Chapter 1: Blood on the Living Room Floor

Seven years after I came back home, I’d already married a man I didn’t love. Just like my parents wanted. I let out a quiet sigh, the kind you only hear in your own head, and sometimes wondered if this was really all there was for me—raising my three-year-old daughter in a house that never felt like mine.

Sometimes, when the house was too quiet, I’d just sit there, watching Riley play on the living room rug. Her little hands would be busy stacking blocks, so focused. Sometimes I’d just watch, wondering... Was this the life my parents had pictured for me? Did they ever stop to think about what it cost?

The girl who’d taken my place, a year older than me, was still coddled in the family’s arms, never having to grow up.

Vanessa was always the one getting extra whipped cream on her pancakes, the one who never had to do chores or apologize for anything. She was the family’s darling—the one who could throw a tantrum and always get away with it. I used to wonder if she even knew how lucky she was.

That battle was over now, just a ghost lingering in the background.

There was a time when every family gathering felt like a silent battlefield. But now, all that bitterness had faded into the background, replaced by resignation. The old rivalry was like a scar—sometimes aching, but mostly numb.

My family should have been at peace.

We should have been, but peace in our house was just a word people used when they didn’t want to look too closely. If you squinted, we looked like any other family on the block. But the cracks were always there, just beneath the surface.

I never thought it would come to this. But when my husband was about to beat me to death, I called my family.

My hands shook as I dialed. Blood was already running down my neck, sticky and hot. The TV was still on in the background. Some late-night infomercial blared. The world outside hadn’t changed at all.

“I’m dying. Can you take Riley home, the way you took me back then?”

The words came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. I stared at the phone, waiting for someone—anyone—to care.

I knew I was really going to die, so I didn’t call 911. I called my family instead.

911 was for people who believed help would come. I guess, deep down, I knew my story wouldn’t end with sirens and flashing lights. I just wanted Riley safe.

Mom answered, the background noise of a nail salon behind her. “What now?” she snapped, her voice sharp over the whirr of electric files.

I could hear the whirr of electric files, laughter, and the faint smell of acetone seemed to seep through the phone. Mom always answered like I was interrupting something important, even when I was a kid.

I pressed my hand to my bleeding neck and told her I was dying—could she come take Riley away?

My voice shook, but I tried to sound calm. I didn’t want her to hear me cry. "Mom, I’m... I’m bleeding. I think I’m dying. Can you—can you come get Riley? Please?"

Riley was only three, sleeping upstairs, completely unaware of the chaos below.

She’d fallen asleep clutching her favorite stuffed bunny, her cheeks still flushed from a day spent chasing shadows. I hoped she was dreaming of something gentle, something far from this nightmare.

The bleeding wouldn’t stop. Shards from a wine bottle were scattered beside me. After the outburst, my husband was passed out on the couch, snoring.

The room smelled like cheap red wine and old sweat. Mason’s snores rattled the silence, a cruel reminder that he’d sleep through anything—even my dying. Of course he would.

“Charlotte, are you done yet? Every few days you pull this stunt!”

Her voice was sharp, brittle. She never changed.

My brother, Aaron, snatched the phone and yelled. “You’ve been married for four years. Every time you call, it’s either about divorce or that he’s beating you to death. Is it really that bad?”

His voice boomed, full of annoyance. I could almost see him pacing, jaw clenched, tired of being dragged into my mess. Family loyalty only went so far in our house.

I went silent. Maybe it was the pain, maybe the blood loss. I just felt tired.

My hands shook, phone slipping a little. It was like my whole body was fading out, the edges going gray. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be awake, to be alive.

Looking back, I’d been tired for years.

Tired in my bones. Tired in my soul. Some days, even breathing felt like too much.

Kidnapped at five, forced to work like a dog in the backwoods, never seeing sunlight, so exhausted I couldn’t even stand up straight.

I remembered the smell of damp earth, the scratch of straw on my skin, and the endless, hopeless hunger. Those years blurred together, a gray smear of days and nights.

At fifteen, they finally brought me home. I had to tiptoe around the family’s favorite. I survived in the cracks. Cried quietly through countless nights.

I learned to hide my tears, to swallow my words. My room was small and cold, but at least it was mine. I’d stare at the ceiling, listening to laughter from the other side of the wall, wishing I could belong.

