Chapter Six: Stealing the Limelight

Alice’s POV

Her words hit me like a dull blade, sawing straight into my chest.

“I didn’t,” I said without thinking. The sound barely made it past my throat. “Camilla, I didn’t push her.”

She didn’t listen. She rushed at me, her small fists flying, hitting my legs, my arms — wild, uncoordinated. It didn’t hurt much, not physically.

But every hit landed exactly where it hurt most.

“You’re lying!” she screamed through tears. “You’re mean to Aunt Lily! You always said lying was bad. You’re bad!”

I reached for her, instinctively, trying to pull her into my arms, to calm her down.

She shoved me hard. Then she leaned forward and bit my wrist. Her teeth sank into my skin.

I sucked in a sharp breath — not from the pain. From the shock.

This was the child I lovingly raised with my own hands. The one I spoon-fed her first solid food. The one I held all night when she had a fever. The one I taught to speak, to walk, to trust. Not to lie.

And now she was using every ounce of her strength to hurt me — for another woman.

“Camilla, let go!” My voice rough. “You’re hurting me.”

She didn’t loosen her grip. She bit down harder, like she was avenging someone who had been wronged. I cried out and instinctively pulled my arm back.

She lost her balance and fell onto the floor. She froze there for a second — then burst into loud, panicked sobs.

“Daddy!” she screamed. “Daddy, help me! Mommy’s crazy!”

That word — crazy — drove the final nail in.

I heard David come running. The moment Camilla saw him, she scrambled up and threw herself into his arms, clinging to his neck like she was afraid of being torn away.

“Daddy—!” She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. “Mommy — she pushed Aunt Lily down the stairs! And she hit me!”

She lifted her tear-streaked face and said, clearly, desperately, “I don’t want her to be my mom! I want Aunt Lily!”

David’s arms tightened protectively around her. Then he looked up at me over her shoulder. The look in his eyes made my heart skip a beat.

It wasn’t doubt. It wasn’t a question. It was shock. And disappointment — deep, settling, irreversible.

“Alice… how could you?” he asked. He stared at me like he was seeing a stranger.

Lily was still lying on the floor at the base of the stairs. Our staff had gathered around her. Someone pressed a towel gently against her bleeding temple. Her face was drained of color, her lashes fluttering like she might pass out at any moment.

“David…” Her voice was weak. “Please… don’t say that. You’ll scare the child.”

She tried to sit up, failed, and sagged back. My housekeeper hurried to support her.

“Camilla is still little,” she said softly, forcing a fragile smile. Tears pooled in her eyes. “She was just frightened. She didn’t mean what she said… Please don’t blame her. Or… her mother.”

She said her mother gently. Carefully. As if she were defending me. It was worse than any accusation.

David’s frown tightened. He bent down and murmured to Camilla, “It’s okay. Daddy’s here.”

Then he looked back at me. His eyes had gone completely cold.

“Alice,” he said my name with no warmth at all. “I always thought you weren’t particularly impressive — but at least you used to be gentle. Rational.”

My heart sank.

“I never imagined,” he went on, his voice heavy with disappointment, and something close to disgust, “that you’d be capable of something this cruel.”

I finally spoke. My voice was shaking. “I didn’t push her,” I said. “David — look at me. I didn’t—”

“That’s enough.” He cut me off. Didn’t even let me finish the sentence. “Camilla saw you. How do you explain that?” He glanced down at our daughter’s still-red eyes, his tone turning sharper, colder. “She’s five. She wouldn’t make this up.”

“No, David. Lily stepped back and lost her balance on the stairs. She did it on purpose, you have to believe me!”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Alice.” His voice rose, tight with restraint. “I never thought you’d stoop to something like this.”

That was the moment something clicked. He wasn’t listening to me. He wasn’t weighing facts or looking for the truth. He was waiting for a confession.

Waiting for me to lower my head. To say I’d lost control. That I was emotional. That I was jealous. That this was somehow my fault.

I drew in a breath, slow and deep. My fingers curled so tightly they went numb. “David,” I said, forcing the words to stay steady, “I’m your wife. I need your support, not wild accusations.”

That stopped him. For half a second, he actually froze. I saw the frown gather on his forehead.

“I’m your wife,” I said again. Louder this time. The restraint finally cracking. “I’ve lived in this house for six years. I raised our child. I ran this home. There hasn’t been a single day that I’ve betrayed you.”

My chest rose and fell hard. “And now you’re ready to sentence me — based on one moment, one version of a story, without even asking mine.”

I looked straight at him, my voice breaking despite myself. “Who gave you the right to convict me without even hearing me out?”

The air went still.

David looked at me, and there was no longer any hesitation in his eyes. Only deeper exhaustion. And impatience.

“Look at you,” he said quietly, which somehow made it worse. “You’re emotional. You’re aggressive. Do you really think that makes you convincing?”

For a second, I thought I might collapse.

That was when Lily spoke. Softly. Carefully. Like it cost her effort just to breathe.

“David… please stop.” Her voice was weak, but steady. “Don’t fight. Not because of me. I don’t want to hurt your marriage.”

She lifted her gaze past him — and looked straight up at me. There was no provocation there. No triumph. Just a calm, elevated kind of pity.

“Alice,” she said gently, “I shouldn’t have come back.”

The words landed like a stone, dropped with perfect aim.

David turned to her instinctively.

“I know,” she went on, slow and restrained, “whatever you and I had, David… it ended a long time ago..”

She paused, as if steadying herself. “You’re married now. You have a child. A life. I shouldn’t have appeared again, and put you in this position.”

She drew in a shallow breath. Her eyes were red, but she forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t stay here. Once I have recovered, I’ll leave.”

She said softly, firmly, “No matter how hard it is to start over again, I’ll handle it myself. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Every sentence sounded like an exit. And every word was a reminder of what they once were. When they were David and Lily.

David’s expression changed completely. Not into reason. Into guilt. And tenderness.

“So,” I said, my voice rough, “you’re still choosing to believe her.” I looked at him, really looked. “What do you think I had to gain by pushing her down the stairs?”

He was silent for two seconds. Then he said the words that finally told me exactly where I stood.

“I don’t know what you were thinking, Alice. But I know Lily wouldn’t do something like that.”

That was it. I didn’t really hear his words. I heard something inside me break. Cleanly. Completely.

I let out a small laugh. It surprised even me. My voice wasn’t loud. But it carried.

“David,” I said, “I want a divorce.”