The sounds that shattered the peace of our home, the phantom echoes that made the walls feel like they were bleeding—those were all my mother’s designs. She scripted them before she died, a parting gift to ensure he would never know a moment of silence. I remember when she died. She bled out on an operating table while my father stood outside the door, screaming at her. He told her he had been more than generous by coming back to her at all. He told her she needed to "cool off" and stop being so dramatic. He didn’t know that behind that door, my mother had already stopped hearing him. She had stopped hearing everything. When he finally came home that night, his face was a mask of calculated conflict. He told me that Melanie’s children were still so young; he couldn't bear to see them separated from their mother. It turned out that after the company’s core secrets were leaked and the capital chain snapped, the Clark family had offered a lifeline. The price? A business marriage between a daughter of our house and their eldest son, a man left paralyzed after an accident. It took three years for the truth to settle. Melanie and her twins—the ones my father pampered like royalty—weren't enough to stop his empire from crumbling. He had even fired the security guard who dared to joke about my mother’s "ghost," even though every man on the night shift claimed they could hear a woman sobbing in the dark. When Melanie gave birth to the twins a year later, my father simply frowned and suppressed the rumors. Their wedding had been a grander affair than his first, a spit in the face of my mother’s memory. That night, a priceless Ming vase was smashed to pieces in the foyer. When my father heard the news, a small, twisted smile touched his lips. That was the first year he had officially declared his divorce and given Melanie a "real" home. He never stepped foot in our old wing after that. My mother had thrown her wedding ring at him, screaming through her breakdown that he was never to cross the threshold again. But even that didn't save the child she was carrying. I remember her eyes, wet with tears, fighting him with every ounce of her strength. But my father had listened to some hack spiritualist who claimed the baby in my mother’s womb was a curse upon Melanie’s future. "Melanie is upset again because of you," he had told my mother, his voice cold as a winter grave. "I’ve already dealt with her, but you... you need to learn." After the third time Melanie "accidentally" lost an expensive handbag, my father did the unthinkable. He had my mother bound and driven to the clinic for a forced termination. ... 1 Less than ten minutes later, a driver arrived to take me to Melanie’s estate. On the way, he stole a pitiful glance at me through the rearview mirror. "Are they really sending you to marry a cripple, Miss?" Before I even crossed the threshold, I heard Melanie’s high-pitched laughter. My father was staring at a contract on the mahogany table, his silence heavy and suffocating. I sat down calmly, watching the smile on Melanie’s face slowly turn brittle under my gaze. "Franklin," she prompted, her voice a soft, manipulative purr. "The company is your life’s work. I’m sure Wren and her mother will understand. It’s for the family." My father didn't move. I knew what he was doing. He was waiting for my mother to storm in, to scream, to put up a fight. But the dead don't show up for arguments. At dusk, I took the engagement ring provided by the Clarks and returned to the other house alone. My father had flown into a rage. He cursed my mother’s "stubbornness" and froze her bank accounts. He even sent men to burn every flower in her garden, using the ashes as fertilizer for the roses he bought for Melanie. That night, I performed the final task my mother had set for me. I took the heirloom jade bracelet—the one meant for the matriarch of our family—and dropped it into the trash. For three years, Melanie had been the "Mrs. Clark" in the eyes of the world. But she had never even laid a finger on that bracelet. It was the one symbol of status she couldn't steal. "No matter how angry she is, she shouldn't have thrown it away," Melanie sobbed later, tears welling perfectly in her eyes. "I don't mind the disrespect to me, but that bracelet has been in your family for generations. Think of how heartbroken your parents would be." She took a jagged breath, her voice trembling with practiced grace. "About the baby... I know your mother blames me. Franklin, maybe it’s better if you just let Wren go. Let her marry into the Clark family and be done with it." My father’s eyes turned a violent shade of red. He ordered the maid to unlock the door and kicked my mother’s bedroom door off its hinges. Every word he spoke felt like it was being dragged through gravel. "Evelyn! I’ve made my decision! In seven days, Wren is getting married. And you? You will stay in this empty house. You won't see her. Not for the wedding, not ever!" My mother had loved me more than life itself. Before she died, she had looked at me, her eyes struggling to stay open, whispering, "If I could do it again, I’d take you away, Wren. We’d go somewhere he could never find us." She didn't want to leave me. But when she refused to "cooperate" with the termination, my father had ordered the doctors to sedate her. He forced her onto that table. He cut off her only way out. Now, looking at the empty room, I was suddenly grateful she was in the ground. At least there, he couldn't hurt her anymore. On the bed, the duvet was bunched up into a shape that looked like a sleeping body. Melanie glanced at it, a flicker of a triumphant smile crossing her lips before she masked it with worry. "Franklin, the Clarks are a top-tier