The night I finished my six-week postpartum recovery, Benedict brought up the one thing I had spent five years trying to bury. We were in our bedroom in Greenwich, the air thick with the scent of expensive lilies and nursery formula, when he shattered my world with a casual sentence. He told me that the man who had abducted me, the man who had kept me in that dark room five years ago, was Brody. Brody—his foster sister Judy’s husband. The news hit me like a physical blow, a sudden pressure behind my eyes that made my vision blur. I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper. "What are you talking about, Benedict?" Benedict didn't look remorseful. He looked relieved, as if he were finally setting down a heavy suitcase. He continued, his tone light, almost conversational. He explained that five years ago, Judy had discovered she was infertile. Her mother-in-law was already looking for reasons to oust her from the family. To secure Judy’s position as a socialite wife, Benedict had agreed to Judy’s desperate plea: I would be her surrogate. But not through a clinic. Brody had always had a fixation on me, Benedict said. So, the three of them made a pact. They orchestrated my disappearance, locked me away, and let Brody have his way with me until I was pregnant. I sat there, my stomach churning with a cold, oily nausea. My lips trembled so violently I had to bite down on them to stay silent. "Why tell me this now?" Benedict took a long, deep breath. "I’ve kept it inside for five years, Cora. It’s exhausting. Besides, I’ve given you back the child I owed you. People say a woman’s heart softens once she becomes a mother, and I see it now. You’re not as volatile as you used to be. You’ve finally learned how to be... compliant." I forced the corners of my mouth to twitch upward in a hollow imitation of a smile. He didn't know. I hadn't become compliant. It was just that I had a secret of my own—one I had never told him. 1 The truth was a jagged blade, but even through the shock, I caught the dissonance in his words. "The child you owed me... what does that mean?" Benedict hesitated, his eyes shifting. He realized he’d said too much, but then he shrugged, deciding to let the rest of the rot spill out. "Before that whole thing happened... you were pregnant, remember?" My heart stopped. "The stairs," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I put a little bit of floor wax right at the top of the landing." I felt as if lightning had struck the room. My fingers shook uncontrollably. That first pregnancy—the one I had cherished, the one that had ended in a horrific 'accident'—had been a cold-blooded execution. He was seven months along. A fully formed baby boy. Two more months and he would have seen the sun. Instead, his own father had snuffed him out. A phantom hand seemed to squeeze my heart, cutting off my oxygen. I gasped, my mouth hanging open as I struggled to pull air into my lungs. Seeing my distress, Benedict reached out, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles with a sickening tenderness. "I know it hurts, Cora. But we have Beau now. It’s the same thing." I looked at the sleeping infant in the bassinet, tears hot and silent tracking down my face. "It’s not the same..." Benedict’s brow furrowed. He dropped my hand, his voice dropping an octave into a warning growl. "How is it different? They’re both our blood. Just think of Beau as that first baby being reborn into your womb. It’s a second chance." He stepped closer, his shadow looming over me. "And don't forget, after the miscarriage, I dropped everything. I stayed by your side every second. I cooked every meal myself to make sure you recovered. Cora, I don't owe you anything!" A new baby. A few weeks of nursing me back to health. He truly believed that could erase the agony of a child being ripped from my body? It was impossible. I would never accept it. Our raised voices woke Beau. He began to wail, a sharp, piercing sound. Benedict immediately scooped him up, his voice instantly shifting back to a gentle coo. When we first found out I was pregnant with Beau, Benedict’s joy had been performative but immense. He had spent months designing the nursery, buying enough clothes to fill three closets. He would press his ear to my stomach, telling the baby stories, feeling for kicks. This child was receiving all the fatherly love the first one had been denied. He really did love Beau. But now, the more he loved him, the more my soul burned. Benedict held Beau out to me, gesturing for me to take him. I stared at the child through bloodshot eyes, my arms remaining frozen at my sides. A flash of disgust crossed Benedict’s face. "And here I thought you’d grown up. I see that temper is still there." He pulled the baby back. "If you’re going to be like this, then forget the baptism party tomorrow. We’ll just head straight to the courthouse