After six years of silent, thankless sacrifice at a top-secret facility, I was finally granted leave to see my family. My heart pounded with excitement as I drove to my husband's office building, planning the perfect surprise. But the scene that greeted me froze me in my tracks. My daughter, who was supposed to be in school, was standing timidly in front of a strange woman. The woman was holding the hand of a little boy. I watched, paralyzed, as the woman jabbed a finger in my daughter's face, screaming at her. Then she slapped my daughter, hard, across the cheek and forced her to her knees to apologize. Seeing my daughter kneeling so submissively, a white-hot rage erupted inside me. I stormed over and slapped the woman back, even harder. My daughter’s face went pale with shock. When she recovered, she frantically urged me to run. "Ma'am, you have to get out of here! That's my dad's assistant. She'll destroy you," my daughter pleaded, her voice a panicked whisper. I fought to control my fury, my heart aching for her. "She's just your father's assistant," I asked. "How dare she treat you like this? Why did she make you kneel?" My daughter, who hadn't cried when she was hit, now had red-rimmed eyes. But she wouldn't say more, just kept telling me to go. The woman staggered to her feet and blocked my path, her voice a venomous shriek. "You're not going anywhere, you bitch!" "In D.C., Mr. Harrison is a god. And you just slapped his high priestess! You just declared war on heaven!" she added, her face twisted with malice. I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, and dialed my husband's number. "Your assistant says you're a god in D.C.," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Well, today, I'm tearing your heaven down." … All I wanted was to ask David Harrison one simple question. How, in the last six years, had he let things get so out of control that his own assistant felt empowered to abuse our child? "I don't know who you are, and I don't care how you got my number," my husband's voice came through the line, cold as ice. "But for that threat alone, no one can save you." The line went dead. He had hung up before I could say another word. I stood there, phone in hand, utterly stunned. He hadn't recognized my voice. He hadn't even recognized my number. This was my old number from six years ago. He hadn't even saved it. Six years of longing, of dreaming of this reunion, and this was the welcome I received—a slap in the face. Seeing that I'd been hung up on, the assistant's face twisted into a sneer. "And here I thought you were someone important. Turns out you're just another nobody who crawled out of the woodwork." I clenched my fists, the rage inside me a roaring inferno. Any hope that this was all a terrible misunderstanding evaporated, and a cold, heavy stone settled in my gut. Of course. Six years. Six years without a single word, not even a letter. I was in a place so secret it didn't show up on any satellite imagery, running endless experiments day in and day out. It should have been obvious that he would move on. But before I left, he had promised me. He swore he would take care of our daughter. The daughter I remembered was a bright, smiling girl, who should have been blossoming into a young woman by now. Instead, the child before me was gaunt from malnutrition, a wilting flower on the verge of collapse. The fear in her eyes was a knife twisting in my heart. "Come on," I said, my own eyes filling with tears as I took her hand. "I'm taking you home." I would make up for these lost six years. I would make her the happiest princess in the world again. "You hit me, and you threatened Mr. Harrison," Isabelle, the assistant, said, blocking our path with a smirk. "Did you really think you could just walk away?" "Are you trying to imprison me?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. "Imprison you?" She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You're in D.C., and you're talking to me about freedom? Honey, let me tell you something. In this city, even the air you breathe belongs to the Harrisons!" My expression darkened. All those years, I had dedicated my life to my country. In return, the people I worked for had surely offered David support, helped his career along as a way of compensating for my sacrifice. I never imagined it would turn them into such arrogant monsters. Suddenly, my daughter pulled her hand from mine and dropped to her knees again. "Ms. Isabelle, please," she begged, "let this lady go. She doesn't know you or my dad. That's why she offended you. I'll apologize for her." At that moment, the dam broke. The tears I'd been holding back streamed down my face. This was my precious child, the girl whose photograph I held against my chest every night just to be able to sleep. And