Chapter 2
“Madam, you’re finally awake.”
I turned my head. It was Ian.
Disappointment swept over me.
“You cried so hard, Madam,” he continued softly. “When I came in, you’d already fainted. You were unconscious.”
I stared at the ceiling, my gaze empty. After a long silence, I finally spoke.
“Where is Cliff? Does he know I’m in the hospital?”
“He knows,” Ian replied, then paused, hesitant.
I lifted my head slowly. “What is it?”
He faltered. “Mr. Curtis… he’s also at the hospital.”
I let out a bitter laugh, choking on my own voice. “Let me guess—he’s with his new wife?”
Ian nodded reluctantly. “Miss Ginger had a scare. She slipped while cutting the cake, and the fetus showed signs of distress. Mr. Curtis brought her here immediately.”
I laughed—loud and hollow. Tears streamed down my face as I understood, without needing any confirmation, that it was not Cliff who had sent me to the hospital. He had chosen her again. Always her.
When I looked at Ian, I saw sweat beading on his forehead. I understood instantly—he was the one who had saved me.
Ian had been with me long before I married into the Curtis Family. We were more like family than servant and mistress. He, more than anyone, must know what had happened during my six-month disappearance.
I whispered, “Thank you, Ian. If it weren’t for you, I might not have made it.”
“This is my duty, Madam,” he said. “As long as you’re okay.”
His sincerity only deepened the ache in my heart. My husband of seven years was less concerned than the old man who served us.
I hesitated, then asked, “In the past six months… Cliff—”
But my words were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The attending doctor walked in, holding a file.
“Are you Vivian? After the IV drip, you’ll need a few days of rest. But physically, you’ll recover.”
He looked at me curiously. “I’ve seen plenty of patients, but you’re the first whose respiratory poisoning was caused by excessive crying. What could have broken you this badly?”
I lowered my head, unable to answer. The pain was too vast for words.
“I’ve brought your report. You’ve sustained a lot of injuries—what happened?” He handed me the thick file.
I opened it with trembling hands. The red-highlighted diagnoses stabbed at me like knives.
Severe bruising to the chest and lower back. Inflammation of the spleen. Multiple abrasions. Compression trauma to the abdomen. Swelling and tearing… The list went on and on, two full pages of physical devastation.
I couldn’t breathe. Every word was written in blood and pain—my blood. My pain.
Memories flooded back: the abuse in the mental hospital, the hunger, the cold, the beatings. They hated my beauty, envied me, humiliated me. They spat in my food. Peed on my bed.
Then one day, a group of rich young men visited. I recognized some of them. They pretended to come bearing gifts, but once the staff left, their true intentions were clear.
One slap silenced my protests. I bled.
I was no longer a person—just a tool. They used me, day after day.
Then the pain in my stomach began. My body bled, my skin turned pale, I vomited violently. The doctor glanced at me and said dismissively, “It’s just a miscarriage.”
A miscarriage?
I hadn’t even known I was pregnant with Cliff’s child.
Now that child was gone.
I broke. In that place, I cried until I was hollow, until there was nothing left inside me but silence.
My hand instinctively moved to my abdomen. It was empty now. I wept bitterly, unable to stop.
“Don’t be too upset,” the doctor said, his voice softening. “You need rest. I suggest staying for at least a month.” Then he left.
Ian had read the report too. His eyes were full of tears. He wanted to ask what had happened but couldn’t bring himself to speak.
I wiped my face and sat up, deciding to tell him everything. I didn’t need to hide anymore.
When I finished, he was silent. He cried with me, gently patting my shoulder. “It’s over now, Madam,” he choked. “You survived.”
But my eyes lingered on the remaining pages. One report was missing: the psychiatric evaluation. Ian looked puzzled too.
That’s when I overheard voices outside the room.
“Mr. Curtis, this is Vivian’s psychiatric report,” the doctor said.
“There are also her injury reports—do you want to see them?”
“No need.” Cliff snatched the report, quickly skimming it. It confirmed I hadn’t been faking madness.
He sighed in relief… and threw the report into the trash.
Then he entered the ward—not mine, hers.
“My love, are you okay? It’s all my fault. I should have protected you,” he whispered, cupping Ginger’s face with sickening tenderness.
“It’s nothing. I was just careless. Thank God the baby is fine,” she said sweetly, stroking her belly.
She glanced toward my room. “Is Vivian here too? I thought I heard her name.”
“Yes. She fainted. Ian said she cried herself unconscious,” Cliff said flatly.
Ian had told me the truth—Cliff had refused to take me to the hospital until he’d been pressured. He suspected I was still pretending to be insane. He wanted to see for himself.
And I wasn’t even his priority. That was her idea—to bring me home, parade their love in front of me, rub their victory into my wounds.
After Ian finished settling me in, he returned to take care of Lindsey. I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
The next morning, I asked to see Lindsey. But when I opened my eyes, it wasn’t my daughter I saw—it was her.
Ginger stood by my bed.
“I asked Ian to take Lindsey home,” she said calmly. “I thought you needed space. That was my decision.”
Her gaze roamed around the plain ward. She smirked. “So this is your room?”
I stared at her coldly. “Why did you take my daughter away? Why does she call you mother?”
She gently patted her belly and replied proudly, “Don’t worry. I’ll be giving her a sibling soon. She’ll be a big sister—you should be happy for her.”
The image of her, bloodied, crashing into Lindsey’s birthday party with an abortion report in hand—burned vividly in my memory.
Suddenly, she leaned in and grabbed the back of my neck.
“You think I’d let you off just because you’re out? I haven’t forgotten.”
Her eyes were venomous.
Just then, the door burst open.
Cliff entered, breathless.
Ginger immediately changed her expression, stepping back and throwing herself into his arms.
“Honey, I was just trying to comfort Vivian, but she pushed me away,” she said, tears shimmering in her eyes.
Cliff held her close, his gaze hardening as he turned toward me. His brows furrowed, and his eyes filled with contempt.
