Chapter 3

The days blurred into a haze of grief and quiet horror. Julian kept me in that private clinic, a gilded cage where the nurses spoke in hushed, polite tones and treated me like a fragile piece of glass. He visited every day, bringing flowers or books, acting the part of the concerned partner. But his eyes were always watching, calculating.

He had taken my phone, my laptop. "To help you rest," he'd said. I was completely cut off from the world. My world. The world that now believed he was a genius and I was a delusional, unstable woman who had a nervous breakdown. He had crafted the narrative perfectly.

One afternoon, a new person appeared in my room. A woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper suit. She introduced herself as Julian's lawyer.

"Ms. Sharma," she said, her voice crisp and devoid of any emotion. "Dr. Thorne is prepared to be very generous. He's setting up a trust for you. It will ensure you're comfortable for the rest of your life."

I stared at her. "I don't want his money."

"It's not a request," the lawyer said, placing a thick stack of papers on the bedside table. "It's a non-disclosure agreement. You sign it, and you live a quiet, comfortable life. You refuse, and Dr. Thorne will be forced to release your medical records to the university board. The ones that detail your... breakdown. Your delusions about your research."

The threat was clear. He would not just ruin me professionally, he would have me declared mentally incompetent. He would erase me.

The pain in my abdomen was a constant, dull ache. A reminder of the life that was gone. I felt a phantom kick, a ghost of a flutter, and a sob caught in my throat. I would not let him see me cry.

"Get out," I said, my voice shaking.

The lawyer simply smiled, a thin, bloodless line. "I'll leave the papers. You have 24 hours to sign."

That night, the physical pain sharpened into something unbearable. It was a vicious, tearing sensation. I pressed the call button for the nurse, my body slick with a cold sweat. When she came in, she took one look at me and her professional calm shattered.

She yelled for a doctor. The room filled with people. They were talking in urgent, low voices over me. "She's hemorrhaging," someone said. "We need to take her to surgery. Now."

Through the fog of pain, I heard a deeper, more terrifying truth. "There's... something else. A twin. How did we miss a twin?"

A twin. The world stopped. There had been two. Hope, fierce and desperate, surged through me. My baby. One of my babies was still there. Still fighting.

As they wheeled me out of the room, I saw Julian standing in the doorway. His face was a mask of shock, his composure finally broken. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. The complication he thought he had 'cleaned up' was still there.

And in that moment, I knew I had to fight. Not for my research, not for my name. But for the tiny, flickering life inside me. I would not let him take this from me too. I would get away. I would disappear. And I would protect my child.