"Listen to me. Seven days. I want them destroyed."

……

A pause. Then:

"You should have done this a long time ago. I told you back then that man was no good. I'll help you. Seven days from now, I'll come for you."

I bit down on my lower lip until the taste of blood spread across my tongue. Only then could I force the sob back down my throat.

"Start by drafting a divorce agreement for me."

The voice on the other end agreed. The tears I'd been fighting spilled over, and I hung up.

The phone slipped from my fingers. I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders trembling.

I had been married to Guy James for five years.

Since high school, I'd loved him for a full decade. No one knew how overjoyed I was when he proposed. No one could have.

He was the James family's illegitimate son, raised on cruelty and contempt, and it had forged him into something cold and guarded, armored against the world.

But I threw myself at those walls anyway. I believed love could melt the ice.

Everyone said Guy James was crazy about me. That if I asked for the stars, he'd find a way to pluck them from the sky and lay them at my feet.

Now I knew it was all a lie.

Seven days ago, I watched my beautiful daughter wheeled out of the operating room under a white sheet.

"We're sorry, Mrs. James. There was a complication during surgery. We did everything we could."

In that moment, it felt like a massive hand had reached into my chest and torn my heart clean in half. The pain was so sharp I couldn't breathe.

With trembling hands, I slowly lifted the sheet. I touched her cold little face, and the tears I'd been holding back flooded out.

I pressed my cheek against hers. My eyes went hollow. My arms locked around her thin, small body and would not let go.

My daughter had always been healthy. How could a minor surgery go wrong?

The odds of a complication were almost nonexistent. Why did it have to be my daughter?

The medical staff tried to wheel her away. I threw myself at the gurney like a woman possessed, my voice so raw it barely made a sound. "Don't take her! Give me back my daughter..."

I pulled out my phone to call Guy, who was supposed to be in a meeting. He could fix this. He could bring her back.

I called ninety-nine times. He didn't pick up once.

Finally, on the hundredth call, he answered.

"Amber, I'm in a meeting. I'll call you back." His voice came through hoarse and breathless.