er, a formidable art dealer with a gaze that could appraise a soul as easily as a sculpture, and my father, a respected gallery owner whose quiet demeanor masked a spine of cold steel. My old

ring shadow of a long-buried scandal that no one ever

rt, he said he loved my soul, and for the first time, I felt seen not as a fragile piece in a collection, but as a person. His love wa

ining table, my canvases leaning against the walls, the scent of turpentine mixing

, my first thought was of him. I imagined his face lighting u

him that night, my heart thumping

ss his face, pure and overwhelming. "Chloe," he breathed, pulling me into a h

me breakfast in bed, and he would spend hours with his hand on my still-flat stomach, talking to our child about the buildings he would desig

d genetic screening. We agreed to it without a second thought, another box to check

taring at his computer screen. His back was rigid, his shoulders tight

softly. "Is e

d. "Liam, what is it

never seen before. It was a mask of cold fury and disgust. His love, the gr

," he said, his voice fla

rocess the words. "Get rid of it? Wh

it that,"

e test say? Is something wrong with t

cy. Tomorrow." He gave no explanation, no comfort, no reason. Just a c

nt to answer it. My mother, father, and brother walked in. I felt a

them. "Liam... he wants me to have

nails digging into my skin. Her face, usually a mask of serene so

" she said, her voi

father added, his tone lea

sneered. "Don't be stupid, Chlo

front of hostility. They closed in on me, their faces hard and unforgiving. They st

backing away. "I do

me, forcing me toward the door, toward a car that would take me to a clinic. I fought. I screamed, I kicked, I clawed a

to the cold, damp evening. I ran, blindly, desperately, into the labyrinth of city alleys. Their

was spreading across the fabric of my dress. The world tilted, the grimy brick walls closing in. The life I had cherished, the tiny, innocent life inside me, was slipping away in a dark, forgo

was a danger to myself. For months, I was a ghost in a white gown, wandering halls of silent screams. They drugged me into compliance, subjected me to psychological torment that chipped away at my sanity until I wasn't even sure what was real anymore. I was a liab

opened

against my skin. I sat bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looke

phone. My blood ran cold. It was the day. The day the ge

ll about to