Chapter 2

After hours of searching, the police finally found Nina in an abandoned building. But before they let me see her, they told me to brace myself.

"What do you mean by that?!" I demanded, my heart slamming against my ribs. My legs buckled beneath me, but I forced myself to move forward. Each step felt like a lifetime, the distance stretching unbearably. By the time I reached the building, I could barely stand.

There she was. My daughter.

Nina lay on the floor, her eyes peacefully shut, as if she were just sleeping. But her small limbs were bent at impossible angles, as though someone had carelessly rearranged them.

"Nina! Nina!"

I screamed, desperate to hold her, to shake her awake. But the officers held me back, their firm grips keeping me from rushing to her.

"Don't disturb the scene," one of them warned.

"Scene?!" My voice cracked. "She's just unconscious! I need to wake her up!"

But then I saw it, the dried blood near a wound on her head. My breath caught in my throat.

"She's hurt! Someone help her, please!" My voice trembled, barely audible over the pounding in my ears.

The officers pulled me aside, murmuring words meant to console me, but I couldn't hear them. All I could do was watch as the coroner approached, his expression confirming what I refused to believe.

I don't remember how I got home. I don't remember falling asleep. All I remember is waking up clutching a photo of Nina, her bright smile, her tiny hands wrapped around a teddy bear her father had given her.

The police returned her school bag to me. With trembling fingers, I unzipped it and pulled out an essay she had written, titled My Dear Mom and Dad. It had earned top marks. Through my tears, I managed a broken smile. She had been so proud of this essay. She had wanted to show it to her dad. But she never got the chance.

That night, Norman finally came home.

There was a spring in his step, a glow on his face. He looked... happy. Happier than I'd seen him in years. It didn't take much to figure out why.

He hadn't come alone.

Cindy was with him.

"Yesterday was her birthday, and she's sick," he explained, a flicker of guilt in his voice. "She's all alone here without family, so I went to take care of her."

I sat on the couch, numb, watching them walk into the living room like they owned it. Norman called my name, expecting me to greet his guest. When I didn't move, irritation flashed in his eyes, and he stalked over to me.

"All those calls yesterday. Over and over, like a lunatic. Do you have any idea how many times you called? Was that really necessary?"

"I'm sorry," Cindy chimed in, her voice dripping with false innocence. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just... Norman is the only person I can rely on."

The smug look in her eyes said otherwise. Before, I might have cared. Now, I didn't have the energy.

Still, my silence seemed to bother her. She wasn't satisfied.

"Where's Nina?" she asked, glancing at a framed photo on the table. "Norman mentioned her to me. I've been wanting to meet her for so long. I feel bad for missing her birthday, so I brought a gift to make up for it."

She reached out to pick up the photo, but I snatched it away before she could touch it.

"Don't. You have no right to touch her."

My voice was cold, devoid of emotion. If it weren't for her, would Norman have forgotten his promise to our daughter? Would Nina have been alone that night?

"Mandy, what the hell is wrong with you?" Norman snapped, glaring at me. "Can you stop acting so immature? She just wanted to see a picture of our daughter. What's the big deal?"

Before I could react, he yanked the photo from my hands and handed it to Cindy.

I stared at him, my mind going blank. And in that moment, I realized, Cindy wasn't the one I should hate the most.

It was Norman.

If he hadn't been so eager to run back to his first love, would he have forgotten to pick up our daughter? If he couldn't make it, why hadn't he called me? Why hadn't he let me know? In the end, Nina just didn't matter to him.

Not like Cindy did.

"Mandy, where's Nina?" Norman frowned, looking around. "Why don't I see her? Is she already asleep?"

He pushed open her bedroom door. Empty. His confusion deepened.

"Mandy? Where is she?"

I lifted my head and looked at him, really looked at him. He hadn't even checked his messages. He had no idea.

He never even saw my calls.

I watched as they stood there, staring at me like I was the intruder in their home. As if I was the one ruining their family.

I knew their history. Knew they had once been madly in love. They didn't break up because they fell out of love, they married other people out of spite.

And when I learned that the man I was arranged to marry was Norman, I had been overjoyed. I had loved him since high school, secretly, quietly. I never dared to approach him, only listened from a distance as people gossiped about him and Cindy.

I knew he still held a place for her in his heart. I tiptoed around it, worked hard to be a good wife, trying to build a happy family. Trying to keep this fragile illusion of happiness from shattering.

When Nina was born, I thought, just for a moment, that I had won. That Norman had finally let go of the past. He was there every step of the way, caring for me, comforting me.

And when she arrived, he was ecstatic, pacing outside the delivery room, kissing her tiny hands, feeding her, changing her diapers. For the first time, I thought we had a real chance.

He named her Nina. His precious little girl.

But deep down, I knew.

Nina wasn't just a name.

It was Cindy's nickname.

I told myself it didn't matter. I told myself that as Nina grew, he would let go of Cindy. That their story would fade into the past. That we would become his future.

But Cindy came back.

And Norman, my husband, the father of my child, never even hesitated.

"You remember the promise you made to Nina, don't you?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "You promised to celebrate her birthday."

For the first time that night, Norman fell silent.