Chapter 7 - The Morning Post
By the time the pale winter sun crested the horizon, painting the hospital room in a cold, blue light, Derek was already busy constructing his narrative.
I opened the dummy social media account I used to monitor his public profiles. There it was, posted just an hour ago: a glossy, filtered photograph of the pristine black SUV parked conspicuously in the VIP spot outside the opulent gates of the Oakwood Country Club.
The caption read: New car. New chapter. Sometimes you have to make hard choices and cut toxic people out of your life to find your peace. Blessed.
I felt a surge of nausea, not from the pregnancy, but from the sheer audacity of the lie. He had abandoned his pregnant wife in a blizzard, yet he was publicly positioning himself as the brave victim of a toxic relationship.
I scrolled down to the comments. The very first reply, adorned with a praying hands emoji, was from his mother, Vivian.
So incredibly proud of you for choosing peace, my handsome boy. You deserve happiness after everything you’ve endured.
They were a matching set, feeding each other’s delusions of grandeur. I read the comments from my quiet hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic grounding me. Just as I took a screenshot of the post to add to my digital vault, the heavy wooden door to my room swung open.
May you like
Naomi Chen strode in, wearing a sharp crimson blazer and carrying a thick, expandable leather folder. She didn't offer a pitying smile or empty platitudes. She walked straight to the side of my bed and placed the folder squarely across my blanket.
"Good morning, Lena," Naomi said, her eyes flashing with predatory excitement. "I brought the ammunition. Let's review the blast radius."
