2: Morning after shock

I open my eyes, feeling the sting before I even try to move. The sunlight streams in through the curtains, too bright, almost mocking my pain with its cheerfulness. I glance to the side, half-expecting to see Marco still lying there, but he's gone. Of course he's gone—he never stays to witness the aftermath of his cruelty.

I force myself to sit up, wincing as I feel the bruises blooming across my ribs, my thighs, the tenderness between my legs.

I stumble out of bed, holding onto the wall for support as I make my way through the room. The house, once warm and filled with dreams, feels foreign and cold now, like a graveyard housing the corpse of my marriage.

I quickly shower, letting scalding water run over marks I can't bear to look at, scrubbing until my skin is raw. I avoid the mirror all through, afraid of the stranger I'll find staring back at me—the hollow-eyed woman who's replaced the vibrant girl Marco claimed to love.

I pass by the nursery—the room we'd painted together when we were happy, the before of us. I stop at the doorway, taking in the small crib, the soft, pastel walls, the little stuffed animals arranged just so. I can still remember the soft blue we'd chosen, the careful arrangement of furniture, the way Marco had lifted me into his arms and spun me around.

But it's empty as I am empty. Three miscarriages in five years, each one taking another piece of me, each one giving Helena and Marco another reason to look at me with contempt.

I hear footsteps, heels clicking against the marble floor and then Helena appears like a predator sensing wounded prey. She doesn't waste a second, her sharp eyes taking in my disheveled state with an icy disdain. Helena looks immaculate as always—dyed blonde hair perfectly coiled into a crown of curls, a stiff designer dress hugging her figure, diamonds glittering at her throat like chips of ice. She gives me a pitying, almost amused smile with her red lipsticked lips.

"Oh, Estella," she sighs, as if speaking to a particularly disappointing child. "What on earth were you thinking last night? Did you really think you could keep him happy like this?"

My mouth opens, words on the tip of my tongue, but she holds up a manicured hand, the massive diamond on her ring finger catching the light, blinding me momentarily.

"I mean, look at yourself." She gives me a slow, critical once-over, her gaze lingering on the collar of my blouse where it fails to hide the marks on my neck. "A wife should know how to keep her husband satisfied. My Marco deserves better than... this." She gestures at me as if I'm something distasteful she's found on the bottom of her shoe.

"What do you want, Mother? I don't need a lecture from you right now." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

She raises an eyebrow. "Of course not. You probably need more than that—a break, maybe? A permanent one?"

I bite back a reply, but then she leans in. "Poor thing. Did you hear Claudia's expecting. Isn't it wonderful that she can... fulfill the role you couldn't? That she can give this family what you failed to provide?"

She smirks, then adds with a vicious sweetness, "Perhaps if you'd given him an heir by now, things would be different. Instead of lying there like a corpse every time he touched you. Did you think I didn't know how you've been denying him? How you've driven him away?"

"Is that all you came here to say?"

"No, dear." She takes a step closer. I came to remind you of your place. Which is out of this house. You are leaving this instant. Your things—what little you brought into this family—will be sent to wherever gutter you land in."

I clench my fists, swallowing the rising fury, but before I can respond, I hear footsteps approaching—Marco, arm in arm with Claudia, the two of them looking as polished as if they'd just stepped out of a magazine spread. Claudia, with her Barbie-like features and sickeningly sweet smile, rushes into Helena's arms like they're some perfect family reunion. The three of them act as though I'm invisible.

"Oh, Claudia, look at you. Glowing," Helena coos, her fingers placed possessively on Claudia's still-flat stomach, as if she could feel the baby—my husband's baby—growing inside. "How are you

feeling, darling? And the baby? My grandson?"

"Growing strong," Claudia says, casting a sly, sidelong glance at me. "Thank you for asking, Helena. Marco's been such a support. I don't know how I'd do this without him."

She's openly taunting me now, flaunting what I've lost—what I never truly had.

Helena chuckles, preening. "Oh, I raised that boy right." She turns to Marco, patting his cheek with pride. "Always knew he'd choose correctly in the end."

Marco smiles at her, then pulls Claudia closer. He hasn't looked at me once, as if I've already ceased to exist.

Helena turns to me. "Estella, it's time for you to go. Marco deserves his happiness, and he's found it. With someone worthy of the Valdez name."

I glare at Marco, desperate for him to meet my eyes. "So, this is how it's going to be?" I ask, voice shaking with rage and grief. "You're throwing me away without even a conversation? After everything?"

He finally looks at me, his eyes flat and emotionless. "What's there to talk about? You've failed at the one thing I needed from you." His gaze flicks dismissively over me. "And last night was... disappointing, as usual. Time to cut my losses."

Claudia tilts her head, feigning concern with a theatrical sigh. "Oh, Estella, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to take up Marco's time last night. You know, we were... discussing the baby." She runs a hand over her stomach. "I didn't realize it was your anniversary until it was too late. But then, I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?"

The room spins, and I can barely breathe through the humiliation and rage boiling inside me. But Helena isn't finished with her cruelty.

"Estella," she says with cold satisfaction, "this family has no place for you. You'll be served divorce papers shortly, and I expect you to leave without making any trouble."

I stare at her. "You're... you're serious? Just like that?"

