My husband abuses me for not taking care of him, but I am already seven months pregnant and taking care of our four-year-old adopted son. He wants five more sons to maintain his family’s legacy and reputation. My name is Emily, and I never thought my life would turn into this nightmare. When I met Marcus 5 years ago, he was charming, successful, came from old money.

His family owned half the real estate in our town. I was a kindergarten teacher, fresh out of college, and he swept me off my feet with expensive dinners and weekend getaways. The first time he raised his voice at me was 3 months after our wedding. I had forgotten to pick up his dry cleaning. He screamed for 20 minutes about how incompetent I was, how he had made a mistake marrying someone from my background.

I cried myself to sleep that night while he played video games in the living room like nothing happened. But yesterday was different. Yesterday, I finally did something about it. I was in the kitchen making breakfast when Marcus came downstairs. Our son Tyler was eating cereal at the table, humming a song from his favorite cartoon.

My back was k!lling me from the pregnancy, and my feet were so swollen I could barely fit into my slippers. The coffee tastes like dirt, Marcus said, dumping the entire mug into the sink. Do you ever do anything right? I kept my eyes on the eggs I was scrambling. I made it the same way I always do. Well, it’s terrible.

Just like everything else you do, he grabbed his briefcase. I have meetings all day. The house better be spotless when I get back, and Tyler needs to be in bed by 7:00. I don’t want to hear a single sound when I’m working tonight. Tyler was 4:00. Getting him to bed by 7:00 was nearly impossible, and Marcus knew it.

After Marcus left, I sat down at the table and watched Tyler finish his breakfast. He had his mother’s eyes, his biological mother. I mean, we adopted him when he was 6 months old after I had a miscarriage, and the doctor said getting pregnant naturally would be difficult for me. Marcus wanted a son to carry on the family name, and adoption seemed like the answer.

Then, miraculously, I got pregnant last year. Marcus was thrilled at first, but when we found out it was a girl, everything changed. He started talking about how we needed more children, sons, multiple sons. He said his father had three sons and his grandfather had five. It was tradition. It was legacy. At least six children total,” he said one night.

“We already have Tyler and this girl, so we need five more, all boys.” I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. That morning, after breakfast, I did something I had been planning for weeks. I opened my laptop and logged into Marcus’ email account. I knew his password because he used the same one for everything, his father’s birthday.

What I found made my bl00d run cold. There were emails to a lawyer about prenuptual agreements and divorce settlements, but these weren’t for us. They were drafts, hypothetical scenarios. In one email, Marcus asked how much child support he would owe if we divorced. and I had full custody. In another, he asked about his legal obligations if something happened to me during childbirth.

Then I found the email that changed everything. It was from his brother, David. Look, man, I know mom and dad put pressure on you about the family legacy thing, but you can’t seriously be considering this. What you told me last week at the club, that’s insane. You can’t just keep getting her pregnant, hoping for sons, and then leaving her if it doesn’t work out.

And that other thing you mentioned about after the baby comes, you need to talk to someone professional, not me. My hands shook as I read it again and again. What other thing was David talking about? I clicked through more emails and found a thread from 3 months ago. Marcus was talking to someone named Jennifer. The emails were flirty at first, then explicit.

He was having an affair. But that wasn’t even the worst part. In one message, Jennifer wrote, “Once you’re free of her, we can start our own family. I’ll give you all the sons you want. My family has all boys. My dad has four sons. I have three brothers. It’s in my jeans.” Marcus replied, “Soon. Everything set in motion. By spring, I’ll be free.

” Spring was 2 months away. What did he mean by free? I heard Tyler calling from the living room and quickly closed the laptop. My mind was racing. I needed to think. I needed a plan. That afternoon, I did something I should have done years ago. I called my sister Melissa. Melissa and I hadn’t spoken in over a year.

Marcus had slowly isolated me from my family, always finding reasons why we couldn’t visit them, why they couldn’t come to our house. He said my family was beneath us, that they were bad influences. Emily, Melissa’s voice cracked when she answered. Oh my god, Emily. I started crying immediately. Everything poured out.

the verbal abuse, the controlling behavior, the impossible demands about having more children, the affair, those cryptic emails about being free. You need to leave him right now, Melissa said. PP pack a bag and get Tyler and get out of that house. I can’t just leave. He’ll come after me. His family has money and lawyers and then we document everything first.