At eighteen, forced into marriage with a violent rich kid. To avoid being beaten, I had to be the perfect, submissive wife, always working hard to please him.

I practiced my smiles in the mirror, learned how to cook his favorite meals, how to stay quiet when he was angry. Nothing was ever enough.

Every inch of me ached from the strain.

It was like living in a body made of glass, always on the edge of shattering.

At twenty, I was barely hanging on. Only Riley’s smile kept me here.

Some nights, I’d sit on the bathroom floor, Riley’s baby monitor pressed to my ear, just listening to her breathe. That sound kept me here. Proof that something good still existed.

My ears rang, my vision blurred, my heart stabbed with pain.

Everything was muffled, like I was underwater. My thoughts scattered, slipping away before I could catch them.

Now, at twenty-two, I was bleeding out—my neck cut open by shards of a wine bottle.

It was almost funny—after everything, it ended like this. No drama, no rescue. Just me and the blood and the dark.

Suddenly, I wasn’t tired anymore—because I could finally die.

It felt like relief. Like letting go of a weight I’d carried forever.

I told Aaron, “I’m not faking it this time. I’m really dying. Can you come now? I’m afraid I’ll scare Riley.”

My voice was thin, barely more than a whisper. I tried to picture Aaron’s face, but all I saw was the back of his head as he walked away.

Honestly, I hadn’t even faked it that much over the years.

I kept count, even when I told myself not to. It was the only way to remind myself I wasn’t crazy.

I’d only mentioned divorce to my family three times. They got annoyed, so I stopped bringing it up.

Three times in four years. That’s all. Each time, I’d rehearsed my words, tried to sound reasonable, tried not to cry. Each time, they brushed me off.

I’d only told them about being hurt four times. They didn’t believe me, so I stopped mentioning it.

Four times. Once with bruises on my face, once with broken ribs. Once, I just sat at the kitchen table, silent, waiting for someone to notice.

Seven years. Seven cries for help. That’s not too many, is it?

I did the math in my head, like it was a school quiz. Seven times in seven years. It didn’t seem like a lot.

“Then go ahead and die. Once you’re dead, we’ll take Riley home!”

Aaron’s words hit like a slap. I stared at the phone, my hands numb.

I almost laughed—it was so absurd.

Aaron hung up.

The line went dead, the dial tone echoing in my ears. I let the phone drop to the floor.

I knew he wouldn’t come for Riley.

I’d always known. Maybe I just didn’t want to admit it until now.

Seven years. An eighth plea for help—and still a failure.

I wanted to be angry, to scream or cry, but all I could do was let out a bitter, breathless laugh.

I slumped weakly against the wall, feeling heat spreading down one side of my body.

It was a strange sensation, almost peaceful. My blood was warm, like a blanket I didn’t ask for.

I watched the puddle grow, dark and glossy on the hardwood. It just kept spreading.

I glanced upstairs. It was quiet; Riley hadn’t woken up yet.

The silence pressed in on me. I strained to hear any sound from her room—nothing. I hoped she was still dreaming.

Or maybe she had, but didn’t dare come down. She was probably curled up under her blanket, trembling.

I pictured her tiny body, knees tucked to her chest, clutching her bunny for dear life. She always hid when Mason was angry.

That thought twisted my heart. I tried to get up. Nothing.

My arms shook, useless. I tried to will myself up, just one more time, but my body wouldn’t listen.

What now?

I stared at the ceiling, tears sliding down my cheeks. I’d run out of options.

My little girl was shivering under her covers, and there was nothing I could do to help her.

Guilt crashed over me, heavier than any pain. I’d promised her I’d always keep her safe. That promise was breaking now, right along with me.

If no one came for her after I died... she’d be alone. With that monster.

The thought clawed at my insides. I tried to push it away, but it stuck like a burr.

How would she survive?

I pictured her growing smaller and smaller, shrinking into nothing, swallowed by the darkness Mason left behind.

My phone suddenly buzzed—a message.

The vibration startled me. Just a tiny jolt in the silence.

Panting, I strained to read it.

My vision swam, the letters blurring. I blinked hard, forcing myself to focus.

It was from the girl who’d taken my place, Vanessa.

