The Seventh Daughter of Devil

The First Betrayal

Katy’s belly had begun to show again, round and promising. The village air seemed softer in the early days of her fourth pregnancy. The children played under the mango tree, their laughter filling the air while Katy sat on a wooden bench, humming lullabies to her unborn child.

Patrick stood in the doorway of their modest home, arms folded, eyes locked on Stacie. She was thirteen now—taller, with the same innocence that had once sparkled in Katy’s eyes. He turned away before the guilt could settle too deep.

Inside, the air was thick with secrets.

That night, over a quiet dinner, Katy touched his hand. “Stacie’s been getting so many compliments from the school teacher,” she said with pride. “She says Stacie’s one of the brightest in class.”

Patrick forced a smile. “She is bright. Maybe even too bright for this little village.”

Katy looked confused. “What do you mean?”

He reached into his pocket and unfolded a letter he’d faked earlier that day—neatly typed, with a fabricated seal from a foreign academy.

“This came through a friend at the hotel. A scholarship program. They only select a few girls every year. Fully funded. Abroad.”

Katy gasped, her eyes filling with tears. “Stacie? A scholarship abroad? But... she’s just thirteen.”

Patrick leaned in, lowering his voice. “They take them early. Groom them for years. She’d have access to everything we never could afford.”

Katy’s heart was torn in two—pride and pain wrestling for dominance. “How soon?”

“Two weeks,” Patrick lied smoothly. “It’s sudden, but we can’t say no.”

Later that night, Katy wept quietly while folding Stacie’s clothes. Stacie watched her mother curiously.

“Why are you crying, Mama?”

“I’m not crying,” Katy said quickly, wiping her eyes. “I’m just proud of you, my darling. You’re going to change the world.”

Stacie hugged her tightly. “I don’t want to go far.”

Katy kissed her forehead. “You’ll come back. You’ll be strong and brilliant. Like you always were meant to be.”

Patrick watched from the doorway, silent. A weight in his chest he refused to name.

The broker met him two days later in the outskirts of town. A dark SUV, tinted windows. The same man who had smiled too easily and shook hands too tightly.

“She’s a beauty,” the broker said, flipping through a few photographs. “You’ll get top dollar. Half now, half upon delivery.”

Patrick’s jaw clenched. “Just make sure she’s taken care of.”

The broker chuckled. “You want morality now?”

Patrick didn’t respond. He took the envelope of cash, his hands trembling slightly.

Half of it he wired to Martha and the boys in the city. The other half he buried beneath the garden behind the house.

Katy never noticed the missing money. She only noticed Patrick becoming quieter, more distant.

The day Stacie left, Katy dressed her in her favorite blue dress. Braided her hair. Wrapped a ribbon around her wrist.

“Promise me you’ll write,” she whispered.

Stacie nodded tearfully. “Every day.”

Patrick put her suitcase in the waiting car. He hugged her longer than usual. Not out of love. Out of guilt.

The car pulled away. Katy waved until it disappeared into the trees.

She turned to Patrick, face wet with tears. “Promise me she’ll be safe.”

“She will be,” he said.

And then he walked inside without another word.

That night, Katy lay in bed, hand on her swollen belly, staring at the ceiling.

Patrick lay beside her, eyes open.

“I miss her already,” she whispered.

“I know.”

She turned toward him, searching his face. “Are we doing the right thing?”

He kissed her gently. “Trust me.”

And they made love again that night—slow, aching, full of emotion. Katy clung to him, needing his warmth.

Patrick moved inside her with practiced ease, whispering soft lies between kisses. Her moans filled the silence, mixing with the rustle of leaves outside.

When she collapsed against his chest, breathless, she whispered, “Thank you for giving her a future.”

Patrick didn’t reply.

His hands were already stained with betrayal.