The Divorce Papers Were Just the Beginning

Then it happened.

One moment, the road was clear ahead of us. The next, everything shattered.

BANG.

Something slammed into our car from the side with brutal force. Metal screamed in protest, glass exploded outward, and the entire vehicle lurched violently as if it had been lifted off the ground. My body was thrown against the seatbelt, my head snapping forward so hard my vision blurred. My chest felt crushed in an instant.

Caleb screamed my name.

I tried to reach him, tried to move, but before I could even unbuckle myself, the door was yanked open.

Rough hands grabbed my hair and dragged me out without warning. I was thrown onto the pavement like I weighed nothing—like I wasn’t even human.

I twisted immediately, reaching back toward the car.

“My son—please, my son is still inside—”

A heavy boot pressed down on my back.

All the air in my lungs was forced out at once.

“Still thinking about someone else?” a man said, laughing above me. “You’ve had it too easy. Today, you learn what real pain is.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I managed to choke out.

The sentence barely left my mouth before another slap cracked across my face. My vision exploded with white spots. Warm blood pooled inside my mouth and spilled down my chin.

They didn’t touch Caleb.

I could hear him crying inside the car, his small voice breaking through the chaos. Someone clicked their tongue in annoyance.

“Leave the kid. The boss only wants the woman.”

Another blow came quickly after that, snapping my head to the side again. My ears rang. Everything tilted.

Then my wrists were pulled behind me and tied tightly to the back of the vehicle.

That was when I understood what they planned to do.

Panic surged through me. I started screaming his name—over and over—until my throat felt like it was tearing apart from the inside.

The engine roared to life.

And then I was dragged.

My body scraped violently against the rough road. Stones tore through fabric, skin, even deeper than that. Pain wasn’t just present—it was everywhere, constant and overwhelming, like it had become the only thing I could feel. My arms felt like they were being ripped from their joints. My knees burned raw. My back screamed with every second.

They were laughing.

Someone was filming it.

Like I was entertainment.

Like I was nothing more than something to watch.

I don’t know how long it went on. Time stopped making sense. It broke into fragments of pain and noise. I remember it suddenly ending—movement stopping, the rope loosening, and a final kick landing somewhere on my body just because they could.

Then darkness.

When I finally came to, everything was eerily still.

Too still.

Moonlight spilled across endless rows of gravestones. A cemetery. Strangely enough, it was the first place I felt even a fraction of relief. The dead didn’t hurt me. Only the living did.

I forced myself to move. Every step felt unreal, like I was watching someone else’s body stumble forward. My legs barely responded, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

By the time the sky started to pale, whatever strength I had left gave out completely. I collapsed on the side of the road and didn’t get back up.

…

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

I blinked slowly, waking up to harsh white lights and sterile walls. A nurse stood beside me, adjusting an IV line in my arm.

Pain returned all at once—sharp, deep, and everywhere.

“Where’s my son?” I rasped immediately. “Where is Caleb?”

The nurse startled slightly, then softened. “He’s here. He’s safe. He had a fever earlier, but it’s gone down now. He’s sleeping.”

I turned my head with effort.

Caleb was on the bed beside mine, small and pale, an IV taped gently to his hand. His lashes rested against his cheeks, his breathing slow and steady.

I cried without making a sound.

They cleaned my wounds and asked questions. I answered only what was necessary. The rest I kept locked inside. I pulled the hospital gown tighter around me, hiding what I could—not just the scars, but everything I had become.

By evening, they discharged us.

Just like that.

Caleb refused to let go of me the entire time, his arms wrapped tightly around my neck as if loosening his grip would make me disappear.

“Mommy,” he kept whispering. “Are you hurt? Are you okay now?”

I kissed his hair again and again. “I’m okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.”

But his eyes—too serious for his age—searched my face.

“Why do people always hurt us?” he asked quietly.

I had no answer for him.

…

I went back inside the hospital later to settle the bill.

I stood in line quietly, drained, barely present.

Then I heard her voice.

“Vic, I’m fine now. You don’t need to worry so much,” Delilah said softly, almost sweetly.

My body went rigid.

Victor’s voice followed, lower, gentler than I had heard in years. “The doctor said you still need to be careful. There are risks with the pregnancy.”

She let out a small laugh. “I know. I’m used to it anyway. Yesterday was my fault—I shouldn’t have upset Selena.”

My fingers curled into fists.

I turned slowly.

Victor was already looking at me.

Like he had seen something impossible.

“Selena?” he repeated.

Shock flashed across his face first, then hardened almost immediately.

Delilah moved behind him, hiding herself against his back like a frightened child, fingers clutching his sleeve as she trembled on cue.

“Please don’t look at me like that, sister,” she whispered. “I didn’t post anything. I didn’t do anything online. You’re scaring me. I’m barely pregnant… the doctor said stress is dangerous. After I give birth, if you still hate me, I’ll leave. I won’t fight you.”

Her voice was soft—but it didn’t feel real. It felt crafted.

Victor stepped in front of her completely, blocking me out as if I didn’t belong in the same space.

“She nearly lost the baby because of you,” he said coldly. “You started rumors, posted things, and ruined the wedding. Do you understand how much stress you caused her?”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to roll up my sleeves and show him everything—every bruise, every cut, every moment I barely survived. I wanted to ask him why none of it ever mattered.

But one look at his face stopped me.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was disgusted.

Like I was something rotten he wanted erased.

Caleb tightened his grip on my hand.

Hard.

His fingers were freezing. His small body slowly curled inward, shoulders hunching as if expecting punishment. He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. He just stood there trembling, staring at the floor.

My chest tightened so painfully I could barely breathe.

I pulled him closer immediately, pressing his head against my side.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Mama’s here.”

Victor glanced at us briefly.

Just once.

Then he scoffed.

“Pathetic,” he said flatly. “Both of you. If acting weak were an award, you’d win. This performance… pretending to be victims for sympathy. Do you really think I can’t see through it? Delilah is the only one who’s actually suffering here.”

At that moment, Delilah suddenly bent forward with a soft, controlled cry.

“Victor… my stomach…”

That was enough.

He didn’t hesitate.

He scooped her up and rushed toward the doctor’s area like she might break if he held her wrong. As he passed, his shoulder slammed into me, knocking me off balance.

“Get out of the way, Selena!”

I hit the marble floor hard. Pain shot through my arm and up into my head in a sharp wave.

I sucked in a breath—but no sound came out.

And he never once looked back.