and sign the divorce papers." I stared at him, wanting to peel back his skin to see if there was anything human underneath. Five years ago, he had used the same threat. It was right after I’d found him in bed with Judy. My world, which I had just begun to glue back together after the kidnapping, shattered again. I had gone feral, screaming, clawing at Judy, recording a video to send to her mother-in-law. Benedict had slapped me hard enough to make my ears ring. "I was just in a bad mood," he had said then. "I drank too much. If you can’t handle it, then leave. Divorce me." A bad mood. Back then, my greatest fear was his unhappiness. I thought he was unhappy because my body was "soiled" from the kidnapping. I thought he was unhappy because of the "bastard" I was carrying. I had dropped to my knees, begging him not to leave. I had even hit my own stomach, tragically believing that Benedict’s infidelity was my fault, or the fault of the child inside me. Benedict had pulled me into his arms then, feigning compassion. "Cora, stop! You’ve already had one miscarriage. If you lose this one, you might never conceive again." That was the reason he gave for keeping the baby. Now, the truth tasted like ash. He wasn't worried about my body. He was worried that his foster sister’s dream of being the lady of a grand house would die if she didn't have a child to present to her husband’s family. Seeing my face go pale, Benedict assumed I had been cowed by the threat of divorce once again. "Cora," he said softly, "if you’re good, we can be a real family. You’re tired. Rest. I’ll take care of the baby tonight." That night, Beau cried three or four times in the nursery next door. Benedict stayed with him. He didn't come to me. And I didn't go to him. The next day was the baptism party. I sat in my room, listening to the muffled laughter of guests downstairs praising the "beautiful baby." I felt nothing. A hollow shell. The door clicked open. A soft, melodic voice drifted in. "Cora? Why are you hiding up here, sweetie?" Judy walked in, leading five-year-old Parker by the hand. The moment Parker saw me, he broke free and sprinted across the room, throwing his arms around my waist. "Auntie Cora! I missed you so much!" He had Brody’s face—those sharp, predatory features—but he had my eyes. The questions that had haunted me for years were finally answered in the shape of his pupils. The realization made my stomach turn over. I shoved the boy away as if he were a monster, a piercing shriek tearing from my throat. "Get off me! Don't touch me!" Parker landed hard on his bottom, his face twisting in shock. Judy, however, smirked. Usually, whenever she saw Parker getting close to me, she’d be full of passive-aggressive remarks. Last Mother’s Day, Parker had made me a card. Judy had flown into a rage and, in front of everyone, walked over and kissed Benedict deeply on the mouth. "If you steal my son’s affection, I’ll steal your husband," she had whispered loud enough for me to hear. When I tried to lung at her, Benedict held me back. "He’s just a kid, Cora. He gave you a gift. So what if Judy kissed me? It doesn't mean anything." I had smashed everything in the room that day. But Judy had discovered a new game. Whenever Parker was kind to me, she’d get intimate with Benedict. Then, shielded by Benedict’s protection, she would watch me spiral into madness. Now, Judy didn't even pick up her crying son. She just looked at me. "What’s wrong, Cora? Parker loves you. He just wanted to be near you. While you were in recovery, he asked to see you every single day." Just then, Benedict walked in carrying Beau. He frowned at Judy. "I told you not to bring him in here." Judy walked over to Benedict, tucking her hair behind her ear and leaning into his arm. "I just thought Cora might want to hold her son." She knew. Benedict had told her he’d confessed. She brought Parker here specifically to twist the knife. The rage peaked. I grabbed a glass vase from the vanity and hurled it at them. Benedict yanked Judy out of the way, his eyes wide with fury. "Cora! Have you lost your mind?" "I am out of my mind!" I lunged at Judy, my fingers reaching for her throat. A second later, I felt a heavy boot slam into my abdomen. Benedict had kicked me back. It might have been an accident in the scuffle, or it might have been intentional, but the blow landed right on my healing womb. It felt as if my internal stitches were being shredded. I collapsed, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. "Cora..." Benedict’s eyes softened with a momentary flicker of regret. He started to step toward me. Suddenly, a shout came from the hallway. Smoke began to curl under the door, thick and grey. "Fire! The kitchen is on fire!" Without a second thought, Benedict turned. He grabbed Judy with one hand and held Beau with the other, sprinting for the exit. I lay on the floor, the wind knocked out of me, my body refusing to move. I watched them disappear. I was trapped. Just as the smoke began to choke me, a figure burst through the haze. "Cora! Where are you?" I looked up, squinting through the stinging heat. When I saw the man’s face, my entire body locked up. Five years of suppressed agony came roaring back like a tide of venomous snakes. