Chapter 10
The Millers–my so–called parents–weren’t even my biological family.
I found out the truth when my adoptive mother fell ill during my pregnancy. I took her to the hospital for a check up, only to learn she was born infertile.
My real mother? She was once a housekeeper for the Millers, until my father stole me from her and drove her insane.
Now she’s locked away in a mental institution, clutching a tattered doll and calling out my name,
gging me to come home.
As for my biological father? He was the Millers‘ former driver, killed in a staged car accident. The culprit? Never caught.
But looking back, it was obvious.
The fingerprints of that old man–my adoptive father–were all over it.
My real family was destroyed by him.
Piece by piece, I unraveled the truth.
Ethan Miller wasn’t just my husband–he was my adoptive father’s illegitimate son.
Box that
He married me for one reason only: to claim was rightfully his after my death.
With me gone, he could waltz into the Miller household as the grieving son in law, seamlessly
transitioning to his rightful place. Then he could marry Ashley Green, raise their child together, and no one would suspect a thing.
The plan was perfect. A respectable image, no loose ends, and a fresh start with the family he
wanted.
When I discovered this, my entire world collapsed.
I went from being a beloved daughter, pampered and cherished, to someone utterly discarded dust Swept into a gutter.
At first, I believed my adoptive mother was in the dark. But when I found the paperwork for my Plogical mother’s commitment to the asylum, her name was right there on the signature line.
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The handwriting matched hers perfectly.
1 hated my father. I hated her. I hated all of them.
My adoptive father, hungry for power, had married into my mother’s wealthy family. When her infertility became apparent, he used her resources to climb the social ladder, bleeding her dry before turning his attention elsewhere.
That’s when he had Ethan with another woman.
But controlling a daughter was easier than hiding an illegitimate son. So, he targeted me.
He took me from my real mother and played the role of the doting father in public.
And my adoptive mother? She knew. She knew everything. Yet she played along, hiding her flaws. and clinging to appearances.
Year after year, I went for my regular check–ups, and they surely knew about the bone cancer long before I did. But no one said a word.
When the symptoms became impossible to ignore, my adoptive mother casually suggested having a doctor check me at home.
The same woman who couldn’t sleep if I had a fever or cold brushed off my deteriorating health as if it were nothing.
That moment, something broke inside me.
Neglect became routine.
Hurt and confused, I confronted her, asking why she had started to ignore me, why she and my father had changed after my marriage.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she hid her plans even deeper, helping my father prepare Ethan’s entrance into the family.
The day I gave birth, they replaced my daughter with Ethan and Ashley’s child.
My real daughter was declared stillborn and cremated, her ashes buried at Ethan’s family home.
How could I not hate them?
new where my daughter was, but I had to stay silent.
upt fo
For a month, I lived in guilt and rage, pretending not to know, choking on my grief as I waited.
Maybe it was the 25 years I had spent in their care–enough time to develop feelings even for stones.
In my final month, they were oddly kind to me, almost as if trying to soothe a guilty conscience.
For a moment, I thought I had gone back to my childhood, when everything seemed perfect.
But dreams always end.
When I killed them, I wanted to wake my mother and ask:
Did you feel even a shred of remorse when you killed my daughter?
And my father–did he ever fear retribution for the family he destroyed?
But in the end, it didn’t matter.
My 25 years of life had been a web of lies. It was time to wake up.
As I revealed the truth piece by piece, Ashley Green crumbled, panic etched on her face.
I turned to her slowly.
“You were just taking care of him, weren’t you, sister–in–law?” I said, the words dripping with mockery.
“Your child is dead because of him. You’ve had to keep your relationship hidden, watching him marry another woman. If I hadn’t killed them, you would’ve stayed in the shadows until I died. Don’t you hate him for that?”
The live broadcast cut off abruptly, but the damage was done.
Everyone in the room was in tears, except Ethan.
He glared at me, his teeth clenched so tightly I thought they might shatter. If looks could kill, I’d have died a thousand times over.
For me, there was nothing left to say.
The truth was out, and with it, all the burdens I had carried.
The cancer attacked one last time, dropping me to the floor.
As my vision blurred, I heard their panicked voices, their desperate calls for help.
Were they worried about me? Were they truly concerned this time?
This wasn’t another act, was it?
A single tear slipped down my cheek.
Clutching my daughter’s urn tightly, I let the pain fade away.
Before the doctor could arrive, I closed my eyes for the last time.
I wouldn’t be coming back to this world of lies.
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