Sarah's POV
“Aren't you getting off miss?.” The driver cut me off from my thought immediately. I shaked my head twice to return to my right senses and the moment I touched my cheeks gently, I realized tears had started dropping down from them.
I was just so lost in thought that I had forgotten that the car had stopped already. “Oh yeah.” I exclaimed.
“Sorry for the interruption,” the driver apologized, his eyes darting to the rear-view mirror as I opened the door.
The night air was a cold slap to my tear-stained cheeks, snapping me back to the present. I stepped out of the car while my legs felt as unsteady as my heart.
“No need to apologize,” I muttered as I handed over the fare and turned away before the driver could catch another glimpse of my distress.
“Over here ma'am.” The security guard’s deep voice jolted me out of my daze, beckoning me towards the open front door. I followed his gesture towards the exposed entrance, the inside of the hotel was visible through the clear glass panels.
“Thanks,” I muttered, managing a small smile as the guard helped me carry my luggage through the heavy doors.
The reception area was majestic, its beauty and style coming from the pretty furniture, shiny lights, and marble floor. As I approached the receptionist, a tall, immaculately dressed man with a friendly smile, I took a deep breath, attempting to put on a brave face despite the turmoil I felt inside. “Welcome ma'am.” He uttered and I nodded my head twice and forced another smile.
“For how long would you be staying?.” He questioned and let out another warm smile. The receptionist's smile was contagious, and I couldn't help but reciprocate his warmth, despite the storm raging inside me.
"A week should be enough," I replied, though I knew I couldn't stay much longer, as I had plans to move on. Richard had made it clear where I stood in his life: nowhere. His actions had left me feeling devalued and disrespected. Martin’s words rang in my mind, urging me to seize control of my life. I had no ties to hold me back, no loyalty to maintain.
My reverie was interrupted as the receptionist returned, her smile never wavering. “Here you go, ma’am,” He said.
“Huh?”
“Your keys.” He added, handling me the keys to my room as he let out another warm smile. This time, Yet this time, the smile felt almost forced, as though it was nothing more than a veneer of hospitality.
With a nod of thanks, I took the keys and began to make my way towards the elevator. As I walked, I tried to shake off the unease that had settled over me.
The moment I got into my room, I heard my phone ring out abruptly. I quickly answered, bracing myself for the conversation to come. “Hey mom.” I uttered while I kept my phone 1 inch away from my ear. I knew If I told mom about my divorce with Richard, she would scream the hell out, so I was very prepared this moment.
“Hey, Sarah! How did it go? Any news?” Mom’s eager voice came through the line, her excitement palpable even through the phone. My heart sank, and I inhaled deeply, steeling myself. “Mom, I need to tell you something,” I said while my voice began to quiver slightly.
For so long, Mom had been my rock, my pillar of support. In my darkest moments with Richard, she'd been the one to pick me up, dust me off, and urge me to stay strong. But now, as I stood on the precipice of shattering her expectations, I felt my knees begin to buckle.
How could I explain that my loyalty and goodness hadn't been enough? That despite my best efforts, Richard had left me in the cold? That I felt worthless, alone, and unable to hold onto the life I once knew?
“Go on baby, did it go well?” She questioned once again.
Mom’s voice on the other end of the line was all it took to trigger the dam of emotions that had been building inside of me. I tried to speak, to find the words to explain, but my throat felt like it was being clenched in an invisible fist. The cruel words and deeds of Richard echoed in my mind, and I felt myself drowning in the misery of it all.
“Mom,” I choked out, my voice barely audible over the lump in my throat. "It's Richard...we...we got a divorce.”
“What?, how is this possible and how could you not inform me about these Sarah. No!. It wouldn't just end this way!” Mum's outraged words slammed into me like a freight train, compounding the guilt and shame that already weighed so heavily on my heart. Before I could even formulate a response, the line went dead.
I stood there, alone in my hotel room, the echoes of Mum's disapproval ringing in my ears. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I sank to the floor, cradling my head in my hands. I felt like a failure, unable to keep my marriage afloat or even keep my mother's approval.
