Chapter 3
Ruby's POV
I froze, then spun around to run.
But Joseph was faster. His hand locked around my arm like an iron shackle. I thrashed wildly, my nails raking bloody lines across his hand.
"Let me GO! David!" I screamed at my brother. "Why are you—"
David looked away, staring at the ground.
The two bodyguards appeared and grabbed me from both sides.
"Smart choice." Joseph pulled a thick envelope from his pocket and handed it to David.
My brother took it eagerly.
"David...no..." My voice broke. "Look at me...PLEASE look at me..."
But he was already getting back in his car, disappearing around the corner.
The surgical lights blinded me.
They'd strapped me to the operating table like cargo. I shook my head frantically, mouth sealed with tape, only able to make muffled sounds.
Joseph stood behind the glass window, watching expressionlessly.
I stared at him, tears streaming down. I wanted to scream: Please, don't do this to me. We used to love each other so much.
But nothing came out.
The doctor entered, pulling on gloves. "Start the anesthesia."
"NO!" I fought against the restraints, but they only pulled tighter.
The needle pierced my vein. Cold liquid rushed in, spreading through my veins like poison.
Then came the tearing pain.
Not ordinary pain. Soul-shredding, excruciating pain.
Like someone taking a knife to my womb, carving out my baby inch by inch.
I could feel it. Every cut. Every scrape.
"She's bleeding!" a nurse suddenly cried out.
"Severe hemorrhaging!" The doctor's voice turned panicked.
My consciousness started to blur. Around me, urgent beeping, the chaotic shuffle of medical staff.
Then I heard Joseph's voice, as if from far away:
"Dammit! Keep the uterus intact!"
I wanted to scream, but no sound came. Then darkness swallowed everything.
I was a prisoner.
When I woke up, I didn't know whether to be grateful they'd saved my uterus. Because I knew—it only meant the nightmare would continue.
My room had become a jail cell—windows welded shut with thick iron bars, a guard posted outside my door twenty-four hours a day. My phone was confiscated. TV, computer, anything that could connect me to the outside world—gone.
Margaret brought "supplements" three times a day, standing over me until I swallowed every drop.
"For your health," she'd smile, as if nothing had happened. "You need to recover."
Recover so I could get pregnant again.
Even worse was Joseph. He didn't even wait for my body to heal before coming to my room every night. No matter how I fought back, he'd force my legs open without mercy.
After yet another forced encounter, I lay in bed, numb, maintaining that fertility position—legs elevated, pillow under my hips.
"I want a divorce." I stared at the ceiling.
Joseph was buttoning his shirt. His hands paused.
"Divorce is off the table."
"Why?" I turned to look at him. "Do you hate me? Hate me enough to torture me like this?"
He didn't answer, continuing with his buttons.
"Joseph," my voice trembled, "please...let me go...you can have someone else give you children..."
He finally looked at me, something flickering in his eyes—guilt? Pain?
"Ruby," he sat on the edge of the bed, "once you get pregnant again...it'll all be over. I promise."
"And then?" I laughed, tears streaming into my hair. "You'll kill that baby too? Like you killed the first three?"
He froze.
"Get out," I closed my eyes in agony. "Get the HELL out."
This went on for a month.
I tried to escape—slipped out when the guard dozed off, but was caught before I reached the stairs. The next day, Margaret added sedatives to my "supplements."
I tried starving myself. They force-fed me through a tube, like livestock.
I tried self-harm. But they'd removed every sharp object from the room. Even the mirror was soft plastic.
I was trapped in this gilded cage, barely alive.
I stood by the window, watching the world outside. Sunshine. Maybe someone walking their dog, a mother pushing a stroller—those normal lives were so far from mine.
Then I noticed the protruding nail on the window frame—the only sharp thing they'd missed.
Maybe...maybe this was the way out.
I tore my bedsheet into strips and started tying knots. One loop, two loops, three.
I fastened it to the nail, then around my neck.
Just one step and it would be over. No more pain, no more humiliation, no more—
Singing.
A faint melody drifted from upstairs. So soft, so gentle, filled with endless sorrow.
I froze.
Slowly, I removed the noose from my neck.
I pushed open the door—the guard was dozing again.
Barefoot, I followed the sound down the hallway. Second floor, third floor, then the stairs to the attic.
I never knew the Miller house had an attic.
The singing grew clearer.
My hand rested on the attic door handle.
Locked.
But there was a toolbox nearby with a screwdriver inside.
I pried open the lock and pushed the door open—
The world stopped.
Finally, I understood why the Millers had forced me to abort those three babies.
