ManyWriters

On the day of my daughter's dance competition, a madman suddenly charged towards her with an iron rod.
To protect my daughter, I was battered dozens of times by the lunatic, my arm brutally broken in the process.
My husband Brent immediately apprehended the madman and urgently rushed us to his private, high-end hospital for emergency treatment.
In the hospital room, I was jolted awake from unconsciousness by the searing pain in my broken arm, wanting to call out for Brent.
But I overheard the doctor asking him, "Wasn't the agreement just to replace the knee joint? Why did you have to harm Mrs. Frost and smother the child?"
"Seraphina's just got a broken arm, she's a bit hurt but it's not fatal."
"Her only purpose was to provide a knee joint replacement for Genevieve's son. Now that her mission is complete, there's no need for her to stay alive."
"After all... Genevieve's daughter is my biological child."
So it turns out my daughter was nothing more than an organ carrier to Brent.
But what he doesn't know is that Genevieve's daughter has no blood relation to him whatsoever.

The Hollow Love

Brent's eyes darted around nervously. "That dance studio cost millions, but since Melody's gone, there's no point in wasting it. I donated it to orphans learning to dance, to earn some good karma for Melody. I'm sure someone as kind as her wouldn't hold it against me."


The day my daughter started dance lessons, I discovered Brent had bought a building downtown and turned it into a dance studio.


I overheard him telling the designer to create a one-of-a-kind dance complex, with shopping on floors one to three, entertainment on four and five, a fitness center on six, and the dance studio itself on the top floor.


Just a month ago, he was picking out seasonal princess dresses for the shopping area and hiring world champion dance instructors for the studio. I always thought he was spoiling my Melody like a princess.


Turns out it was a gift for Genevieve's child to heal her knee joints.


And to him, my daughter and I were just useful sacrifices.


My pale face alarmed Brent, who quickly called for the doctor to examine and dress my wounds.


He watched as my complexion didn't improve, but instead grew worse.


Brent snapped at the doctor, "Can't you be more gentle?" He snatched the medicine away, handling it like a precious treasure. Brent tenderly applied the ointment, taking utmost care not to cause me even the slightest discomfort.


In the past, such a gesture would have brought tears to my eyes. But now, staring at the generic antibiotic cream and my mangled, severed arm—coupled with Melody's death—I felt nothing but a cold, empty void in my chest.


When Brent went to shower, I grabbed his phone and punched in my birthday.


How laughable that he'd use my birthday as his passcode. I'd trusted him so completely, I'd never even thought to check his phone before.


The moment I opened WhatsApp, I saw his pinned chat labeled "Genevieve sweetheart". The most recent photo showed Genevieve's daughter standing up, beaming with joy.


Brent had commented beneath the picture:


"Our sweetheart looks so beautiful standing up. If only knee replacements weren't limited to kids eight and older, we could have spared her so many years of suffering."


"To make it up to our sweetheart, I've designed a dance studio just for her, personally overseeing every detail! I'll do everything I can to help her achieve her dream of becoming a dancer!"


"Hey, those knee joints must be really healthy! I've had a nutritionist preparing special meals for Melody, even got her learning to dance to keep her joints active. And I've made sure she doesn't touch any greasy food at all."


Icy tears slowly slid down from my hollow gaze.


How could he be so heartless? My child had been his daughter for at least eight years.


I scrolled up stiffly, recalling our first year of marriage when he gifted Genevieve a private island and an exclusive amusement park for her birthday.


The second year, he bought them the only one of its kind luxury car in the world... Every year after that, Brent gave them his very best.


Meanwhile, for my and Melody's birthdays, we simply wanted him to come back and spend a day with us, but he'd say:


"It's just a birthday, I'll make it up to you next time."


Disillusioned, I booked a flight for the day after tomorrow to take Melody to her grandmother's home thousands of miles away.


The next morning, Brent came in carrying oatmeal he'd prepared himself.


Chapter 2