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" I screamed, thrashing wildly. But Brody pinned my arms down, his grip like iron. It was exactly like the dark room. "Shut up! Do you want to die?" Being touched by him was a fate worse than death. I fought, I screamed, and then I simply went limp, retching onto the floor. When we reached the safety of the lawn, Brody, his face scratched from my struggle, shoved me onto the grass with a curse. I hit the ground hard. Everything went black. I woke up in a hospital bed. Benedict wasn't there. He only called once. "I’m sorry, Cora. Judy was right next to me, and I had the baby... I couldn't reach you. But the second I got out, I told Brody to go back for you." My voice was a ragged sob. "Benedict, do you hear yourself? You sent him? You know what he did—" Benedict’s voice turned sharp and impatient. "Stop being so dramatic. That was years ago. It’s over. I’m busy with Beau, and I have to deal with the insurance for the house. Brody will stay there and look after you while you’re admitted." "Benedict, wait—" In the background, I heard Judy’s voice. "Benny, my ankle hurts. Come carry me to the bathroom!" The line went dead. He didn't just have to care for Beau; he had to care for Judy’s sprained ankle. He chose to save her. He chose to comfort her. And he threw me back to my rapist. He handed me over to the man who had been a knife in my side for five years, then told me to stop being "dramatic" when the blade went deeper. I screamed into the empty room until my throat felt like it was bleeding. Brody walked in a moment later, looking smug. He poured a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. I swiped it onto the floor. He didn't get angry. He just looked at the wet sleeve of his shirt. "Don't be so hostile, Cora. After all, we’ve shared so many nights together. If you count them up, we’re practically an old married couple." I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, my hands clutching the bedsheets so hard my knuckles turned white. Brody’s eyes dropped to my mouth. "Still biting your lip when you’re scared? Some things never change." He reached out a hand. Like a panicked bird, I grabbed a shard from the broken water glass and slashed it across his forearm. "Get out! Get the hell out!" The shard sliced my palm too, blood blooming across my skin. I didn't feel the pain. I felt nothing but a cold, crystalline hatred. Startled by the look in my eyes, Brody finally backed away and left the room. The day I was discharged, Benedict finally showed up. He was carrying a bouquet of camellias—my favorite. He took me to the bistro where we had our first date and ordered the spicy tofu dish I had craved all through my recovery. On the drive home, he talked incessantly about Beau. He couldn't stop smiling. To him, even the baby peeing on him was a miracle of fatherhood. I sat in the passenger seat, a ghost in a designer dress. As we passed the municipal building, I spoke my first words of the day. "I want a divorce." Benedict slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. "What did you say?" He looked at me with genuine disbelief. The Cora who had been too broken to leave, even when he cheated, was finally saying the words. Just then, his phone buzzed. A text from Brody. Are you busy? Cora’s getting out today. Want me to pick her up? In an instant, Benedict’s eyes turned murderous. "Is this about him? Is that why you want to leave?" "No—" "You’ve been in that hospital for three days! Did you two hook up again? Is that it? Now that you know he’s the father of your kid, you can't wait to get back into his bed? You like it, don't you? You're just a cheap—" The insults felt like physical slaps. I shook with rage. "I didn't—" Benedict unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged across the center console, pinning me against the door. "You like being taken, right? Is that what you want?" He began tearing at the buttons of my blouse, his teeth sinking into the skin of my neck. "Benedict, stop! Get off me!" I summoned every ounce of strength I had and slapped him with a resounding crack. I glared at him, my voice trembling. "Go. Go find your foster sister. Leave me alone." Benedict’s face was a mask of primal fury. He reached over, opened the passenger door, and shoved me out of the car. I tumbled onto the pavement, my clothes disheveled, my dignity stripped bare in front of the staring pedestrians. He didn't look back as he sped away. I wrapped my arms around