A Lifeline Cut by My Family

My fingers trembled as I turned on the voice recorder.

"Dad, I'm due next week! I came to have my car serviced today, so I'd be ready if I had to rush to the hospital." I clenched my teeth. "You cut my brake line. Were you trying to kill all three of us?"

A dismissive snort came from my father, Nathan Ashley, on the other end.

"Women make way too big a deal out of having babies. If you go into labor, just call an Uber. Why do you have to drive yourself everywhere? You think you're so special."

He paused, calculation creeping into his voice. "Besides, if something really did happen, the insurance payout would cover you and the baby. It might even pay out two million. Then Lillian wouldn't just have her dowry—she'd have enough for a down payment on a condo downtown."

"Hell yeah! We cleaned them out!" someone shouted as laughter erupted from the poker table.

"Anyway, I'm busy. Quit wasting my time and get back on the road."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, unable to process what I'd just heard.

To buy his younger daughter, Lillian Ashley, a home so she could get married, my own father wanted me dead. He'd even put a price tag on the life of the child I was carrying.

Ethan Morales, my friend at the repair shop, had heard every word. He looked at me in stunned disbelief. "Lyla, that's your real dad?"

My real dad.

The words pulled me back into a memory.

When I was twelve, I woke in the middle of the night with acute appendicitis. The pain was so unbearable I rolled across my bed, drenched in cold sweat. I begged my father to take me to the hospital.

The kitchen smelled sweet with simmering pear compote. He stood at the stove, slowly stirring the pot, while my younger sister, Lillian, who'd done nothing more than catch a slight chill and develop a mild cough earlier that day, sat on the couch watching cartoons.

Hearing me cry, my father came out carrying a bowl. His face twisted with disgust.

"What's with all the screaming in the middle of the night? You think hospitals are free? Your sister's still sick, and you expect me to worry about you too? Go back to bed. Sleep it off."

That night, I didn't even get a glass of warm water.

Eventually, the pain became so intense that I collapsed unconscious in the hallway. A neighbor found me and rushed me to the hospital.

The doctor said that if I'd arrived just thirty minutes later, my appendix would've ruptured, and I probably wouldn't have survived.

When my father finally showed up, the first thing he asked wasn't whether I'd be okay.

"How much is this going to cost? We can't afford to treat her."

Things like that happened over and over throughout my childhood. So many times that I'd long since accepted one simple truth—in that family, my life had no value. I existed for one reason only: to pave the way for Lillian.

Dragging myself out of the memory, I thanked Ethan for offering me a ride and took an Uber home instead.

When I opened the front door, late afternoon sunlight spilled across the living room.

Trenton sat on the couch, carefully folding tiny baby clothes. He looked up with a warm smile. "Hey, honey. Look at this little yellow duck onesie. Our baby's going to look so adorable in it..."

The moment I saw his face, the last of my composure shattered. I hurried over and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest as I clung to him and sobbed uncontrollably.

"What happened? Lyla, you're scaring me." Panicked, Trenton tried to pull back and look at me.

The commotion brought Bridget and Jasper Baldwin, my parents-in-law, hurrying out of the kitchen.

By the time I'd managed to explain everything through broken sobs, the living room had fallen into a stunned silence.

Tears welled in Bridget's eyes. She helped me onto the couch before disappearing into the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a mug of warm chamomile tea.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Don't be afraid. You've got me."

Jasper, meanwhile, was shaking with rage. "That monster doesn't deserve to be called a father. Lyla, call the police right now. Leave the car exactly where it is at the repair shop so the forensic investigators can examine it."