Do you have proof of the affair? The emails? Yes, but forward them to yourself. All of them. Then forward them to me, too. Create a paper trail. Do you have anywhere safe you can go? I thought for a moment. Maybe. There’s a friend from college, Rebecca. She lives two hours away. Marcus doesn’t know about her. Good. Start planning.

But Emily, you need to be careful. If he’s talking about being free by spring and you’re due in 6 weeks, I don’t want to scare you, but you need to consider what he might be planning. After we hung up, I sat in the nursery we had prepared for the baby. Pink walls, white crib, stuffed animals arranged on shelves. Marcus hadn’t stepped foot in this room since we painted it.

He was disappointed we were having a girl. I forwarded all the emails to myself and to Melissa. Then I started going through Marcus’ documents more carefully. That’s when I found the life insurance policies. There were two of them, both taken out 6 months ago, right after we found out I was pregnant. Each policy was for $2 million.

I was the insured party on both. Marcus was the beneficiary. $4 million if I d!ed. My heart started pounding so hard I thought I might pass out. I had to grip the edge of the desk to study myself. He was planning to k!ll me. The pieces fell into place. The pressure about having more kids. The affair with Jennifer, who supposedly had good jeans for boys.

the emails about being free by spring, the life insurance policies, David’s email mentioning that other thing. Marcus was going to make my de@th look like a complication from childbirth. I thought about the prenatal vitamins he insisted I take, the ones he bought from some boutique pharmacy instead of just getting them at the regular drugstore.

The special protein shakes he made me drink every morning. The way he always insisted on driving me to my doctor’s appointments, sitting in the waiting room, walking me to the car afterward. Control. It was all about control. And soon it would be about murder. I grabbed my phone and almost called the police, but then I stopped.

What would I tell them? That my husband bought life insurance and had an affair? That his brother sent a vague email? I had no concrete proof of a murder plot, just suspicious circumstances. And Marcus’ family had connections everywhere, including the police department. His uncle was the county sheriff. I needed something more solid.

That night, Marcus came home late. I pretended everything was normal. I served him dinner, kept Tyler quiet, went to bed early, but I didn’t sleep. I lay there in the dark thinking, planning. The next morning, I made an appointment with a different doctor in the next county over. I told the receptionist I was visiting family and needed a routine checkup.

When I got there, I asked them to run every test possible. Bl00d work, urine samples, everything. Is there something specific you’re concerned about? The doctor asked. I hesitated, then said. I just want to make sure everything is okay with the baby and with me. The results came back 3 days later. The doctor called me personally. Mrs.

Chen, we found something concerning in your bl00d work. You have elevated levels of a substance that shouldn’t be there. It’s a compound sometimes found in certain types of supplements, but at high doses, it can be toxic, especially during pregnancy. My throat went dry. What kind of supplements? It’s actually found in some bodybuilding products and herbal remedies.

Do you take anything like that? The protein shakes, the vitamins. My husband makes me protein shakes every morning. He says they’re for the baby. There was a long pause on the other end. Mrs. Chen, I think you should come back in and I think you should consider talking to someone about your home situation. That’s when I knew I was right. Marcus was poisoning me slowly.

carefully so it would look like pregnancy complications when I finally went into labor. I sat in my car in the parking lot for an hour shaking. Then I called Melissa again. We need to move faster. I told her, I can’t wait. I need to get out now. Okay. Okay. Here’s what we do.

Over the next week, I carefully executed our plan. I opened a secret bank account and started transferring small amounts of money from our joint account. $20 here, 50 there. Nothing Marcus would notice. I packed a bag and hid it in Tyler’s closet behind his winter clothes. I contacted Rebecca and asked if Tyler and I could stay with her for a while.

She said yes without hesitation. I also did something else. I set up a small camera in the kitchen hidden in the plant on top of the refrigerator. I needed proof of Marcus tampering with my food or drinks. It only took 2 days. On Wednesday morning, I pretended to go upstairs to take a shower. But instead, I crouched on the landing, watching through the baby gate.

