Better Dead Than Married

By the time we saw Edmond again, Ariel and I were already ghosts, just floating in silence.

We watched Keyla—calm as ever—plop into a wheelchair she'd stashed earlier, right after slicing open our pregnant bellies. Then she jumped online, fake-crying as she posted some drama-filled rant about how we botched her surgery and left blades inside her. Said we ruined her life.

Wanna know the worst part? Edmond and Philip bought every word.

A genius pathologist and a seasoned cop, and neither blinked. They just ran to Keyla, ready to grovel.

"Keyla, it's our fault. We knew they were petty and still let them touch you."

Philip looked like a scolded middle schooler—head down, no fight in him.

Ariel stared, eyes full of heartbreak. Then she glanced at me, smiling like it didn't hurt.

"Emma, look at him. He didn't even ask. Just assumed I hurt her."

They both did. Edmond, too—actually looked guilty for once. Even cooked Keyla's favorite meals himself as an apology.

I was six months pregnant and never got a single thing he made. Not once. I had to drag myself through morning sickness just to pack his lunch every day—because he hated takeout.

Now look at them. All warm and doting while Keyla batted her lashes and pulled them close.

"Oh, you two are such fools. It's not your fault. You just married the wrong women."

She dragged us right to our faces, and they just nodded along.

At dinner, Edmond spoon-fed her. Philip held her drink like some backup waiter. They treated her like a queen.

I didn't even know why my eyes burned. If they'd told us they were in love with Keyla from the start, Ariel and I would've walked away, no questions asked.

But they didn't. They chased us like it meant something—until the rings went on. Then everything flipped.