Chapter 3

The words echoed in the silent house, a death sentence delivered in a casual whisper. A little 'accident'... suicide.

I pressed my back against the cold wall of the hallway, a hand over my mouth to stifle the scream that was clawing its way up my throat. My body went numb, a terrifying, floating sensation, as if my soul was trying to flee the horror. They weren't just thieves and liars. They were murderers in waiting.

I retreated back up the stairs, each step a silent, agonizing effort. I slid back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, but they offered no warmth against the profound chill that had settled deep in my bones. I lay there, feigning sleep, while my husband, the man who had vowed to protect me, slept peacefully beside me, dreaming of my death.

The next day was a masterpiece of cruelty.

Robert brought me breakfast in bed, a tray laden with my favorite foods. His face was a perfect mask of concern.

"How are you feeling this morning, my love?" he asked, his voice soft and caring. "Last night was terrible. I'm so, so sorry."

I looked at him, at the gentle expression in his eyes, the loving curve of his smile, and I felt nothing but a vast, empty abyss. The man I had loved was a phantom. This creature wearing his face was a monster.

"I'm fine," I managed to say, the words tasting like ash.

"You're so strong," he said, stroking my hair. "I don't know how you do it."

Later, Liam came into the room. My seventeen-year-old son, the boy I had given a part of my own body to save. He hugged me, his embrace feeling like a viper's coil.

"Mom, I'm sorry about what happened," he said, his voice thick with fake emotion. "People are so cruel. But we love you. Dad and I will always be here for you."

I wanted to recoil, to shove him away, but I forced myself to remain still. I just nodded, unable to speak. The betrayal from my son was a unique and devastating wound, a pain so deep it felt like it was rewriting my DNA.

That night, unable to bear the thought of lying next to Robert, I told him I couldn't sleep and went down to the living room. I sat in the dark, staring out at the moonlit garden.

Around midnight, I heard a car pull quietly into the driveway. Not in the garage, but down the side, hidden from the street. I peeked through the blinds.

It was Scarlett.

She slipped out of her car and crept to the back patio. A moment later, the patio door slid open, and Robert stepped out to meet her. He was in his pajamas, the ones I had bought him for our anniversary.

They didn't speak. He just pulled her into his arms and kissed her, a deep, passionate kiss filled with a familiarity that spoke of years of practice. Then, Liam joined them.

My son.

He smiled at Scarlett. "Hey, Scarlett."

"Hey, kiddo," she said, ruffling his hair. "How's our favorite guy?"

Robert put an arm around each of them, pulling them into a grotesque parody of a family portrait.

"Now this," Robert said, his voice filled with satisfaction as he looked from Scarlett to Liam, "this feels right. This is my real family."

The words shattered the last remaining fragments of my heart. I wasn't just being replaced. I had already been erased. I was a ghost in my own home, haunting the lives of the people who had destroyed me.

I sank to the floor, the rough texture of the rug scraping against my cheek. A silent scream ripped through me, a raw, physical agony that left me breathless. It was a pain beyond tears, a hollowing out of my very being. Every memory, every laugh, every moment of shared love was a lie, a carefully staged scene in their long con. The scar on my side burned, a phantom fire reminding me of the flesh I had carved out for a boy who now stood with my tormentors, calling another woman family.

The next afternoon, while Robert and Liam were out, Scarlett let herself into the house. I was in the kitchen, staring blankly at a cup of cold coffee, when she appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smug look.

"Enjoying your retirement?" she asked, her voice dripping with venom.

I didn't answer. I just stared at her.

"You know, I have to thank you, Olivia," she continued, walking into the room and running a manicured finger along the marble countertop. "That kidney you so generously donated? It works like a charm. My doctors say I'm healthier than ever."

She paused, letting the words sink in.

"Robert was so worried it wouldn't be a match. But I told him, we're family, after all. Our blood isn't so different. It was almost poetic."

She smiled, a cruel, triumphant expression. "And those videos... pure genius. Watching you debase yourself for him, while he was safe and sound with me, watching the live stream on my laptop... we couldn't stop laughing. You were so pathetic."

I remained silent, my hands clenched into fists under the table.

She seemed disappointed by my lack of reaction. She decided to escalate. She walked over and stood in front of me, looking down at me with contempt.

"And that scar you're so proud of," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The mark of your great 'sacrifice'."

She leaned in closer, her sickly sweet perfume filling the air.

"Robert did that on purpose, you know. He told the doctors to use the old-fashioned sutures, not the clean surgical glue. He said he wanted you to have a permanent reminder of how stupid you were."