Your Love Once Burned Fiery

I had endured it all, just to make sure I didn't lose my mind.

I lowered my head and forced a bitter smile.

"I waited three years. Then I was locked away for another year. Can you take me away now?"

My question left Jonathan visibly unsettled. From the way his gaze flickered and avoided mine, I saw his hesitation. I already knew the answer.

Instead, it was Eleanor—cradling the infant only a few months old—who stepped forward.

"Chloe, these were all Mom and Dad's decisions. Don't blame Jonathan.

"And to help the two of you be together, I was willing to play along with the act.

"It was only one year in confinement. I really don't get what you're so dissatisfied with?"

One of them said it was for our future. The other said she willingly cooperated.

So that made it acceptable for them to have two children in three years, all while claiming it was for my own good.

I nodded.

"I understand."

That final struggle was nothing more than self‑inflicted humiliation.

Just as I turned to leave, Eleanor suddenly staggered backward. Before I could react, she had already fallen to the floor, still holding the baby.

The infant's heart‑rending cries filled the room.

The next second, someone grabbed my clothes and yanked me violently backward. The force sent my entire body crashing into the glass coffee table.

Shattered glass pierced my back. Warm blood immediately soaked through my clothes.

"Chloe, how can you be so vicious? You won't even spare a few-month-old baby?"

When Jonathan looked at me, his eyes were poisoned with hatred.

He clearly saw me lying in a pool of blood. He clearly knew that if the glass had pierced an organ, I could have died.

And yet, he still scooped up the baby and rushed out without once looking back.

I knew then—there was no way back for us. And there would never be a future again.

…

When I woke up again, I was lying face down on a hospital bed.

The housekeeper who brought me meals said that if the glass had gone half a centimeter deeper, it would have pierced my heart. She was the one who found me lying in the blood and rushed me to the hospital.

I couldn't tell whether that was luck or misfortune.

During the entire week I was hospitalized, no one came to see me except her.

But on the very day I was finally able to get out of bed, not only did Jonathan arrive, but Eleanor came as well, along with her parents.

They stormed in with imposing expressions, not a trace of concern for me. All that followed was a barrage of accusations.

"Chloe, because you pushed Eleanor, the baby was injured and frightened and has had a persistent fever. You weren't just trying to destroy my daughter's marriage—you were trying to harm my precious grandson. You're exactly like your vicious mother."

That was right. They were not my biological parents.

They hated my birth mother for swapping their real daughter away. And they hated me even more—for replacing their daughter, for growing up in the Sterling family, basking in their affection.

But what did I ever do wrong?

I stared at their venomous expressions, my nails digging into my palms, yet I felt no pain at all. More than twenty years of love and understanding meant nothing compared to a single baseless accusation from their biological daughter.

Seeing that I remained unmoved, Eleanor suddenly dragged me down from the hospital bed.

"Chloe, I know you resent me—for taking Mom and Dad, for taking Jonathan. But you can't take it out on our child. He's still so little, only three months old.

"I'm begging you, Chloe. If you have any anger, direct it at me. Please spare the two children Jonathan and I share."

She repeated it again and again—the children she and Jonathan shared—as if afraid I might miss even a single word.