myself, enduring the judgmental whispers of strangers, and began the long walk home. The house that had partially burned was the one Benedict had bought specifically for my postpartum period. Back then, I thought he was being a devoted father and husband. I remember him helping the night nurse, his hands gentle as he held the baby. Now, that house was a charred ruin, and the "perfect life" we had lived there had vanished in the smoke. When I entered our temporary rental, I walked straight into Benedict and Judy on the sofa. They didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. I didn't look at them. I walked past them as if they were furniture. I was in the bedroom packing when Judy walked in. She was wearing a sheer lace nightgown, her skin marked with fresh bruises of intimacy. "Cora, look at it this way," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "My husband spent plenty of nights with you. I’ve only had Benedict twice this week. I’m still the one losing out." I ignored her, folding a sweater. Her smirk vanished. She walked over and snatched a tiny, hand-knitted baby sweater out of my suitcase—the one I had made for my first child. She threw it on the floor and ground her heel into it. "He’s dead, Cora. Why keep this trash?" She leaned in close, her eyes glittering with malice. "You were so happy while Benedict was playing house with you, weren't you? Well, here’s a secret. I told Benedict I was having nightmares. I told him your dead baby was coming back to haunt me. Do you know what he did?" My heart stuttered. "He took that little box of ashes," she whispered, "found a back-alley occultist to put a sealing hex on it, and buried it right next to the municipal landfill. He wanted to make sure your 'brat' never bothered me again." My brain went white. I lunged at her, a scream of pure, unadulterated grief tearing from my lungs. I tackled her to the floor, scratching, biting, a vengeful spirit in human form. Benedict burst in and ripped me off her. He backhanded me so hard my vision swam and my ears rang with a high-pitched whine. He threw a set of papers onto the bed. His signature was already there. "Sign them and get out, Cora. But think carefully. Do you really think Brody is going to marry you once I’m gone?" I let out a dry, jagged laugh. Without a word, I signed my name. Benedict’s expression shifted, turning ugly and dark. Just then, Beau woke up in the next room. He was hungry. Benedict looked at me, his eyes cold. "I’m keeping Beau. And since you're leaving, you’re going to give him one last feeding." I stared at him. "I don't nurse him, Benedict. He’s on formula. You know that." I remembered the night nurse once whispering that I was "heartless" for pumping and dumping my milk instead of feeding the baby. Benedict had fired her on the spot. He had told me, "It’s okay, Cora. I know you’re in pain. Formula is just as good." Now, he grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "You’re going to feed him. Now." "No!" I tried to grab my suitcase, but he jerked me back. "You're going to do it!" He threw me onto the bed and pinned my wrists behind my back. Rip. The silk of my blouse tore open. I struggled, I screamed, I begged. "Benedict! You bastard! Let me go!" Brody and Judy appeared in the doorway, watching the spectacle. Benedict didn't care. He forced the crying infant toward me. The moment the child latched on, the last shred of my pride was pulverized into dust. "Why... why are you doing this to me?" I whispered, my voice breaking. Benedict leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "See, Cora? Look how happy he is. Are you really ready to never see your son again?" The pain was physical. It was spiritual. I closed my eyes, tears leaking through the lashes. After what felt like an eternity, Benedict finally let go. "Think about it, Cora. Are you really willing to lose us both?" He walked out with the satisfied baby. Judy and Brody followed, their laughter echoing down the hall. I lay on the bed like a discarded rag doll. My tears had run dry. He asked if I was willing to lose them? How could I not be? I didn't want him. And I didn't want this child. I changed into a fresh shirt. I picked up a medical report I had hidden in my bag and placed it on the bed next to the divorce papers. Then, I picked up my suitcase and walked out of that house, leaving the winter of my life behind. ... Benedict returned to the bedroom an hour later. He expected to find a broken Cora waiting to apologize. But the room was empty. The suitcase was gone. She was really gone. She had actually signed the papers. He began to smash things in a blind rage—the lamps, the mirrors, the vanity. Then, his eyes caught the report lying on the bed. His face went deathly pale. His hands shook as he picked up the thin piece of paper. A Paternity Test.
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