My Husband Called It a Game, It Killed Our Daughter

Claire's POV

Jason's words lit a fire in my dead heart. It clawed its way up from somewhere deep inside me and exploded before I could even think.

I raised my hand and slapped him. "You heartless asshole!"

The force of it left my palm stinging and numb.

"Jason! Ayla is dead! You killed your own daughter!" My voice broke as I shouted, my lungs burning from the effort.

Then I froze.

I hadn't hit Jason. I'd hit Vera.

She staggered back a step, her eyes wide like she hadn't expected me actually to fight back.

Her voice started to tremble, all soft and fake.

"Claire, I only said those things because I blamed Ayla for taking my child's chance at life. I just wanted to scare her a little. I never meant to kill her!"

Jason stormed toward me and, without warning, clamped a hand around my throat.

"You really think I'm buying this pathetic performance?" he spat. "There weren't any real bullets in the gun. Vera just wanted to scare her a little—to soothe her son's soul up in heaven."

His face twisted in rage like he was actually offended I'd dared accuse him of something so 'unfair.'

"You're just using your daughter's death as an excuse to crawl back to me. You want my attention? Is that it?"

Jason sneered, his eyes scanning me as if I had disgusted him. "You do realize how old you are now, right?"

Every cruel word just made him more certain he was right. Any flicker of guilt he might've had was gone, wiped away by his arrogance.

"Tie her up," Jason ordered coldly. "Hang her off the back of the cruise ship. Let her clear her head."

They didn't hesitate.

I was bound up with no care or kindness, just rope and brute force.

Then they threw me into the ocean like garbage.

The cold hit me like a thousand needles stabbing into every inch of my body. My lungs seized.

Waves crashed over me, one after another, slamming me against the current, tossing me like I didn't matter.

I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my mouth closed, but the salty, rancid water forced its way in anyway.

And yet, of all things, my mind wandered.

I recalled my first attempt at learning to swim. I panicked, inhaled water, and nearly drowned in a shallow pool. Jason was terrified—his eyes were red as he picked me up and swore he'd never let me return to the water.

All those beautiful moments were just seafoam.

Here for a second, gone the next.

That man, the one who used to hold me close, who called me his everything...

He was gone.

Now, he'd sacrificed our daughter to please his mistress.

And when I slapped Vera, he tied me up and dragged me like some showpiece to humiliate me for her amusement.

The cold was crawling deeper now into my bones. My body stopped shaking. I could barely feel anything at all.

Right before I lost consciousness, someone yanked me out of the water.

A staff member.

They wrapped me in a towel and handed me a cup of hot water.

"Mr. Robinson is setting off fireworks tonight. To celebrate his love for Miss Vera Leigh," he said.

My chest stayed still.

I felt nothing.

If Jason dropped dead right then and there, I might've smiled.

With a new copy of the divorce agreement printed, I handed it to a crew member and asked them to deliver it to Jason.

But before he could even sign it, they dragged me out again and hung me off the back of the ship.

By the time I got back to my cabin, my limbs felt like lead. My hands shook, but I forced myself to speak out loud like Ayla was still there.

"Ayla, I'm sorry I got back so late, baby. You're not mad at me, right?"

"Ayla, I heard what you said. Once he signs the papers, I'll get off at the next port. We'll go home together."

I reached out to the center of the bed, half-expecting her warmth, the familiar shape of her tiny body curled up beneath the covers.

But all I felt was cold, flat emptiness.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

I tore through the room, opened drawers, yanked open the closet, and crawled under the bed.

She wasn't there.

I ran to the nearest staff member and demanded to see the cruise manager.

He showed up quickly, glancing around like he was afraid even to meet my eyes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a nervous whisper, "Mrs. Robinson, Miss Vera just had someone take your daughter's body. She said... she's selling the organs to buy handbags."

My whole body went still.

"I tried calling you, but your phone was off," he added quickly. "And no one could find you."

Of course, they couldn't.

I was hanging off the back of the damn ship strung up there by the man who was supposed to love me.

I never thought Vera would go this far.

I never thought she wouldn't even spare a corpse.

The manager left, probably too cowardly to say anything else.

And I stood alone in that room, surrounded by silence that somehow rang louder than screams.

The thought of Ayla being dissected, cut into pieces, and sold off like merchandise made my stomach twist violently.

Then came a voice.

"Well, well... isn't this our dear Claire?"

Vera strolled in like she owned the place like she hadn't just destroyed what little was left of my world.

She walked straight up to me and softly took my hand, placing it on the smooth leather of a designer handbag.

The kind Ayla would've thought looked like candy.

Her voice was soft, almost sweet. But her words were knives.

"Ayla was really worth a lot, you know. Thanks to her, I finally paid off this limited-edition bag."

She tilted her head at me as if she was curious how far she could twist the knife.

"This is all your fault, Claire," Vera said, all airy and light. "You refused to get a divorce. You let yourself go and clung to Jason like a parasite. You even used your child to try to keep him."

Her smile widened. "So I had no choice but to send her to die. She was in my way, standing between me and my future. Between me and the wealth I deserve."