah had miscarried a previous pregnancy early on; she'd been terrified. Mark had snapped, "Don't be dramatic. It's just dinner." She remembered sitting there, smiling blankly, while a cold fear gripped her. Lily had been a fighter, had held on. But the environment, the constant stress, the lack of care, it had all contributed to her PPD. It had all been part of their systemic abuse, their quiet, insidious control.

Sarah looked at Eleanor, the matriarch who orchestrated it all. "You were more concerned with lineage than with Lily's safety or my sanity."

She thought of all the times Mark had dismissed her concerns about Lily, the times he' d left her alone for days while he was with Tiffany, the cold indifference in his eyes when she' d cried. She had believed, naively, that having Lily would change him, would make him a father, a husband. How wrong she had been. He was incapable of love, only of possession.

Eleanor' s lips thinned. "You'll regret leaving this life, Sarah. The world outside our protection is cold and unforgiving."

"I've lived in a cold and unforgiving world for years, Eleanor," Sarah replied. "The difference is, out there, I'll be free."

Eleanor finally nodded, a curt, dismissive gesture. "Very well. The papers will be drawn up. Sign them, and you'll be out of our lives."

Sarah stood, her head held high. "Gladly."

She walked out of the lawyer' s office, into the sunlight, feeling lighter than she had in years, despite the crushing grief that was now a permanent part of her.

Her father, David, was waiting. His face was etched with worry, his own health frail after his business collapsed and the subsequent stress. He looked older than his years.

He hugged her tightly. "It's done?"

"It's done."

They walked away, Sarah leaving behind the gilded cage that had almost destroyed her. Maria, the housekeeper, met her at the gate of the Hamilton estate a few days later, when Sarah went to collect the last of her personal, pre-marriage belongings. Maria pressed a small, tear-stained envelope into her hand. "For Lily," she whispered, her eyes full of sorrow. Inside was a tiny, hand-knitted bootie. Sarah clutched it, a fresh wave of grief washing over her, but also a sense of gratitude for this small act of kindness.