My Daughter's Ghost Saved Us Both

No one would believe he'd betray me. That he'd abuse our daughter to death.

But the facts left me no room for doubt.

I agreed casually, told him I'd talk to my parents.

He let out a long, hard breath of relief.

But when I offered to stay at the hospital overnight to look after Gloria, he stopped me immediately. Told me to go home and take care of Lily.

He could handle his mother on his own.

I glanced at the ICU doors and didn't push it.

Once I was outside the hospital, I called my parents. I warned them over and over: if Phineas came asking to borrow money, stall him.

But under no circumstances give him a cent.

Then I dialed Lawyer Chavez：

“I have terminal cancer. I want a divorce. How do I get custody of my daughter and the majority of the assets?”

After reviewing what I'd provided, Lawyer Chavez frowned：

“Your medical condition is a major disadvantage in a custody fight.”

My income was far lower than Phineas's, and I was terminally ill.

Even if Phineas was the at-fault party in the marriage, the odds of me winning custody weren't good when everything was weighed together.

“The best scenario is if he voluntarily gives up custody.”

“Or you find enough leverage to force him to.”

I gave Lawyer Chavez everything I had on Celeste Harding and hired him to dig deeper.

The results came back fast.

She was a nurse at that very private hospital.

A few thousand a month at most, yet she drove a BMW, carried handbags worth tens of thousands, and lived in a house in a top school district.

Her son, a year younger than Lily, attended an expensive international preschool.

On the boy's birth certificate, the line for father read: Phineas Vance.

In their family portrait, Phineas had his arm around Celeste's waist, his face full of tenderness.

Gloria sat in her wheelchair, cradling the grandson who'd just turned a hundred days old, her face crinkled with joy.

Neighbors and the boy's preschool teachers could all confirm the two presented themselves as husband and wife.

In public, they called each other “honey” and “hubby.”

This wasn't just cheating. It wasn't just a moral failing.

It was bigamy.

My knuckles went white. My chest seized so tight I couldn't breathe.

What a happy little family of four.

Then another message came through from Lily, ten years in the future：

“Mommy, back then, the baby brother in your tummy—Daddy and Grandma killed him on purpose.”

My vision went black. I staggered and nearly collapsed.

It hit me all at once. After I'd given birth to Lily, Phineas claimed he was in a critical phase at work—stayed out late every night, said he was putting in overtime.

Gloria kept pressuring me for a second child. A son, she insisted, to carry on the family name.

Then not long after, Gloria had her accident and was paralyzed from the waist down.

She needed me as her free caretaker, so she stopped mentioning a second child.

A year later, when I was four months pregnant, I slipped on shower gel that had spilled across the bathroom floor. I fell. I lost the baby.

That fall was never an accident.

The hatred nearly drowned me.

How dare they.

By now, every relative knew I had cancer and that Phineas was going to sell the house and the car to pay for my treatment.

The family group chat wouldn't stop pinging. My private messages were under siege.

All of them telling me not to be so selfish, thinking only about keeping myself alive. Telling me to give up treatment.

Or if I insisted on treatment, at least divorce Phineas first.

Phineas was a good husband. Don't drag him and his family and Lily down with me.

Three days later, Gloria was moved to a regular ward.

Lawyer Chavez finished compiling everything and sent me a message：

“Time to close the net.”

I walked into the hospital carrying the divorce agreement Lawyer Chavez had drafted.

Gloria's color was excellent. She had a four-year-old boy in her arms, cooing at him, calling him her darling grandson.

Phineas was wearing clothes I'd never seen before. He fumbled to hide the thermos of pork rib soup behind his back.

Then came the awkward explanation: he didn't know this child.

I let out a cold laugh and handed him the signed divorce agreement.

“Phineas, let's get divorced.”

Celeste, who had been coming in to carry the boy away, froze mid-step.

Phineas's face went rigid, but his voice turned soft in an instant.

“Ivy, I know you're worried about being a burden to me, but we're husband and wife……”

The tender act died the second his eyes hit the terms.

“What? You want me to……leave the marriage with nothing? And pay you $340,000 on top of that?”

Right then, another message came through on Lily's kids' smartwatch.

“Mommy, you have to find a way to get Daddy's old house!”

“That house is going to be condemned in a year. The eminent-domain compensation will be $725,000!”

I held up one finger.

“One more condition. The old family house under your name goes to me too.”

Phineas's face turned ashen.

The little boy charged at me, pointing his finger, and spat.

“You're a bad woman!”

“You can't steal my daddy's stuff!”

“All of Daddy's money is mine!”