family. Evelyn... well, everyone knows she’s your ex-wife now. I’m worried Wren will be looked down upon if she comes from a 'broken' home." She had stolen my mother’s husband, her home, and her dignity. Now, she wanted to erase her motherhood too. A cold stone of defiance settled in my chest. But my father didn't hesitate. He nodded, following Melanie’s lead perfectly. "I’ll have Wren’s legal records updated immediately. She’ll be listed as your daughter. It’s better for her future." Seven days from now, I would be married. It was also my mother’s birthday. Melanie was right about one thing: my mother wanted revenge. She and my father had been "the" couple for decades. Then Melanie appeared, and he treated twenty years of love like a piece of scrap paper. My mother couldn't swallow that insult. "Evelyn, Wren is grown now, and you’ve taught her nothing! Melanie is the one who does everything, who looks after her!" my father screamed at the empty bed. "You weren't the only victim back then. Melanie suffered too! She battled depression in silence while you made everyone’s life a living hell with your tantrums! How long are you going to keep being this selfish?" Three years ago, he took me away and forbade me from seeing her. Now, he blamed her for our distance. The bed remained still. My father’s brow furrowed, and he instinctively moved toward the bedside. 2 But Melanie’s eyes darted quickly, and she suddenly doubled over, clutching her stomach. "Franklin... I have a sharp pain. The baby..." He forgot all about the bed. He scooped her up and rushed her to the hospital. Before they left, Melanie cast a gloating, razor-sharp smile back at the room. I followed them, silently counting down the final seven days. "Congratulations, Mr. Clark. She’s pregnant!" The doctor’s words hit the room like a physical weight. Melanie’s eyes went wide as she stared at the flickering grey image on the ultrasound monitor. "Franklin, we’re having another baby," she whispered, her voice thick with joy. My father laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated happiness. He threw my mother out of his mind instantly. For three days, he never left Melanie’s side. The servants were given massive bonuses, and everyone whispered about how much he adored her—how she was the true love of his life. But I remembered. When my mother was pregnant with me, my father started dozens of charitable foundations just to "earn blessings" for her. He spent money without blinking. He was so careful at night that he wouldn't even sleep in the bed, terrified he might roll over and hurt her. He spent his days in cathedrals and temples, kneeling until his knees bled, praying for her safety. He used to sit on a stool by her feet at night, just watching her sleep with a look of terrifyingly intense devotion. "Franklin," Melanie murmured, her voice soft as silk. "It’s been so long since the last time. And right after we visited Evelyn’s house... Do you think the baby we lost finally found its way back to us? I’m so happy." My father froze for a second. And just like that, because of a few sweet words, he gave the name my mother had picked for her lost child to Melanie’s unborn baby. I remember my mother holding my hand, her eyes shining as she told me, "When you were born, your father cried all night. He was so obsessed with finding the perfect name. This second one... I have to think carefully. I won't let him outdo me this time." She had spent months agonized over the perfect name. Now, it was being used as a trophy for another woman. "Tell Evelyn to come to the hospital," my father said, his fingers stroking Melanie’s belly. "And tell her to bring that heirloom silver locket she made for the baby." The driver returned, trembling. "Everything... it was all burned, sir. And she... she refused to come." The air in the room turned arctic. With a violent crash, my father kicked over a table. The veins in his neck were bulging. "I arranged the tests myself back then! That fetus wasn't viable! If she were smart, she’d realize the baby left her because she was so full of malice and jealousy! The child knew Melanie had a kind heart and chose her instead. And she still refuses to repent? She’s still nursing her grudges?" Not viable. That was the lie Melanie and the doctor had crafted together. I saw them exchange a quick, triumphant look. "She’s just hurting, Franklin," Melanie said, playing the martyr. "She misses the baby as much as we do. Don't be angry. I’ll take the children and visit her more often. We’ll keep her company." My father’s face softened. He pulled her into his arms, his gaze melting with tenderness. He would do anything for her now. When Melanie asked to personally prepare my dowry, he agreed. When Melanie suggested digging up the small memorial marker my mother had placed for the lost baby, he agreed to that too. "The child is back with us now," he said. "That grave is just a morbid reminder of a bad time." The guards went into my mother’s garden. They kicked and trampled the flowerbeds and tore the small headstone from the earth. My mother and the baby had died together. I had buried her long ago in a place he would never find. This grave was just an empty shell I had built for the performance. Melanie watched the destruction with a satisfied smile. My father looked at the house—the house that had been silent for three years—and sneered. "This place has been a tomb for three years. It’s time to move on." 3 "She burned the baby’s clothes? Fine. Burn the whole wing. Leave nothing behind!" Melanie looked like she had won the lottery. I, too, felt a strange surge of joy for my mother. He had killed her. He was selling me off. And now, he was erasing every physical trace of our existence. Soon, he would realize