Chapter 2

The next morning, Caleb announced a grand "Family Day" revival. He stood at the breakfast table, his face a perfect mask of piety. He said it was to celebrate the anniversary of our "adopted" children's baptism. I knew the truth. It was Maria's birthday.

"Gabrielle, my love," he said, his eyes holding no warmth. "The church is holding a charity auction for the event. We must lead by example."

He gestured to the gold locket around my neck. It was my most precious possession, a family heirloom passed down for generations, said to contain a sliver of the True Cross. My mother gave it to me on her deathbed.

"That locket," he said, his voice smooth as oil. "It would be a magnificent donation. A symbol of our ultimate faith."

My fingers tightened around it. "Caleb, this is all I have left of my mother."

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "And what better way to honor her than to give it to God's work?"

I felt the eyes of our staff on me, cold and judging. I was trapped. I slowly unclasped the locket and placed it in his outstretched hand. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest.

At the "Family Day" event, the humiliation was a physical force. The staff, Caleb' s staff, ignored me completely. They flocked around Maria, calling her "First Lady," fetching her drinks, adjusting her chair in the front row. She was glowing, her hand resting possessively on her swollen belly. Caleb stood beside her, beaming. Our "adopted" children-her children-stood with them. A perfect family.

Then, during the auction, Caleb held up my locket. The bidding was fierce. But in the end, Caleb himself made the winning bid. With a grand flourish, he walked directly to Maria, clasped the locket around her neck, and kissed her forehead.

The crowd roared with approval, praising his "generosity." Maria looked directly at me, a triumphant smirk on her face.

Something inside me snapped. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I tried to sing the opening hymn, to summon the voice that had healed so many. But only a choked, strangled sound came out. A sharp pain shot through my throat, and I tasted copper.

I coughed into my hand and saw a smear of bright red blood. My voice, my gift, was gone. I stumbled off the stage, gasping for air, the world spinning into a blur of betrayal and pain.

Debra, my loyal assistant and childhood friend, rushed to my side. "Gabrielle! What's wrong?"

She helped me to a quiet room, her face etched with worry. "I'm getting Pastor Hughes," she said, her voice firm.

She found Caleb backstage, still basking in the glow of his public performance with Maria. I could hear their exchange through the partially open door.

"Pastor, it's Gabrielle! She's coughing up blood, she can't sing!" Debra's voice was frantic.

Caleb's reply was cold and dismissive. "She's just being dramatic. She's probably upset about the locket. Give her some water and tell her to pull herself together. The service isn't over."

He didn't even look in our direction. He turned back to Maria, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. Debra returned, her face pale with disbelief and fury. My last hope died. He wasn't coming. He didn't care.

That night, as I lay in bed, weak and silent, my door creaked open. It was Maria. She wasn't alone. Caleb's head of security and a man with a medical bag stood behind her.

"He gave me authority," Maria said, her voice a low hiss. She walked to my bedside, her eyes gleaming with malice. "You look pathetic. Your angel voice is gone, isn't it? Don't worry. I'll take good care of it."

She nodded to the doctor. "Do it."

The security guards pinned my arms down. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The doctor approached with a strange, humming device. He forced my mouth open. I saw a flash of metal, felt a searing, brutal pain in my throat, and then, only darkness.