Chapter 2

It was Rosalie, coming upstairs to get Finn's comfort blanket, with Preston following behind her.

"That really scared me, sir. The way your wife looked at me was terrifying…"

Rosalie's voice was soft and soothing.

Then came my husband's low sigh.

The tenderness that had once belonged to me now belonged to someone else.

"Don't worry about her. You're much more suited to being a mother than she is."

His voice came clearly through the old wooden door.

"At this point, she's nothing but a burden. I just wish she'd disappear from our lives already."

The effects of what had happened overwhelmed me.

My insides roiled and burned, every muscle in my body slipping away from my control.

Preston, just as you wanted.

I hope the two of you are happy.

I closed my eyes completely and sank into endless darkness.

When my consciousness gathered again, it was already the next morning.

I floated weightlessly in the air, watching Preston make coffee in the kitchen downstairs right on schedule.

There was no smell of my usual burnt bacon in the air.

He frowned slightly, seemingly irritated by my absence that morning.

He set down his coffee and strode into the study.

The petition for my forced commitment was gone.

Instead, Rosalie was standing beside my medicine cabinet holding a bottle of melatonin supplements, looking concerned.

"Mr. Bellamy, all the sleep gummies from the bar are gone."

She carefully handed him the empty bottle.

"Mrs. Bellamy seems to have swallowed a whole handful. She's under the covers and won't respond, even though Finn was crying outside her door."

I froze.

How was that possible?

The medication I had taken was—

those high‑potency prescription opioids locked deep inside my desk drawer — not some harmless melatonin gummy.

Looking at Rosalie's innocent expression, I understood immediately.

She had hidden the dangerous medication and replaced the evidence with a harmless explanation, making it look as though I was simply sleeping off another fit of anger.

Preston looked at the empty bottle, and the concern in his eyes instantly hardened into contempt.

"She always pulls this kind of stunt—pretending to be unconscious so she can avoid her responsibilities."

Then the doorbell rang.

It was Sarah, a warmhearted stay-at-home mother who lived a few houses away.

She was holding a plate of freshly baked muffins, her expression worried.

"Preston? Is Helen okay? She hasn't answered any of my texts. Her postpartum depression has seemed really bad lately. I couldn't get through your gate, so I came over."

Preston accepted the muffins and gave her a tired but incredibly polished smile.

"Thanks, Sarah. But I've seen her psychiatric evaluation report… She's not actually sick."

Sarah sucked in a breath.

"What?"

"The report is very clear. She's pretending to be ill to avoid responsibility."

Preston sounded like a helpless victim.

"She pretends to be seriously ill, sleeps all day after taking sleeping pills, and uses that as an excuse to hand Finn over to the nanny. If she ever pretends to be dead again and doesn't answer your messages, you don't need to worry about her."

I hovered in midair, frozen to the core.

Rosalie had always managed my medical account for me.

That so-called report claiming I was faking my illness was obviously another one of her fabrications.

And the ridiculous part was that Preston actually believed it.

In my husband's eyes, my sleepless nights, unbearable nerve pain, and desperate sobbing had somehow become nothing more than an elaborate scheme to "avoid doing my job."

Sarah's expression immediately filled with sympathy.

"Oh my God, Preston. It must be so hard taking care of this whole household by yourself. Don't put so much pressure on yourself."

The door closed.

I watched Preston casually put the plate of muffins into the refrigerator.

Suddenly, I laughed.

The tears evaporated somewhere inside my nonexistent soul.

It didn't matter anymore.

All he wanted was a gentle, normal wife and a perfect family.

As long as he could take good care of Finn, I could die carrying the reputation of a woman who had "faked her illness to avoid responsibility."

That was fine.

Preston went upstairs to the master bedroom.

He turned the doorknob.

Click.

The door was locked from the inside.

I floated in the hallway, watching what little patience he had left finally run out.

"Helen, do you really think locking yourself in there is going to solve anything?"

His voice came through the heavy wooden door, unmistakably impatient.

Silence.

"If you don't want to take care of the kid, I'll do it. If you want to hide, then keep hiding. But I'm warning you—stop using this childish silent treatment to punish this family!"

He slapped the doorframe angrily.

No response.

With an irritated scoff, Preston tugged at his tie.

Just as he turned toward the study, the sky outside suddenly darkened.

A torrential rain began to pour.

A blinding flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

A frightened cry came from the living room downstairs.

"Preston!"

Rosalie's voice trembled deliberately.

"I'm scared…"

The coldness vanished from Preston's face instantly.

He hurried down the stairs, wrapped his arms around Rosalie as she cowered on the sofa, and pulled her against him.

"It's okay. It's okay. I'm here."

He gently rubbed her back.

His voice was exactly the same tender tone he had once used to comfort me whenever I was afraid of thunderstorms.

Rosalie trembled against his solid chest.

"I've been afraid of thunder since I was little… But I'm even more afraid that Mrs. Bellamy will wake up and come downstairs again, like she did last time when you weren't home. She grabbed me by the throat…"

Grabbed her by the throat?

When had I ever touched her?

I stared at them in shock.

But the way Preston immediately tightened his arms around her told me everything.

He believed her.

"Don't be afraid. As long as I'm here, that crazy woman will never lay a finger on you again."

In the dark living room, Preston lit an expensive scented candle.

To calm her down, he poured them both glasses of wine, then thoughtfully draped a blanket over Rosalie's shoulders.

On that stormy, gloomy evening, they sat close together on the leather sofa, looking just like a real married couple.

"Preston, what if Mrs. Bellamy comes downstairs and sees us like this…"

Rosalie hesitated.

Preston took a sip of wine, his expression turning utterly cold.

"Forget about her. Don't let that selfish woman ruin our evening. This house is better without her."

I floated quietly above them, listening to his verdict without fighting or getting angry.

Yes.

As long as you're happy, I can make room for you.

Just don't abandon my Finn.

Just as Preston gazed tenderly at Rosalie and the two of them gently clinked their glasses—

My gaze passed through the ceiling above them.

Directly overhead, in the dusty, freezing, abandoned attic, my cold body lay motionless on the wooden floor.

Internal bleeding brought on by the opioid overdose sent thick, dark‑red blood pouring from my nose and mouth, spreading slowly and horribly across the planks.

The dark stain slowly seeped into the cracks of the old wooden floor.

Little by little…

Through the ceiling.

Directly above the couple holding each other.