Richard pov.The weeks that followed were like a dream, the kind of dream I never wanted to wake up from. Sarah’s recovery was nothing short of miraculous. She was her old self again—strong, radiant, and filled with the kind of joy that seemed to light up any room she entered. And our daughter? She was growing so fast, already wrapping us—and everyone else—in her tiny fingers. But the best part of it all? We were finally preparing for our wedding. Sarah wanted something small and intimate, just us and our closest family and friends. She’d always talked about having a garden wedding, surrounded by nature, with the sun setting in the background. And that’s exactly what we were going to do. The morning was a flurry of activity. Zoe was in charge of decorations, barking orders at Martins, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Martins, the flowers go on the left,” Zoe said, hands on her hips. “They look fine where they are,” Martins shot back, holding up a bouquet of
Richard pov.Weeks passed. Life felt like a blur of hospital visits, endless updates from doctors, and quiet moments spent in Sarah’s room. I was there every day, holding her hand, speaking softly to her, willing her to wake up. Zoe and Martins tried their best to keep things light whenever they visited, cracking jokes or telling stories, but even they couldn’t hide their worry. The NICU had become another constant in my life. Our daughter was thriving despite her premature birth, a tiny fighter who seemed determined to make it through. I’d visit her every evening after sitting with Sarah, watching her tiny chest rise and fall under the glow of the incubator’s lights. She was the only glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark time. “Hey, little one,” I whispered one night, my hand resting on the incubator. “Your mom’s going to wake up soon. She has to. She wouldn’t leave us like this.” It was a quiet morning when the miracle happened. I was sitting in Sarah’s room, flipping through
Richard pov.The morning of the trial felt heavy. I left the hospital earlier than usual, making sure Zoe would stay with Sarah. Despite the overwhelming dread, there was a part of me that felt strangely numb, as if my emotions had run dry after weeks of worry and anger. Martins met me outside the courthouse, impeccably dressed in his usual sharp suit. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding. “Today’s a big step forward,” he said. “Remember, this trial is about getting justice, not reopening wounds. You’re here to see Susan held accountable, not to punish yourself for her actions.”I nodded, though his words didn’t settle the unease churning in my gut. The courtroom was cold, and even though I’d prepared myself for this moment, seeing Susan seated across the room made my stomach twist. She didn’t look like someone riddled with guilt; she looked indifferent, like this was just another ordinary day. The prosecution opened with a detailed timeline of events, recou
Richard pov.The call from the police came just after dawn, jarring me awake in the cold, uncomfortable chair next to Sarah’s hospital bed. I fumbled with my phone, heart pounding as I stepped into the hallway to answer.“We’ve located Susan,” the officer said. “She’s in custody. We’d like you to come down to the station.”My grip tightened around the phone. The relief I felt was fleeting, quickly replaced by anger. “I’ll be there,” I said, my voice low.Zoe appeared beside me as I hung up. She had been sitting with Sarah through the night, taking turns with Martins to ensure I wasn’t alone. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but her concern for Sarah mirrored my own.“Was that about Susan?” she asked.I nodded. “They’ve got her. I’m heading to the station.”“I’m coming with you,” she said firmly.“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Stay here. I need someone I trust to be with Sarah.”She hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But keep me updated.”When I arrived at the police station, Martin
Richard pov.The cold, sterile environment of the police station did nothing to settle the unease that had been gnawing at me since Sarah’s fall. Sitting across from Isabelle in the small interrogation room only amplified it. She looked different—disheveled, almost feral—but her eyes still held that same unhinged intensity I remembered from before. Martins sat beside me, arms crossed, his body language radiating skepticism and disgust. The officer standing by the door had warned us to keep the conversation civil, but I wasn’t here to trade pleasantries. “Why, Isabelle?” My voice was steady, but my hands clenched into fists under the table. “Why did you hurt Sarah?” She tilted her head, a slow, deliberate movement that made my skin crawl. Then, she smiled—a twisted, almost childlike grin. “She wanted to take you from me,” she said, her tone eerily calm. I blinked, the sheer absurdity of her words momentarily robbing me of speech. “Take me from you? Isabelle, how many times
Richard pov.Morning came soon. The soft hum of the machines in Sarah’s room provided a false sense of calm, but every beep reminded me she was hanging on by a thread. My chest felt heavy with every passing second, waiting for her to open her eyes, to tell me everything would be okay. Zoe and Martins stayed close, their presence quiet but steady. Zoe would occasionally bring coffee or attempt to distract me with updates on the baby, but my focus stayed on Sarah.Martins had taken over the logistics—coordinating with hospital staff, keeping everyone updated, and ensuring the security team outside wasn’t slacking. It was just after 7 a.m. when my phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration snapping me out of my daze. I saw the caller ID and immediately stepped out of the room to take the call. “This better be good,” I snapped, my voice low but sharp. “Mr. Wright,” a familiar voice responded—it was Derek, head of my security team. “We’ve apprehended Isabelle.” The words didn’t re