The Wife He Tried to Erase

lia

live broadcast a hazy nightmare. I had been out for a full day and night. The calendar on the wall screamed at me: October

he headlines screamed: "Adelia Figueroa, the 'Stillbirth Artist's Muse,' Revealed to be Orphan with Troubled Past." My parents' names, their

rphan who manipulated

eaths, a conve

ty, now manifesting in

t the backlash from Beryl's monstrous exhibit. To shift the narrative. To make me the villain. My hear

e, was now a stage for his betrayal. Griffith sat on the plush sofa, Beryl draped across his lap, their bodies intertwined. He

ch, his head snapping up. Beryl recoiled, her eyes darting between us. "

f something that looked like guilt. "Adelia, darling," he began, but the endearment felt lik

tically destroyed every part of me. My dignity. My body. My child. My past. My future."

yl, ever the opportunist, tugged at his arm. She whispered something in his ear. He looked at me again, then at her

he sound was like a final nail in the coffin of my heart. My own bedroom

Griffith," I whispered to the closed door, to the man who was no longer

singly fresh. "Adelia," he said, trying for a conciliatory tone. "It's

rged from the bedroom. "Darling, what are you talking about?" she pouted,

ween us. "Adelia, Beryl. Can't w

oice firm. "My career depends on this.

oked at me, a shrug of resignation on his face. "I supp

y voice flat. I didn't

st of the season, began to fall, dusting the gravestones with white. I found my parents' names, carved in

sorry. I'm so sorry I haven't been strong enough. I'm so sorry fo

urly men, faces hardened, emerged from behind a row of trees. They wore

asked, trying to sou

phone, a grim smile on his face. "Seems lik

my phone. I needed to call someone. Anyone. I pressed the

med into the phone. "I'm at

attered to the ground. Darkness swallowed me whole. But not before I heard a f

I was hanging precariously from a thick rope, suspended over choppy, dark water. The wave

s like you had some rich enemies, lady," he sneered. "We've b

hat mean? My mind raced,

were told to make one call. Your first contact. Who's it g

husband. The father of my child. Even after everythi

iffith's voice. "Adelia?

ling, "I've been kidnapped! They're

Griffith, darling, is your 'muse' playing games again? T

was with her. Again. H

h said, his voice laced with annoyanc

pieces. He truly didn't care. He truly believed I was pla

oesn't care much, huh?" the sca

asked, my voice surprisingl

h. "Smart girl. Let's just say a certain 'artist' has a ver

ed, a primal s

ed man cu

ea was absolute. As I struggled, a kaleidoscope of images flashed through my mind: Griffith's smile, his promises, our

n. A sacrifice. My love, my life, my child-all colla

I would not die his victim. I would not be defined by his cruelty. And the

wallowed