Chapter 3
700 Words
The gunshot wound in my abdomen tore open. Blood seeped through the bandages.
The urns were ripped from my arms and hurled to the ground. They shattered. Ashes scattered across the floor—trampled into smudged footprints of every shape and size.
Blackwell bodyguards stood by and watched. They had received their orders from Damien long before this. They observed my humiliation with the detached calm of men following instructions.
A gust of wind swept through.
The ashes lifted—and dissolved into the air.
The last trace of my sons in this world vanished completely.
I collapsed to the ground, empty.
The twins had died on Damien's birthday. They had gone out that day to buy him a present.
"Today's Daddy's birthday—we're going to get him a surprise!"
"If we make Daddy happy, maybe he'll come home more. Maybe he'll stop going to see that mean lady."
Their voices played on a loop inside my skull, over and over, relentlessly.
I hated him. I hated everything.
*****
"Have you learned your lesson?"
Damien approached in his Italian custom-made shoes, each step pressing a fresh footprint into the ashes that covered the ground.
"The trial is tomorrow. I've invited every major media outlet in the country to broadcast it live.
You will appear as a representative of the defendant's family. You will publicly apologize to Joy and her father, offer compensation, and commit to never filing an appeal of any kind."
My fists were clenched so tight that my nails broke through the skin of my palms. Blood—dark and slow—pooled between my fingers.
"And if I refuse?"
Damien smiled, calm, looking down at me from above.
"Amber, we grew up together in that hospital. You know what I'm capable of. And if I'm not mistaken—your mother is still receiving treatment at the care facility, isn't she?"
*****
The day of the trial.
I appeared in court—as the defendant.
"In the matter of the vehicular incident, this court finds the driver bears no fault. The defendant, Amber Summers, in her capacity as legal guardian, failed to fulfill her duty of care. She is hereby ordered to pay the sum of two hundred thousand dollars to Joy Quinn and her father as compensation for vehicle damages.
Does either party wish to raise an objection?"
The presiding judge surveyed the courtroom.
"Amber. Remember your mother. She's waiting for you at the care facility."
Damien's voice was barely above a whisper. He tilted his phone toward me—a live feed from the facility's security cameras.
On the screen, my mother lay in bed with an oxygen mask over her face, clutching two stuffed toys to her chest, murmuring that they were gifts for her two grandsons.
My body wouldn't stop shaking. My eyes burned.
"I... have no objection."
"Good girl. That's my wife. Don't worry—tonight I'll take you to visit your mother myself. She won't have to worry about a thing."
*****
The trial ended.
Outside the courthouse, reporters and crowds had already formed a wall so thick not even water could pass through.
The moment I stepped out, microphones were shoved in my face.
"Ms. Summers, using your own children's deaths to extort money—how do you live with yourself as a mother?"
"Sources say you were once kidn*pped by the Starfire Syndicate. Shortly after your rescue, you became pregnant. Are these children really Mr. Blackwell's?"
"Or were there too many men involved for you to even know who the father is?"
Camera flashes blinded me, one after another.
Each question cut deeper than the last, as if their goal was to slice me open and lay every organ bare under the spotlight.
I looked at Damien.
And in his eyes, I saw it clearly—disgust.
I laughed, the kind of laugh that has nothing left behind it.
So that's how it is.
I had nearly bitten off my own tongue to avoid being violated when I fell into enemy hands—all to save him. And he had never once believed me.
"Of course they're not his. Only street thugs' spawn would pull a scam like this."
- Writer
