Chapter 1

My wife sent our five-year-old daughter into a supposedly haunted, abandoned house to recover her engagement ring from a past relationship.

Inside, our child was horrified by the blood-spattered walls. Frightened, she stumbled and tumbled down the staircase. A corroded metal spike impaled her tiny frame.

When I discovered her, she had already passed away. Her small fingers were still tightly gripping the ring, unwilling to release it even after death.

I broke down beside her motionless form, weeping uncontrollably as I embraced her.

Overwhelmed with anguish, I repeatedly dialed my wife's number.

When she finally picked up, her tone was irritated and detached.

"Quit calling me!" she barked. "David's daughter is about to go into heart transplant surgery. Don't ruin this!"

Her statement struck me like a thunderbolt. I gazed at my daughter's lifeless face, my heart shattering.

In that instant, a part of me perished.

I ended the call with my wife and dialed another number.

"Hello. This is Emily's father," I said, my voice quivering with fury and sorrow. "I'm phoning about the heart donation."

"I regret to inform you that we've decided to withdraw from the process."

If you took my child from me, you don't merit her heart.

------

My wife's phone remained off for an entire day.

She didn't visit our daughter. Instead, she dispatched a courier to collect the engagement ring that Emily had been clutching in her small hand when she died.

My wife explained that the ring was something she'd gifted to her first love, David Lee, in their youth—a token of their teenage romance.

It held great significance for her, she insisted. Too valuable to misplace.

The hospital nurse regarded me with a mix of sympathy and indignation.

"How could anyone send such a young child alone into an abandoned building to retrieve something? That place has been vacant for years, and there was a recent fatality there. What kind of parent does that?"

"I heard she was born with a weak heart. How could anyone think it was acceptable to send her to such a place?"

"That unfortunate little girl... I hope her next existence is kinder, without such parents."

They were correct. I loathed myself more than anyone else ever could.

I had always been aware that my wife disregarded Emily's health. So why had I allowed her to take Emily that day?

I spent the entire night alone in the living room, my mind a whirlwind of grief and remorse.

By dawn, my wife finally returned home.

"Sign this," I said, sliding the divorce papers across the table.

She scowled, visibly irritated. "What's come over you now? Are you losing your mind?"

"Is this about me not answering your calls? You're being absurd," she said, rolling her eyes.

"David's daughter is about to undergo surgery. As his friend, of course I had to be there for him. Don't start acting childishly, Noah. I'm warning you—don't test my patience."

The faint odor of hospital antiseptic clung to her clothes, the same clinical scent that permeated the air when Emily was rushed to the emergency room.

But at that time, my wife wasn't by Emily's side. She was off consoling someone else's child.

I let out a bitter chuckle, my face contorted with revulsion.

"Consoling him all night? The surgery hasn't even begun, and you're already playing the role of a grieving parent? What's next—holding his hand when it fails?"

Before I could continue, my wife slapped me hard across the face.

"Noah, let me tell you something," she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "The only reason I've put up with you all this time is because we had a daughter together. But if you keep running your mouth, I'll throw you out of this house myself!"

Daughter? She dared to mention our daughter?

The memory of Emily's pale, agonized face flashed in my mind, and my chest constricted with unbearable anguish.

"Monica," I said through gritted teeth, "how dare you even speak of Emily? She was only five years old. How could you send her to that abandoned house alone? That place had been empty for years. Someone had just died there! Do you even know—" "Oh, here we go again," Monica interrupted, massaging her temples as if I was giving her a migraine.

"David is an adventure blogger, and the ring got lost there during one of his shoots. What was I supposed to do? Emily was perfectly capable of retrieving it. It's not like it killed her!"

Her words chilled me to the bone.

"Besides," she continued, "there weren't any ghosts in that house. I sent her there to toughen her up. It was for her own good."

"Look at David's daughter. She's so courageous, facing surgery like it's nothing. And now look at Emily. She couldn't even handle a simple errand without complaining to you about it."

Monica's tone grew harsher, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"And don't blame me for preferring Sophie over Emily. Let's be honest—unlike Emily, who was always so quiet and uninteresting."

"She was worthless, Noah. She couldn't even find a ring without making it into a big issue. If Sophie's surgery fails because of that, I'll make sure Emily apologizes for it—even if I have to drag her to the hospital to kneel outside Sophie's room."

Her words were daggers, tearing me apart.

I had been naive. I'd clung to the hope that Monica might feel even a hint of remorse after Emily's death. But now I saw the truth: Emily's life had meant nothing to her.

All she cared about was David. His feelings. His daughter's surgery.

She didn't deserve to know what had happened to Emily. If I told her, she wouldn't grieve. She'd only accuse me and Emily of conspiring to ruin her life.

"Enough of this," Monica said, tossing a worn-out Barbie doll onto the couch.

"This is for Emily. Tell her to come out of her room and thank Sophie for the gift."

I stared at the doll, my heart sinking.

Emily had always wanted an Elsa doll from Frozen. I'd lost count of how many times she'd pleaded for one, only for Monica to dismiss her with excuses.

And now, Monica had brought home this battered, secondhand Barbie—its paint chipped, one arm missing.

It wasn't Elsa.

It was Sophie's cast-off.

The irony was suffocating. Monica, an executive at a prestigious company, couldn't even purchase her own daughter a new toy. Instead, she expected Emily to play with Sophie's discards.

Ever since David entered our lives, Monica had wounded me in ways I thought I could no longer feel.

But when it came to Emily, I couldn't stop the tears from welling up.

"Monica," I said, my voice trembling with rage, "if you love Sophie so much, why don't you go be her mother? We're done. I want a divorce."

Monica grabbed a pillow and hurled it at me.

"Are you out of your mind, Noah?" she snapped.

"I've been supporting this family for years while you sat at home playing house. You're lucky I haven't thrown you out!"

"And now you want a divorce because I said a few things about Emily? Let me tell you something—Emily turned out the way she did because of you. You made her weak."

She opened her mouth to say more, but her phone rang, interrupting her.

When she saw the caller ID, her expression softened immediately.

"Oh, Sophie, don't worry, sweetheart. Auntie's coming right now."

Her voice was warm and tender, full of concern. But when she turned to me, her face hardened again.

"Fine. You want a divorce? Do whatever you want."

She grabbed her coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

To her, I was just a lovesick fool. She probably thought I'd come crawling back as soon as she tossed me a few kind words.

Once, I might have. I'd stayed silent, endured everything, just to give Emily a complete family.

But my silence had cost my daughter her life.

I wanted to leave this house, this city, this grief behind.

But then I thought—why should I go?

If anyone should leave, it was Monica and David Lee.

So, I changed the locks that same night.

If she wanted to be Sophie's mother so badly, then she could stay with Sophie forever.

But she wouldn't be coming back here. Not to this house. Not to me.