Of course it was her. She never missed a chance to remind me who really mattered.

“Charlotte, today’s my twenty-third birthday party. The whole family’s here with me, so no one wants to deal with you. Honestly, I don’t get it. You’ve already lost so badly—why can’t you just give up?”

Her words stung, each one like a slap. I could almost hear her laughing, champagne glass in hand, surrounded by the people who should have loved me.

My lips moved, the taste of blood spreading.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. The metallic tang of blood coated my tongue.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t give up—I just couldn’t let go of Riley.

She was the only thing keeping me here, the only light in all this darkness. Letting go of her felt impossible.

Summoning the last bit of strength, I sent Vanessa a voice message.

My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone. I pressed record, my breath ragged.

I begged the person I hated most for help.

The words burned in my throat. I’d never thought I’d ask her for anything.

“Vanessa… I’m sorry, I was wrong… I shouldn’t have resented you… shouldn’t have fought for their attention… I’m begging you, please come take my daughter…”

Each word was harder than the last. My pride cracked. Crumbled. All that was left was desperation.

Bleeding and crying, I sent the message in broken fragments.

My voice shook, hiccuping with sobs. I could barely catch my breath.

Years of pride, gone. Crushed into the dirt.

I’d always told myself I was stronger than this, that I’d never beg her for anything. Now, all that was left was the hope that she’d listen.

I’d never knelt to Vanessa before.

Not once—not after everything she took from me. But tonight, I had nothing left to lose.

I always thought I was the real daughter, and she was just a fraud who’d taken my place.

That belief had kept me going through so many lonely nights. It was the only shield I had.

But now, I bowed my head. I gave up.

I let the phone record the sound of my surrender, my forehead pressed to the cold, sticky floor.

“What?”

Vanessa was clearly stunned, then burst out laughing. “No way! You’re hilarious—begging me? For real? Then get on your knees and beg.”

Her laughter was sharp and cruel, echoing through the phone. I could almost see her face, eyes shining with triumph.

Fine. I dropped to my knees.

I held down the voice button. I knelt. I dropped my forehead to the floor.

The sound was loud, jarring. I did it again, and again, until I felt dizzy.

Bang, bang, bang!

Each thud was a promise broken. A piece of myself lost.

I sent the sound of my head hitting the floor. I was nearly unconscious, sprawled on the ground like a dog, struggling to breathe.

My breaths came in short, ragged bursts. The floor was cold against my cheek. I couldn’t move.

Vanessa laughed again. “Wait, you really did it? Ha! I have to say, it feels pretty great. After seven years, I finally got you to admit defeat!”

Her voice was gleeful, like a child who’d finally won a long game. But all I felt was emptiness.

Yeah, I gave in.

There was nothing left to fight for.

“Take Charlotte… home…”

The words slipped out, my mind foggy. I barely noticed the mistake.

Vanessa’s tone changed instantly. “Charlotte, are you kidding me? Weren’t you begging me to take your daughter home? Now you want me to take you? Deep down, you still want to come back, don’t you!”

Her voice was sharp, accusing. I tried to protest, but my tongue wouldn’t work.

I froze, my mind a fog.

Everything was spinning. I couldn’t remember what I’d said, only that it was wrong.

Did I say take Charlotte home?

Panic surged through me. I meant Riley. I meant Riley!

No, I meant Riley!

But I couldn’t say another word.

My throat closed up. The world went dark around the edges.

“Charlotte, say something! Got nothing to say now that I’ve called you out?”

Her words barely registered. My body was too heavy. Too far away.

Vanessa’s sharp voice came through, mixed with my father’s stern tone in the background.

Dad’s voice, low and annoyed. Like he’d had enough of all this.

“Charlotte, stop making a scene. I’ll visit the Miller family in two weeks and see you then!”

His words were final, dismissive. Like I was just another item on his to-do list.

Two weeks from now, my family would finally visit me?

It was almost laughable. I wouldn’t last half a day.

But I wouldn’t make it—I was dying.

I wanted to scream at them, to make them understand, but all I could do was close my eyes.

Riley, I’m sorry. In the end... I couldn’t get you out.

I hoped she’d forgive me, someday. I hoped she’d remember that I tried.

If ghosts exist, maybe I can see you a little longer.

But it was all I had.