Chapter 9

Anastasia's POV 

The first week in the cell is the hardest. The noise never stops— clanging doors, shouting voices, the constant buzz of fluorescent lights. I can't sleep. I can barely eat the terrible food they serve. And the morning sickness is relentless.

Every morning, I spend the first hour hunched over the metal toilet in our cell, retching until there's nothing left in my stomach. Rosa complains about the noise. Jade just looks away, giving me what little privacy she can.

Felicity visits on day eight. We sit across from each other in the visitation room, separated by thick glass, speaking through phones that crackle with static.

"How are you holding up?" She asks, though the answer is written all over my face.

"I'm pregnant in jail, Felicity. How do you think I'm holding up?" I immediately regret the harsh tone. "I'm sorry. I'm just..."

"Don't apologize. You have every right to be angry." She wipes her eyes. "I've been working with Mr. Robert, trying to gather evidence. We're looking into Marian and Liam's whereabouts the night of the accident."

"And?"

"Nothing concrete yet. But we'll find something. I promise." She leans closer to the glass. "Ana, there's something else. Your parents... they released a statement to the media. They've publicly disowned you."

The words should hurt, but I feel nothing. Just a hollow emptiness where my heart used to be.

"Of course they did. God forbid their reputation be tarnished by their criminal daughter."

"There's more." Felicity's voice drops. "Liam is already being interviewed by business magazines. He's positioning himself as the heartbroken husband who was betrayed by his unstable wife. He's even hinted that your mental state was deteriorating before the divorce."

Rage burns through the numbness in my chest. "That bastard. He's going to use this to make himself look like a victim while destroying any credibility I have left."

"We won't let him win," Felicity says fiercely. "I swear to you, Ana. We'll prove your innocence."

But as I'm led back to my cell after the visit, I can't shake the feeling that I'm drowning, and no one is coming to save me.

Two weeks into my incarceration, something changes. I'm lying on my bunk, staring at the ceiling, when a guard approaches our cell.

"Campbell! You've got another visitor."

I haven't heard from Mr. Robert in days, so I assume it must be Felicity again. But when I enter the visitation room, the person waiting for me is someone I've never seen before.

She's an older woman, probably in her sixties, with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a neat bun. She wears simple clothes, a cardigan and slacks, and clutches a worn leather bag.

"Ms. Campbell?" She asks as I pick up the phone. "My name is Dr. Eleanor Price. I'm an obstetrician."

Confusion washes over me. "I don't understand. Did the jail send you?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Your friend Felicity contacted me. She's concerned about you and your baby, given the conditions here. I've volunteered to monitor your pregnancy pro bono."

Tears prick my eyes. Even now, Felicity is looking out for me. 

"That's very kind of you, Dr. Price." My voice is shaky and barely above a whisper.

"Please, call me Eleanor." Her smile is warm. "Now, how are you feeling? Any bleeding? Cramping?"

We spend the next twenty minutes discussing my symptoms. She's gentle and patient, asking questions about my medical history and the circumstances of my pregnancy. When I tell her about the drugging, her expression hardens.

"I'm going to make sure you and your baby get the care you need," she says firmly. "And Ms. Campbell? I want you to know that I believe you. What happened to you was not your fault."

The words break something open inside me. For the first time since this nightmare began, someone believes me. Someone who isn't Felicity. Someone with no reason to lie for me.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice cracking.

As she leaves, I feel the faintest spark of hope. Maybe I'm not completely alone after all.

That night, as I lie in my bunk listening to Rosa's snores and Jade's quiet crying, I place my hand on my still-flat stomach.

"I don't know who your father is," I whisper into the darkness. "I don't even know if I'll ever get out of here. But I promise you, I will fight. For both of us. I won't let them destroy us."

The baby doesn't respond, of course. But somehow, I feel stronger. More determined.

Liam and Marian think they've won. They think they've buried me so deep I'll never claw my way back out.

They're wrong.

I don't know how yet. I don't know when. But someday, I will make them pay for every tear I've cried, every night I've spent in this hellhole, every moment of fear and despair they've put me through.