When Things Fade

To save my grandmother, I married a man who hated me. He never knew I was the one who secretly saved his life with a bone marrow donation. And when my grandmother lay dying, he refused to pay for the surgery that would have saved her.

He called it another one of my "dramas," laughing as my last hope died.

But he didn't just kill my grandmother. He killed our child, too.

I was secretly pregnant, part of a billion-dollar surrogacy deal to get the money for her care. When I begged him, showing him the ultrasound, his reply was cold.

"Get rid of it."

With my grandmother dead and my heart destroyed, I finally gave up. He would always believe the lies of his mistress-my sister-who had stolen the credit for saving him.

So I terminated the pregnancy, signed the divorce papers, and paid a doctor to erase every memory of him. Now, he stands before me, a broken man begging for forgiveness, but I can only look into his tear-filled eyes and ask, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

Chapter 1

Allison Farmer POV:

The flashing blue and red lights painted my living room in a twisted dance, just like the lie that had become my life, just like the lie Christopher McDowell believed about me. Two police officers, their faces grim under the harsh glow of the squad car, stood in my doorway, their presence an invasion of the very air I breathed. My heart hammered against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate for escape. I knew why they were here. He always took his cruelty to new heights.

My gaze drifted to the shattered remains of my grandmother's porcelain music box. It lay on the marble floor, a thousand delicate shards reflecting the flashing lights like broken dreams. The tiny ballerina, once pirouetting gracefully, was now just a headless torso, its painted smile a mockery of my own internal agony. He had thrown it, just moments before, a casual flick of his wrist. It was a cruel reminder of how easily he could break anything I held dear.

"Allison, what the hell were you thinking?" Christopher' s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold, like a winter wind. He stood by the fireplace, his designer suit perfectly pressed, his posture radiating an arrogance that made my stomach clench. "Trying to drug me? Are you really that desperate?" His words were ice, and they pierced through me, freezing what little hope I had left. My cheeks burned with shame, not for what I had done, but for the accusations he hurled.

A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in my stomach, a familiar ache that had been my constant companion these past months. It twisted and turned, a physical manifestation of the emotional knots inside me. I pressed a hand against my abdomen, trying to staunch the invisible wound, but it was no use. The pain only intensified, reminding me of all the nights I' d spent curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching myself, praying for it to stop.

I swallowed hard, the taste of ash in my mouth. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him how wrong he was, but a lifetime of holding back had taught me silence. For my grandmother, I told myself. For her medical bills. I had built walls around my heart, brick by painful brick, to withstand his attacks. But sometimes, a single word from him could crumble them all. I just stood there, my breath catching in my throat, trying to compose myself.

"Look at her," Christopher sneered, gesturing towards me with a dismissive wave, his eyes devoid of warmth. "The picture of innocence. Don't let her fool you, officers. She' s a master manipulator." His words were meant to wound, and they did. Each syllable was a fresh cut, bleeding into the open wounds he had already inflicted. He thrived on my pain, on making me feel small and worthless.

"I didn't drug you, Christopher," I finally managed to whisper, my voice hoarse. My eyes pleaded with him, searching for any flicker of recognition, any hint of the man I had once thought he could be. "It was... it was just chamomile tea. To help you relax. It was for our anniversary." The words felt hollow, even to me. He wouldn't believe me. He never did.

He let out a derisive laugh, a sound that grated on my nerves. "Anniversary? You actually thought I'd forget that you trapped me into this mockery of a marriage? Separated me from Cory?" His jaw tightened, and his eyes, usually so captivating, were now pools of icy hatred. "You're delusional, Allison. You always were." He was so consumed by his twisted narrative, there was no room for truth.

I tried again, desperate. "No, Christopher, please, just listen. It wasn't like that. Cory-"

He cut me off, his voice rising, venomous. "Don't you dare speak her name! You're not worthy! You thought you could trick me, just like you tricked everyone else into thinking you're some kind of saint. But I see through you, Allison. I always have." He took a step closer, his shadow looming over me, making me feel even smaller.

Then he turned to the officers, a chillingly calm expression on his face. "Officers, this woman assaulted me. She tried to drug me, and when I refused, she became violent. I'm pressing charges." My breath hitched. Assault? He couldn't be serious. My legs felt like jelly, threatening to give out beneath me.