Chapter 2 - The House of Cards
While I endured grueling physical therapy, learning how to lift my right arm again without the grafted skin tearing, Julian wasted no time replacing me. Through Sarah’s private investigators, I learned that less than a month after putting me in the hospital, Julian had moved his twenty-five-year-old "assistant," Chloe, into the Hamptons estate.
Evelyn, my monstrous mother-in-law, had taken up residence in the guest house, playing the role of the tragic, supportive mother. Together, they were living a life of luxury in the home my father had built, throwing lavish dinner parties and spending my money while I was learning how to hold a spoon again.
But the real war was happening in the legal depositions.
Because Julian was aggressively pursuing sole custody and full control of my assets, we were forced into arbitration and deposition hearings. I attended these via secure video link from the rehabilitation center, wearing high-necked compression garments that hid the horrific extent of my injuries.
I sat silently while Julian spun a web of lies so intricate it was almost impressive.
"My wife has always been emotionally unstable," Julian said solemnly to the camera during his sworn deposition. His attorney, an expensive shark named Vance, nodded approvingly. "During the pregnancy, she became increasingly erratic, clumsy, and paranoid. On the night of the accident, I tried to help her with dinner, but she snapped at me. She yanked the pot of soup toward herself in a fit of rage and slipped."
"And the kitchen security cameras?" Sarah asked casually, not looking up from her legal pad. "Why were they non-functional?"
Julian sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Elena broke them a week prior. She had this paranoid delusion that someone was watching her. I meant to have them repaired, but the tragedy struck before I could."
Next came Evelyn’s deposition.
"It was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen," Evelyn lied flawlessly, pressing a lace handkerchief to her dry eyes. "My poor son tried to catch her, but she was just so heavy and uncoordinated. She screamed, and Julian burned his own hands trying to pull her away from the stove."
He hadn't burned his hands. He had gotten a mild blister from splashing himself while he wiped the counter to destroy the evidence.
"And her current state?" Sarah pressed. "Do you believe Elena is fit to raise a child?"
"Absolutely not," Evelyn said, dropping the handkerchief, her voice turning sharp and vicious. "Look at her. She’s a monster. She’s heavily medicated, physically crippled, and completely traumatized. If you give that baby to her, she’ll probably drop it. Julian is the only safe parent."
I dug my fingernails into my palms until they bled, keeping my face entirely blank.
Let them talk, Sarah had told me. Every lie they tell under oath is another year added to their federal prison sentence.
Meanwhile, Maya was performing miracles of her own. At four months old, she was finally discharged from the NICU. Because the divorce and custody battle were ongoing, a judge had ordered temporary joint custody, but since I was still in the medical facility, Maya went to the Hamptons estate with Julian.
That was the hardest part. Handing my tiny, fragile daughter over to the man who had tried to kill her in the womb. But Sarah had secured a court-appointed pediatric nurse to be with Maya 24/7, paid for by an escrow account Julian couldn't touch. The nurse, a stoic ex-military woman named Brenda, was secretly reporting directly to Sarah. Julian and Evelyn couldn't be left alone with my baby for a single second.
By month six, my skin had healed enough that I was discharged. I didn't go back to the Hamptons. I moved into a secure, high-rise apartment in Manhattan that Sarah had quietly leased under a shell corporation.
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my new bathroom, looking at my reflection for the first time without bandages. The right side of my face, neck, and shoulder was a landscape of raised, shiny, red scars. I looked like I had survived a war.
I touched the scarring on my cheek, feeling the tight, unyielding skin. Julian called me a monster. He said I was damaged.
"You're not damaged," I whispered to my reflection, my eyes burning with a fierce, cold light. "You're fireproof."
Tomorrow was the final family court hearing. The judge would make a permanent ruling on custody and asset division. Julian had invited half of his family and several business associates to attend the open court session, wanting an audience to witness his final victory and my ultimate humiliation.
May you like
He wanted a show.
I was going to give him an apocalypse.
