Chapter 3

After losing an entire day at my mother’s house, I only have one day left.

Blood crusted on my calf, pulling at my skin with every step. 

I dragged my injured leg up the stairs to my room. The morning sun was bright, yet I shivered. I needed a single Petal. 

My husband was usually mild-mannered. My husband’s mom was harsh, yes, but I had paid a massive price for this family. 

I traded my only remaining golden Petals at the Heart-Root to cure my little sister-in-law’s cerebral palsy. I saved her life. Surely, that sacrifice had earned me at least one drop of genuine affection. A sliver of true gratitude. 

If they just cared for me, truly cared, my Heart-Seed would bloom. I could survive tonight’s midnight deadline.

I pushed the door open. 

A pair of strange, red high heels lay carelessly kicked across the entryway mat. 

I froze. A woman’s soft sobbing drifted from the living room. I limped forward, leaning against the wall for support. 

My husband sat on the gray sofa. A young woman was curled into his chest, her face buried in his shirt. His hand stroked her hair. He was looking down at her with a profound, tender grief. 

Hearing my uneven footsteps, he looked up. There was no panic in his eyes. No guilt.

He reached onto the coffee table, picked up a crumpled piece of paper, and threw it at me. It hit my chest and fluttered to the floor. 

I looked down. It was an ultrasound scan. 

"She lost the baby yesterday," my husband said. His voice was completely flat. "My son."

I stared at the black-and-white image on the floor. "Your... son?"

"Don’t play dumb, Clara," my husband snapped, standing up. "I don’t have time for your drama today. The Heart-Root blooms at midnight tonight. You are going to the tree. You will trade whatever you have to bring my son back."

The air in my lungs vanished. He was admitting to his affair, mourning his illegitimate child, and ordering me to pay the price. 

"Bring him back?" My voice cracked. "With what?"

"With your Petals!" he shouted. "What else?"

"I don’t have any," I whispered. 

My husband sneered. He walked toward me, grabbing my shoulder. "Stop lying. You’re just jealous. You’re angry because she gave me a son and you couldn’t. This is a life, Clara! Stop being so selfish!"

"I am not lying!" I pushed his hand away. "Feel it! Look at me! We have been married for three years. Have you ever loved me? Have you ever given me a single rose-colored Petal? No! "

"Bullshit!" He pointed a finger in my face. "I come home every day. I give you money. My mother cooks for you and treats you like her own. How can your seed be empty? "

The kitchen door banged open. My husband’s mom marched out, wiping her hands on an apron. Her face was twisted in disgust. 

"I told you she was a useless jinx," she spat at her son. She turned her glare on me. "A hen that can’t lay eggs. Now you want to murder your husband’s only flesh and blood? Going to the giant tree is your duty as a wife."

I looked at the older woman, my chest heaving. "Duty? I gave everything to this family! I sacrificed my last golden Petals to the Keeper! I cured your daughter’s brain! She can walk and talk because of my flesh and blood! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?"

My husband’s mom crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. "Oh, here we go again. You married into our family. Saving your My litter sister-in-law was your basic obligation. Do you want a medal for doing what you were supposed to do? Stop using that as an excuse to murder my grandson!"

They didn’t care. They didn’t remember. 

To my mother, I was a discarded toy. To my husband and his mother, I was a consumable resource. A battery they could drain to fix their own lives. 

If I went to the Heart-Root tonight with an empty seed, I will die.

They were sending me to the slaughterhouse. 

"I won’t do it," I said, my voice dropping to a dead whisper. "I am leaving."

I turned toward the front door.  

Before I could take two steps, a heavy hand grabbed the back of my hair. 

I screamed as my husband yanked me backward. My injured leg buckled. I crashed hard onto the wooden floor. The cut on my calf ripped open, fresh blood pooling on the boards. 

"You aren’t going anywhere," my husband snarled. 

He dragged me by my collar across the floor. I kicked and scratched at his hands, but I was exhausted and starving. He threw me into our bedroom and slammed the door. The lock clicked heavily from the outside. 

I pounded on the wood until my knuckles bled. Nobody answered. 

The hours dragged on. The sun set, casting long, twisted shadows across the bedroom floor. My stomach cramped violently. My leg throbbed with a burning infection. 

It was past ten o’clock when the lock finally clicked. 

The door opened. My husband stood in the doorway, holding a warm glass of milk. The mistress was gone. 

His face had changed. The anger was replaced by a smooth, chilling gentleness. 

"Clara," he said softly, walking in and kneeling beside me on the floor. "I was too harsh today. I’m sorry. I’m just grieving."

I pressed myself against the wall, staring at him. 

"You haven’t eaten all day," he continued, holding the glass out. "Drink this. We can talk about everything tomorrow. I won’t force you to go to the tree. I promise."

My throat was as dry as sandpaper. My vision was swimming from dehydration and hunger. I looked at the milk. 

I reached out with shaking hands and took the glass. I drank it in three large gulps. 

My husband took the empty glass. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. He stood up and took a step back. 

"Good girl," he whispered. 

Within seconds, the room began to spin. A heavy, unnatural numbness rushed up my spine, paralyzing my limbs. The glass slipped from my fingers, rolling across the floor. 

I collapsed sideways. 

The bedroom door creaked wider. Footsteps entered. 

"Did she drink it?" my husband’s mom asked. 

"Every drop," my husband replied, his voice completely void of the gentleness from a moment ago. "She’s out cold."

"Good. Don’t waste time. Get the thick ropes from the garage."

"Will the Keeper still accept the trade if she’s unconscious?" he asked. 

"It doesn’t matter," the old woman sneered. "As long as we drag her to the tree’s boundary before midnight, the Keeper will take what is owed."

"You’re right, Mom. Let’s tie her up."

My world plunged into total darkness.