It's Too Late to Apologize
The day I drowned, my heart stopped for seventeen minutes.
Security footage showed Carter rushing into the emergency room with me in his arms, his suit soaked, tears streaming down his face, screaming over and over, "Zoey, don't leave me." The entire city's media hailed him as the "devoted husband." Even the doctors were moved to tears.
But when I woke up in the ICU, the first thing I heard was his hushed voice saying to Ashley: "Can you stop acting now? If she'd actually died, the insurance payout would've cleared by tomorrow."
Suddenly, the chat exploded: [Holy crap, run! That guy took out a massive life insurance policy three months ago!] [They’ve already secretly adopted a child through that mistress!] [DNA test shows sedatives in her system before drowning—this was attempted murder!!]
I stared at the ceiling, not a single tear falling. That so-called "accident"? He held me under the pool himself. And the baby I had fought so hard to protect miscarried on the way to the hospital—they’d even destroyed the embryonic tissue.
Three months later, I returned as a senior research advisor at the biotech company Carter funded. In the lab, I used my remaining frozen eggs and anonymous donor sperm to create an embryo. Publicly, I announced I was pregnant out of wedlock. On the day the news broke, he shattered his coffee cup in front of everyone.
Now I stand outside a supermarket, pushing a stroller, watching coldly as he holds Ashley’s hand while they browse infant formula.
I turn and walk away, coat billowing behind me, lips curling into a faint smile.
My phone vibrates. A message from my assistant:
[Madam, the paternity test results have been submitted to court. The three gene companies under your name have merged—lawsuit ready at your command.]
[Also, we found the dashcam footage from the night of the "accident."]
I glance down at the baby sleeping in my arms—
the child I carried alone, born from a frozen embryo.
My tears dried up long ago.
Now, it's their turn to beg for mercy.