here she was, kneeling before these two animals. What had I done to her? How much had I failed her these past six years? Isabelle just sneered, but before she could speak, the little boy she was holding piped up, a cruel glint in his eyes. "You want to apologize for her? Fine. The toy you made me drop? I want it clean. Then I'll let her go." "Okay, okay, I'll clean it right now," my daughter said, quickly picking up the expensive-looking drone. "No water," the boy added. "I want you to lick it clean. Every last speck of dirt." The color drained from my daughter's face. "Noah," she whispered, "I'm... I'm your sister. How can you ask me to do that?" "Don't flatter yourself," he spat. "You're just the bastard child he had with some dead woman. I'm my parents' only real child. Are you going to do it or not? If you don't, I'll make you regret it." "I'll do it!" my daughter cried, glancing at me with a look of pure desperation. Then she turned back, tears streaming down her cheeks, and humiliatingly stuck out her tongue, moving it toward the filthy drone. Just as her tongue was about to touch the dirt-caked plastic, I snatched the drone from her hands and smashed it on the ground. "You've gone too far!" I roared, my heart seizing in my chest, my eyes burning with rage. I couldn't believe it. David hadn't even divorced me, and he had already remarried and had another child. And I couldn't believe their child would torture our daughter like this. David Harrison, even if you fell out of love with me, how could you treat Lily this way? "You... you broke my drone?" the little boy stammered, his small face contorting into a shockingly vicious snarl. "Isabelle! I want her dead! Make her pay for my drone with her life!" "You little bitch," Isabelle screamed. "As if you weren't in enough trouble already, now you've pissed off the young master! Security! Are you all dead? Can't you see the young master is being bullied?" A group of security guards, who had been lurking in the shadows, exchanged hesitant glances before closing in on me. "Beat her," Isabelle commanded. "If you kill her, I'll take the blame." I managed to block two of them, but a third caught me across the back with a baton, sending me sprawling to the ground. They swarmed me, kicking and punching. The crowd of onlookers just shook their heads and sighed. No one dared to intervene. "That woman has some nerve. Of all the people to mess with, she chose little Noah Harrison." "Everyone in D.C. knows how much David Harrison dotes on that son of his. She's finished." "That's what you get for playing the hero when you have no power. She has no one to blame but herself." Some looked on with pity, others with scorn. My daughter tried to shield me with her own body, but Isabelle yanked her away so violently she nearly fell. "Noah, I'll clean the drone for you now. Please, just make them stop," my daughter sobbed, picking up the broken toy. She bit her lip, holding back her own pain, and began to carefully lick the pieces clean. Her small tongue worked meticulously, wiping away every trace of dirt. My mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. I struggled to get up, to stop her. "Don't do it!" "Lily, stop!" Tears streaming down her face, my daughter held out the cleaned drone parts. "It's clean now. Please, make them stop. They're going to kill her." Noah slapped the pieces out of her hand. "You're disgusting," he sneered. "It's covered in your spit. It probably stinks just like you do. I don't want it anymore." "But... but you promised," my daughter whispered, her body trembling. "I promised I'd let her go," Noah said, a triumphant look on his face. "But Isabelle is the one giving the orders now. And she never promised anything." My daughter's face was a mask of despair. She looked at Isabelle, her eyes begging for mercy. Isabelle just smirked, then walked over and gave me a couple of extra kicks for good measure. "The young master is right. She broke his drone. I, for one, am not letting her off the hook." All the color drained from my daughter's face. The light in her eyes, once so bright, was extinguished, crushed by the cruelty of the world. Seizing the opportunity, I lunged, pulling Isabelle down to the ground with me. I rained down punches on her, my fists a blur of motion. By the time the guards pulled me off her, her face was a swollen, bruised mess. "Kill her!" she shrieked, a crazed look in her eyes. "Kill her!" Just then, the sound of footsteps approached, followed by a cold, clear voice. "What is going on here?" I looked up, and my eyes met his. David Harrison. Surrounded by an entourage, he strode toward me, his eyes raking over my battered form. A look of sheer disbelief crossed his face. "Evelyn? You're... you're alive?"
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