Her Stolen Six

Her Stolen Six

REGINA SIMONDS

5.0
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For eight long years, a dull ache lived in my heart. I' d endured six stillbirths, each a crushing blow. My husband, Mark, always seemed supportive, telling me we' d get through it. Desperate for him to be a father, I even hired his ex, Chloe, as a surrogate. Their son, Miles, had just been born. Then, at the hospital, a simple blood donation for my niece Amelia shattered my world. My brother-in-law, Robert, panicked. Trembling, he confessed: "Lily is your first baby, Sarah. The one you were told was stillborn eight years ago. Mark... Mark gave her to us." My first daughter, alive. Stolen. When I confronted Mark, he gaslit me, calling it "compassion" for his childless siblings. His family begged me not to "destroy" Lily' s life. Chloe, now living with Mark, subtly undermined me. Mark dismissed my pain, giving me an ultimatum: leave if I couldn't be "reasonable." He watched me grieve through six "stillbirths." His family systematically stole every single one of our babies. The man I loved betrayed me in the most monstrous way. My entire life, built on his lies, disintegrated. A cold, burning rage ignited within me. His cruel ultimatum didn't break me; it forged me. I wouldn't be reasonable. I wouldn't calm down. I grabbed my phone, dialing my lawyer. I was going to fight for my children – plural.

Introduction

For eight long years, a dull ache lived in my heart.

I' d endured six stillbirths, each a crushing blow.

My husband, Mark, always seemed supportive, telling me we' d get through it.

Desperate for him to be a father, I even hired his ex, Chloe, as a surrogate.

Their son, Miles, had just been born.

Then, at the hospital, a simple blood donation for my niece Amelia shattered my world.

My brother-in-law, Robert, panicked.

Trembling, he confessed: "Lily is your first baby, Sarah.

The one you were told was stillborn eight years ago.

Mark... Mark gave her to us."

My first daughter, alive. Stolen.

When I confronted Mark, he gaslit me, calling it "compassion" for his childless siblings.

His family begged me not to "destroy" Lily' s life.

Chloe, now living with Mark, subtly undermined me.

Mark dismissed my pain, giving me an ultimatum: leave if I couldn't be "reasonable."

He watched me grieve through six "stillbirths."

His family systematically stole every single one of our babies.

The man I loved betrayed me in the most monstrous way.

My entire life, built on his lies, disintegrated.

A cold, burning rage ignited within me.

His cruel ultimatum didn't break me; it forged me.

I wouldn't be reasonable.

I wouldn't calm down.

I grabbed my phone, dialing my lawyer.

I was going to fight for my children – plural.

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Her Own Kind of Happy Ever After

Her Own Kind of Happy Ever After

Romance

5.0

My lake trip with Ethan, my fiancé and a rising finance star, was supposed to be our last pre-wedding hurrah. I' d meticulously packed for two, my suitcase sitting beside his, ready for our perfect getaway. Then Chloe, the estate manager's daughter my family oddly favored, pulled up with her child, claiming Ethan had invited them. Without a glance, Ethan shooed me out of the car, promising to return after dropping them off at the resort an hour away. The humiliation burned as I watched him drive away, Chloe smugly waving from the passenger seat. Hours later, my phone buzzed with Chloe' s Instagram stories: Ethan laughing, steering a speedboat, his arm casually around her shoulder in a sunset photo. They were celebrating lake life while I was abandoned. When I confronted him, my own mother and brother, Liam, sided with Chloe, accusing me of just being "jealous" and "dramatic." The final blow came on my birthday. Ethan gifted me a beautiful diamond necklace, only for Chloe to reveal she had an identical one, saying Ethan got it for her as a "thank you" for helping him choose mine. It wasn't just betrayal; it was a brazen insult, confirming I was nothing but an afterthought, discarded by my fiancé and dismissed by my family. But in that moment, pain sharpened into an unyielding clarity. I wouldn't wait anymore, not for anyone. I blocked Ethan, then secretly packed a single bag, leaving my engagement ring and the mocking necklace behind. My gilded cage was about to open as I boarded a bus, bound for a new life, far from the Hawthornes and their suffocating expectations.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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