2

Samantha’s POV

This taxi smells like cheap cigarettes and a nauseating orange air freshener. I pressed my forehead against the cold windowpane, watching the lights of Beverly Hills blur into streaks of light as we sped away.

Behind me, in that palace of a house, David is probably still on his knees on the cold marble floor. Or maybe he’s already gone back to holding Erica. My mind is spiraling. Every time I picture David’s hand touching my half-sister’s shoulder, my stomach twists violently—as if an invisible hand is intentionally wringing out my womb.

"Miss? Are you... alright? You’re bleeding!"

The driver’s voice jolted me back to reality. I looked down at my lap. On the white satin dress draped over my thighs, a small red stain was beginning to spread. The contrast was jarring: deep, dark crimson against the pure white fabric. My heart skipped a beat.

"Keep driving! To the airport!" I screamed, my voice cracking and hoarse. "Hurry! Don’t stop!"

I gripped the car seat so hard my fingernails snapped, but the sharp sting was nothing compared to the shattering of my chest.

Please, don’t die now. I was talking to my baby—the only reason I’m still able to breathe this poisoned air. David took my dignity, he destroyed my world, but he cannot take the life inside me. If this baby goes, there is nothing left of Samantha.

When we reached the airport, I threw a few hundred-dollar bills at the driver and dragged my suitcase away without looking back. My steps were heavy, stumbling as I fought the sharpening pain in my lower abdomen. This white dress felt like a thousand tons of lead pulling me to the bottom of the sea. Every pair of eyes watching me in the departure terminal felt like they were stripping my misfortune bare.

I headed straight for the furthest ladies' room, locked the stall, and retched. All the luxury, all the expensive food from the party, came back up as a bitter bile that burned my throat. I stared at my reflection in the small mirror inside the stall. My mascara had run into black streaks down my cheeks; my face was as pale as a corpse forced to walk.

"Angel," I whispered bitterly, remembering David’s pet name for me. "You have so many 'angels,' how could you be so cruel?"

With trembling hands, I yanked at the back zipper of the dress. The sound of the fabric tearing was immensely satisfying, as if I were ripping away my entire history with that man. I shed the expensive silk, letting it crumple onto the wet, filthy floor. I reached into my suitcase and pulled out an oversized black hoodie and leggings.

I dressed with stiff, mechanical movements. Then, I grabbed a small pair of scissors from my makeup bag. Without hesitation, I grabbed fistfuls of my long blonde hair and began hacking it off haphazardly. The blonde clumps fell to the floor, mingling with the bathroom grime. I didn't want a single part of me that he had ever touched to remain.

---

I was squeezed into the very last row of economy, between a man who smelled of sweat and a plane window that vibrated violently. The cabin air felt thin, suffocating lungs that had been struggling to draw a proper breath for hours. Every time the plane jolted from turbulence, my womb throbbed with pain, sending signals of danger that made me shiver with terror.

I kept my palms pressed against my stomach, trying to offer a warmth I no longer possessed myself. "Stay in there, sweetheart. Please..."

"Would you like some water, Miss?" The flight attendant looked at me with suspicion. Probably because of my ghastly face and the jagged, messily cut hair.

"No," I replied shortly, without looking up.

I closed my eyes, and the darkness immediately dragged me back to that garden in Beverly Hills. Erica in her provocative red dress. The photos of David fast asleep with another woman. And that lab report... eight weeks. David got my half-sister pregnant while I was struggling with morning sickness for our child. He planted a seed in another womb while I worshipped his every touch.

Bastard. Traitor.

Every time I remembered David’s face as he knelt pleading at the stairs, the nausea returned. I had loved that man more than my own life; I thought he was my final harbor after my parents discarded me for their own selfishness. It turns out David was just a more destructive storm.

The cramp hit again, sharper this time, like a knife being slowly twisted inside my gut. I bit my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, trying to drown out the internal agony with a different pain. I couldn't faint here. I had to make it to Vermont. I had to reach my grandfather’s old log cabin on the edge of the woods—the one place David forgot to put on his list of assets because it was in the name of a great-grandfather long since considered missing.

Pushing through the haze of anxiety was grueling, but I managed to hold on. After the long flight, I finally touched down in Vermont. I moved quickly, dragging my suitcase onto a bus to continue the final leg of the journey. The anxiety slowly faded, replaced by a bizarre sensation in my head and gut.

When the bus doors hissed open in front of Miller’s General Store, the night chill cut straight to my bones as if I were standing naked in a blizzard. The snow was falling heavily, white-washing my vision until I was nearly blind.

I stepped off the bus with feet that had gone numb. My head was spinning violently. With every step, the pain in my stomach screamed for attention, and black spots began to dance across my vision. The suitcase I was pulling felt like solid concrete, hampering my already stumbling gait.

"Just a little further, Sam... don't give up now," I whispered to myself.

My legs gave out when my body finally refused to take another order. I tried to grab the lamppost for support, but my hand only caught empty air. I collapsed onto the frozen asphalt. The cold snow touched my cheek, and for a moment, it felt incredibly peaceful. I wanted to sleep and find that this was all just a nightmare that would vanish at sunrise.

"Hey! Who's there?"

I heard the sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the snow. Someone was approaching. I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like they were made of lead and glued shut.

"My God... Miss? Can you hear me?"

The scent of flannel and pine. I felt a pair of strong arms lift my body from the frozen ground. The touch was rugged, yet a warmth seeped into my skin.

"Please... save my baby..." I whispered with the last of my strength.

As my consciousness began to flicker out, I caught a glimpse of the man helping me. A face that was hauntingly familiar.

"Sam? Samantha?" The man’s voice was panicked, but it carried an agonizing note of nostalgia. "Hang on, Sam! Dammit, what happened to you?"

The world went completely black.