She smirks, triumph gleaming in her eyes. "Deadly serious. I've already arranged for security to search your things. Can't be too careful, can we? Gold-diggers like you often try to take what isn't theirs when they're shown the door."

Two security guards step forward from the shadows where they've been waiting, their expressions blank as they await Helena's nod. They approach me, hands outstretched like I'm a common criminal.

"Don't touch me. I don't have anything of yours!" I shout, backing away, my spine hitting the wall behind me.

I recoil as one of the guards approaches, his expression unreadable beneath his professional mask. He pats down my arms, shoulders, back, finding nothing but the bruises her son left on me. Just as I think the humiliation is over, Claudia steps forward grabbing my blouse with surprising strength.

"Wait—" I start, but she pulls hard, the fabric tearing as I stumble back, landing on the floor with a painful thud. My chest is exposed, the lacy bra beneath doing little to hide the fingerprint bruises Marco left around my breasts.

"I knew it," Claudia sneers, gesturing to a golden watch that has suddenly appeared on the floor beside me. "Mother, she tried to steal my watch."

I stare at the watch in disbelief, knowing with sickening certainty that Claudia planted it. "That's not mine!" I shout, voice breaking, but no tears come—I've cried too many for this family already. "She's framing me. This... this is ridiculous!"

Claudia gives a dramatic, pitiful look to Marco, her lower lip trembling perfectly. "This watch is a limited-edition Bellemonté, from my late grandfather. I can't believe she would just take it."

I push myself up from the floor, rage boiling over as I lunge for her. "You lying witch! You stole my husband, my life, and now you're trying to pin this on me?"

My hands find her blonde hair, yanking it hard as she shrieks, clawing back at my face with her manicured nails. I feel skin tear beneath her fingers, but the pain is nothing compared to the satisfaction of finally fighting back. Marco pulls me off her with brutal force, shoving me to the floor again as Claudia collapses into his arms, clutching her stomach with fake tears streaming down her face.

"My baby! My baby!" she cries out, turning to Marco with wide, fearful eyes. "She tried to kill my baby! Your son, Marco!"

His face softens as he cups her cheek, all tenderness I haven't seen in years. "Are you okay? Is the baby okay?" His voice breaks with concern I never heard when I lost our children, when I lay bleeding and sobbing in hospital beds while he checked his watch and asked when I'd be ready to try again.

"I—I think so," she whimpers, looking up at him through tear-spiked lashes. "I hope this stress doesn't affect the baby—my baby, our little boy." She keeps whimpering, playing her part to perfection.

Helena's heeled foot comes down hard across my stomach, the pointed toe digging viciously into the softness below my ribs. The pain is blinding, searing through me like fire. "You heartless monster," she hisses, voice venomous with hatred. "You'd harm my grandchild, all because you can't bear one yourself. You barren, useless nothing."

She snaps her fingers, calling for security again. Roger, the head of security who's worked for the family for decades, steps in, his face unreadable but his eyes flicking briefly to my torn blouse, my red cheek, the scratches Claudia's left on my face. Helena nods to him. "Get her out. Now."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmurs, stepping forward. I turn away, clutching the torn strap of my blouse, trying to hold on to whatever dignity I have left in this nightmare.

Marco's whole attention is locked on Claudia, his hand protectively covering her stomach. He doesn't even look at me as security takes hold of my arm, leading me toward the front door. Five years, and he can't even spare me a glance as I'm thrown out like garbage.

Outside, the household staff lines the hallway, their eyes following me as I stumble forward, clinging to the shreds of my blouse. Some look away in embarrassment, others stare with ill-concealed curiosity or pity. Five years of serving them breakfast, of learning their children's names, of trying to be kind when Helena's cruelty became too much—and now I'm nothing but a spectacle to them.

Roger follows, then pauses, removing his jacket and draping it over my shoulders without a word. I mutter a faint "thank you," feeling the burn of humiliation deep in my chest.

I reach the front gates, and Roger quietly hails a taxi, watching as I shake my head. "No, I—I'll walk," I manage, voice hoarse with unshed tears. I don't have a cent on me—my credit cards are all in Marco's name, my bank account a joint one he'll surely empty the moment I'm gone.

He pulls out his wallet. "I'll cover it, ma'am." His eyes are kind, and for a moment I wonder if he knows—if he's heard me crying, seen the bruises I've hidden, witnessed the slow destruction of the woman who arrived here so hopeful five years ago.

"No." My pride flares up, the last thing I have left. "I'll walk."

He sighs but doesn't push, and just as I'm about to start down the road, I hear hurried footsteps behind me. I turn to see Grace, the housekeeper, coming out. She holds a small purse and a suitcase, her kind face lined with sympathy. She can't speak—she's deaf—but she holds up a notepad where she's scrawled a message in her neat, looping handwriting.

I packed a few things for you. I'm so sorry, Estella.

Tears prick at my eyes, the first kindness I've felt in this house for longer than I can remember. I hug her, letting the warmth of her compassion seep into my bruised soul. "Thank you, Grace," I whisper, knowing she can read my lips.

She pulls back, scribbling quickly on her notepad before showing me another message:

You're stronger than this. Don't let them break you.

I swallow hard, nodding as I step into the taxi that Roger has insisted on calling despite my protests. As it pulls away, leaving the grand house behind me—the prison that was never a home—the tears finally spill over, free to fall where no one can see.