A Bride to Replace the Forgotten Daughter

Days passed. And every time I opened a door or turned a hallway, there they were—Jerwin and Yvette, tending to each other like a storybook couple. I never saw him cry for me. Never saw him care.

But for her? I passed by the guest room one evening and paused.

The door wasn’t fully shut.

Through the small gap, I saw Jerwin sitting by Yvette’s bedside, gently wiping her tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jerwin whispered, his hand ghosting over her bruised skin. “You were never supposed to get hurt. I swear, Yvette… anyone who lays a hand on you will be punished.”

He leaned in.

Pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

I didn’t flinch.

Didn’t feel anything anymore.

Another time, I passed the room again. Yvette was asleep. Jerwin tucked the blanket over her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “I love you so much…”

I stood there a moment longer, but there was no ache this time.

Just… emptiness.

Later that week, I went to the bridal boutique alone.

No one offered to come.

Not my father.

Not Yvette.

Not even Jerwin.

The wedding dress fit perfectly. It was a clean white gown with silver embroidery along the bodice, cascading into layers of soft tulle. I looked like a stranger in the mirror. A beautiful bride no one wanted.

When I stepped out of the shop, the sky had already folded into night.

The street was nearly empty, only the faint glow of the boutique’s lights behind me and the dim flicker of a broken streetlamp ahead. I was walking toward the car when a hand clamped over my mouth.

A sharp, bitter scent invaded my nostrils—chemical, suffocating.

I kicked. Scratched. Fought with everything I had.

But it was useless.

Everything went black.

When I came to, I was already soaking wet.

I gasped, coughing violently, spitting out water as my lungs fought to remember how to breathe. My arms were bound behind my back, wrists aching from the tight restraints. My hair clung to my face, tangled and heavy.

I was outside somewhere—cold concrete beneath me, the air thick with moisture and the scent of moss and rusted iron.

A warehouse. Or the back of one. Somewhere forgotten.

And then, hands gripped my shoulders.

Without warning, I was dragged forward—toward a trough filled with ice-cold water. I had only a second to understand what was happening.

Then they shoved me under.

Water rushed up my nose, into my mouth. I thrashed, panicked. My lungs screamed for air as the pressure closed in.

And just as I was about to lose consciousness, they yanked me up.

I choked, spluttering, coughing violently.

Then—

They pushed me down again.

The second time was worse. I knew what was coming, and still I couldn’t fight it. My body bucked against the hands pinning me. My mind screamed for oxygen. For mercy. For escape.

But there was none.

They pulled me up again—long enough to breathe, barely.

And then it happened a third time.

Over. And over. And over again.

Each breath between drownings was like a curse—never enough to recover, just enough to survive the next.

Finally, when they stopped, I was gasping like a dying fish, crumpled on the concrete, soaked and shivering.

A voice broke the silence.

“You’re being punished… for what you did to the woman our master loves.”

I blinked, my vision blurry. My ears rang.

“What…?” I rasped.

“The young master doesn't want her hurt,” the man continued. “You pushed her into the pool. You made her suffer. So now, you suffer.”

And that’s when it hit me.

Jerwin. The man who once promised to protect me had ordered this for Yvette.

I let out a sound—half sob, half laugh. It echoed in the empty space around us like something feral.

So that was it. He would protect Yvette. Even if it meant breaking me.

When they dumped me outside the city, I was half-conscious. Shivering. Skin raw and scraped. I crawled until I found the edge of the road. Then I stood—barely—and walked. And walked.

I don’t know how I reached the hospital. I just remember the bright lights and the way the nurses looked at me like I was something broken beyond repair.

No one came to see me. Not even after three days.

I didn’t bother calling anyone.

Why would I? I knew better now.

I wasn’t the precious one. I wasn’t the girl who got saved. I was the one who got punished for existing.

And all I had to do now… was make it to the wedding.

So once discharged, I went home. Packed quietly. I decided to stay in a hotel until the ceremony. That way, I wouldn’t have to see their faces, or live in the same house as the people who forgot I existed.

I was almost out the door when Father’s voice echoed from behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I turned slowly. “To the hotel. I’ll return for the wedding.”

He frowned. “No. It’s Yvette’s birthday tomorrow. She wants you there. She wants your help organizing the celebration.”

I said nothing.

He scowled. “Why are you always so difficult with your sister? She’s trying to build a relationship with you!”

I stared at him. “And I said no.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice into a threat. “If you don’t go, I’ll freeze your cards. You won’t access a single cent.”

I didn’t even blink.

Then sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned to leave again, but before I reached the stairs, he spoke once more.

“Oh, and Fatima—give your mother’s necklace to Yvette. She wants to wear it for the party.”

My body went rigid.

I turned, disbelief flashing through me. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “She just needs something to match her gown. She’ll return it.”

“No!” I snapped, louder this time. “That necklace is the only thing I have left from my mother. I won’t give it to her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a piece of jewelry.”

I took a step back. But he was faster.

He walked up and unclasped the necklace from behind my neck. I reached to stop him, but his grip was firm—unyielding.

He pulled it off and walked away, tossing it to a maid. “Give this to Yvette.”

I stood there—motionless.

My chest felt like it was being hollowed out. It wasn’t about the necklace. It was about the last piece of someone who loved me being ripped away.

I collapsed on the couch, shoulders shaking. But I didn’t scream. Didn’t beg.

I just lay there… silent.

Tears slid down my face. I didn’t wipe them.

Because crying wouldn’t change anything.

Because in this house—No one cared.