My Husband Killed My Daughter so I Ruined Him

“Please… please just let me go,” I begged, my voice hoarse from hours of crying.

My fingers clutched the cold iron bars, my knees numb from kneeling too long. No one answered. No one listened. The guards just stood still—unmoved, unfeeling—as if I were nothing more than a nuisance. A criminal.

But I wasn’t.

I hadn’t done anything. I didn’t even know that Nathan was kidnapped. Yet they were all blaming it on me?

The clang of heels against the tiled floor echoed down the hallway—and then I saw her. Candice. Her face painted in rage, lips curled like a snake ready to strike.

She stepped closer, eyes glinting with cruelty, voice sharp as glass. “You think you still matter? Jackson was never yours. He’s always been mine.”

I flinched, but she wasn’t finished.

“You were just a convenient replacement,” she sneered. “A stand-in. He needed someone when I married his cousin. But now that he’s gone…” Her lips curled in triumph. “Jackson’s mine again. As he always should’ve been.”

My breath hitched.

“And Nathan,” she added, lifting her chin, “he’s not just some poor orphan. He’s Jackson’s son. His real one. His blood. His heir.”

I staggered back as if struck again.

“So maybe instead of trying to kill him out of jealousy,” she snapped, “you should start preparing yourself. Because the only thing you’ll be to this family now is irrelevant.”

My mouth opened, but no words came. Just pain. Just silence.

“And don’t even think about crawling back to him,” Candice spat. “Because no matter what you do, you’ll never be enough. Not as a wife. Not as a woman. And definitely not as a mother.”

Jackson followed behind her, face tight with fury. “You’re the reason he’s in the hospital,” he said coldly. “Do you think the kidnappers were lying? They confessed that it was you.”

“No!” I shook my head violently. “I didn’t plan anything! I never wanted that boy hurt!”

Jackson added. “Because you're jealous, right? Because your own child died? So now you want my son dead too?”

I looked at Jackson—straight in the eye. “So you're admitting he's your son?”

He froze, but only for a moment. “Don't change the damn topic!”

I was still reeling when a staff ran up to us. “Sir—Mr. Smith—Nathan needs a blood transfusion. Immediately. But the hospital's out of supply for his rare blood type.”

Jackson looked at me. “What’s your blood type?”

I took a step back. My vision blurred. “I’m anemic. If you take blood from me—”

“She can do it,” Jackson said firmly. “She will do it. It’s the least she can do for what she’s done, so make her blood match! Bring her to the hospital now!”

“Jackson…” I gasped. “Please. I’ll faint. I might not—”

“If my son dies,” he growled, stepping closer, “I’ll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

I was dragged to the medical room. I didn’t even resist anymore. Worse, I am indeed a match. The needle slid into my vein, and blood drained from me until my lips turned pale and the world tilted. My last thought before I blacked out wasn’t of pain—it was that he had said my son again. No more lies. No more pretending.

He had replaced me. And made me bleed for it—literally.

When I woke, the lights above me flickered. My arms ached. My vision still hazy when Jackson entered again.

I braced myself. He didn’t waste time.

“Did you send men to hurt Candice this time?”

“What?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’m locked in a hospital room. How could I?”

His face twisted in rage. “Was that what you were planning during dinner? Who were you texting? What was in your phone?!”

“No one!” I cried. “It was nothing, I swear—”

He didn’t believe me. He never did.

“Guards,” he said sharply. “Make her pay.”

The next minutes were a blur of fists, pain, and screaming. I stopped begging. What was the point?

“Let me go,” I whispered once more. “Please… just be happy with them. Let me go.”

But Jackson only glared. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay here. You’ll suffer until I decide you’ve paid.”

He slammed the door behind him.

They locked me inside. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

All I could do was curl into myself, arms wrapped around my stomach, where my baby had once been. Where a child would never grow again. A place Jackson had destroyed, and yet still punished me for not being enough.

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Until I heard footsteps—rushed, heavy. Not Jackson’s.

I flinched. My body recoiled in fear. Not again. Please not again.

But then—arms. Warm. Gentle.

“Samantha.”

That voice. My eyes shot open.

“Inigo…” I choked out.

He was here. My savior. My only chance.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he whispered, holding my face between his palms. “But I’m here now.”

I nodded, barely believing he was real.

He wrapped a blanket around me and helped me to my feet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

We moved fast—quiet through hallways, into a van, into the night. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t need to know where we were going. All that mattered was that we were leaving. That I wasn’t going to die in that place.

As the plane took off, I looked at the city lights shrinking below me, each one a false promise Jackson had ever made. And I whispered goodbye.