that when he wanted to find her again, there wouldn't even be a shadow left to grasp. "Franklin, what about that cherry blossom tree behind Wren?" Melanie asked, her voice laced with poison. When Melanie first met my father, she had seen my mother painting under that tree many times. The falling petals, the elegant silhouette—it was an image that had once captivated my father so much he couldn't breathe. Melanie hated it. My father’s gaze shifted to me and locked. My face is seventy percent my mother’s. For a heartbeat, he lost himself. He took a step toward me as if he were seeing a ghost. Then he remembered. "I don't like the smell of cherry blossoms," Melanie complained, rubbing her stomach. "It makes me nauseous. And think of the baby, Franklin." The trees would bloom in a few months. My father pressed a hand to the sudden hollow in his chest. Then he turned and kissed Melanie’s forehead. "Whatever you want." The smell of smoke began to fill the air. He led Melanie away, not even bothering to suggest where my "mother" should sleep tonight. On the final day, the dowry was delivered to my room. But except for the wedding dress, every diamond necklace and gold bar had been replaced with common stones. The guard turned pale and immediately called my father. Within the hour, I was hauled back to Melanie’s villa. Melanie sat beside my father, sobbing as if her heart were breaking. "Where is your mother?" my father roared. "She stole the dowry just to stop you from leaving? Those were the Clark family heirlooms you were supposed to wear at the ceremony!" The money didn't matter, but the Clarks' pride was not something to be trifled with. I shook my head. "I don't know." Melanie’s wailing grew louder. "I only wanted to show her the jewelry to see if she wanted any changes! I was trying to be kind! And this is how she treats me?" My father swept everything off the coffee table in a fit of rage. The atmospheric pressure in the room dropped. "Search the city. I don't care if you have to tear up every floorboard in the state. Find her!" Hours passed. Nothing. Melanie began to hyperventilate, clutching her stomach. "She doesn't want Wren to be happy. She doesn't want my baby to be born. It’s all my fault. Who am I to upset the Great Evelyn?" She collapsed into his arms, refusing to see a doctor. "If I lose the baby, I lose the baby. If it makes her happy, then maybe Franklin can finally have some peace. I’ll accept it." My half-sister, Paige, came running in from school, out of breath. "Dad, I’ll go! I’ll marry into the Clark family if I have to. I'm not afraid. I know the company is in trouble. I can handle it." My father’s face was like frost. After a long, terrifying silence, his cold gaze landed on me. "Take her outside. Fifty lashes with the rod." Melanie dabbed at her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching for a fraction of a second. To avoid upsetting Melanie’s "delicate state," they gagged me before they started. My father told the guards to keep going until my mother "showed herself." By the time they finished, my back was a mess of blood and torn skin. "Franklin, is this too much? What if something happens to her?" Melanie asked. She had taken her "medicine" and her complexion was perfectly rosy. My father glanced at me through the window and looked away just as quickly. "Evelyn won't let Wren suffer forever. If she isn't here in an hour, throw the girl in the basement." 4 In the haze of pain, I thought I heard my mother’s voice. She was crying for me, telling me to just say it, to stop carrying the burden. I forced my eyes open. The voice was gone. In the brightly lit living room, I saw my father stroking Paige’s hair, smiling at her with a warmth I had never known. "Sir... the girl fainted." My father paused. He walked out to me, his expression flat. He looked at the empty driveway, the empty gates. "Where is Evelyn?" The guard wiped sweat from his brow. "Sir... we still haven't found a trace of her." A flicker of disbelief crossed my father’s eyes. Then, he let out a sharp, angry laugh. I was tossed into the basement. Someone smeared a bit of ointment on my back, but otherwise, I was left in the dark. Late that night, a shadow approached. "Do you know what this is?" my father asked. A guard held out a wooden box. My father opened it. Inside was a severed hand. I froze. In my ears, I could hear my mother’s scream again. "This belongs to your aunt. The only relative your mother has left. She was in a 'car accident' half an hour ago." When my mother died, my aunt had nearly followed her. It was my mother’s final wish that kept her alive. But even my mother’s last hope had been crushed by his cruelty. "Wren, I’ll ask you one last time. Where is she?" My face was ghost-white. I shook my head. My father’s lip curled. "The news of the accident is all over the wires. And she still won't come out? Does she think hiding will save you?" He turned and vanished into the night. I curled into a ball in the corner, haunted by nightmares. The next morning, Melanie sent people to do my makeup. A long fleet of Clark family cars lined the driveway. I knelt and bowed once toward the direction of my mother’s grave, then got into the back of the Maybach. At the office, my father was staring at the wedding ring my mother had discarded. When his assistant burst in, he stood up abruptly. "Did you find her? Where is she?" He had set the trap. He assumed she would try to see me one last time before I was driven away. But as he prepared to go catch her, a guard trembling with fear handed him a letter. "Sir... the girl gave me this. For you. From her mother." The guard’s voice cracked. "She said... she’s gone, sir."
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