The Day My Daughter’s Life Was StolenChapter 1
As my husband, Don Thorian Duskmoor, made his way back along the dim woodland road—intent on retrieving our daughter Ashley from the open lot where the younger recruits trained—his voice suddenly cut through the private line we shared. It wasn’t a calm message; it was urgent, sharp, almost forceful. Without explanation, he abandoned the task halfway and ordered me to take his place.
A chill of dread settled deep in my chest. Despite the fever raging through my body, I forced myself to move. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong. Ignoring the weakness in my limbs, I rushed through the winding paths, the pale glow of the night barely lighting my way. But no matter how fast I pushed myself, I was too late.
A black luxury car—sleek, unmarked, and moving like a bullet—tore down the road. It hit her without hesitation and disappeared just as quickly, as if it had never been there at all. No license plate. No witnesses. Just silence.
Ashley lay on the ground, unmoving.
I dropped beside her, my hands trembling as I gathered her small, lifeless body into my arms. The world blurred. My voice broke into a scream that echoed into the emptiness, raw and shattered.
At that very moment, another voice slipped into the communication line—Selindra Thayne, Thorian’s trusted right hand. Her tone carried something that made my stomach twist.
“You always show up when I need you,” she said softly, clearly speaking to someone nearby. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The warmth in her voice was unmistakable. And worse—memories surfaced uninvited. The two of them together, too close, too familiar. A connection that went beyond loyalty.
My hands clenched.
With fury burning through my veins, I reached out to Thorian through our private line, my voice cold and cutting.
“Is this why you left Ashley alone?”
There was no reply.
Not until everything was over.
Not until Ashley had been buried beneath the cold, unforgiving ground. Not until the last handful of soil had been thrown over her grave. Not until the world had gone silent around me.
Only then did his voice return.
“She’s six,” he said flatly. “She could handle herself. But Selindra… she needed me.”
The words hollowed me out completely.
“Thorian,” I whispered, each syllable heavy with finality, “we’re finished.”