Marcus came into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out the protein powder and my prenatal vitamins. Then he went to his briefcase and took out a small brown bottle. I watched him measure out the protein powder, add water, then carefully tip the brown bottle over the shaker cup. One, two, three drops of clear liquid.

He mixed it all up, put the brown bottle back in his briefcase, and called up the stairs. Emily, I made your shake. It’s on the counter. Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute. I waited until he left for work. Then I dumped the shake down the sink and retrieved the camera footage. I had him.

Clear video of him adding something from an unmarked bottle to my drink, but I needed more. I needed to know what was in that bottle. That night, while Marcus was in the shower, I went through his briefcase. The brown bottle was tucked into a side pocket. I carefully poured a small amount of the liquid into a plastic baggie and sealed it.

Then, I put the bottle back exactly where I found it. The next day, I drove 3 hours to a lab in a different city. I paid cash and gave them a fake name. I asked them to test the liquid and tell me what it was. This will take a few days, the yacht technician said. That’s fine. Just please call me as soon as you know.

I drove home, my mind racing with what I would do next. I was 7 months pregnant, exhausted, scared, and running out of time. When I got home, there was a black BMW in my driveway. I recognized it immediately. It was Marcus’s father’s car. Robert Chen was sitting in my living room with Marcus when I walked in.

Tyler was thankfully at a playd date with a neighbor. Emily, Robert said, standing up. We need to talk. My heart sank. Did they know what I had been doing? Your husband tells me you’ve been acting strangely lately. Secretive, going places without telling him where. I glanced at Marcus. His face was unreadable. I’ve just been going to doctor’s appointments, I said carefully.

For the baby. Your regular doctor says you missed your last two appointments. Robert continued. Marcus had to reschedule them. I hadn’t missed any appointments. Marcus had been canceling them without telling me. I think we all know what’s happening here. Robert said, his voice taking on a harder edge. You’re planning to leave Marcus and probably planning to take Tyler with you.

I Let me be very clear about something, Emily. Tyler is a Chen. He may not be biologically ours, but we adopted him into this family. If you try to take him away, we will use every resource at our disposal to fight you, and you will lose. Are you threatening me? I’m explaining reality to you. You signed a postnuptial agreement two years ago.

Do you remember that? I did remember. Marcus had told me it was just a formality, something his parents wanted for estate planning purposes. I had been so tired that week dealing with Tyler’s daycare issues, and I had just signed it without reading it carefully. That agreement states that in the event of divorce, custody of any children will be determined based on who can provide the most stable home environment.

Marcus has family money, a career, connections. You’re a part-time teacher with no family money. And he glanced at my pregnant belly. Questionable decision-making skills. Questionable decision-making. Getting pregnant when you knew Marcus wanted to wait. It put stress on the marriage. I almost laughed.

Marcus had been the one pressuring me about having more children. But of course, Robert didn’t know that. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. I want you to understand something. Robert continued. This family has a legacy to protect. Marcus is the eldest son. He has responsibilities. and you frankly are not living up to your responsibilities as his wife.

After they left, I sat on the couch and cried. I felt trapped, helpless. Even if I got proof of Marcus’ poisoning, even if I left, I might lose Tyler and my unborn daughter would be born into a custody battle. But then my phone rang. It was the lab. Ma’am, we’ve completed the analysis of the liquid you brought in. You need to hear this.

The substance contains a compound called penny royal oil. It’s extremely dangerous for pregnant women. Historically, it’s been used to induce miscarriage and in higher doses, it can cause liver failure and de@th. My hands started shaking. Are you sure? Absolutely. This concentration is high enough to cause serious harm, especially with repeated exposure.

If you’ve been ingesting this, you need to see a doctor immediately, and I have to ask, where did you get this? My husband has been putting it in my drinks. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Ma’am, you need to call the police. This is attempted murder. After I hung up, I sat there for a long time.

I had proof now. Real scientific proof. But Robert Chen’s words kept echoing in my mind. The family connections, the lawyers, the custody battle. If I went to the police, Marcus would be arrested, but would he be convicted, or would his family’s lawyers get him off? And even if he went to prison, what would happen to me and the kids? Robert had made it clear they would fight for Tyler.

I needed to be smarter about this. That night, I made a decision. Instead of going to the police immediately, I contacted a lawyer, not just any lawyer, a family law attorney 3 hours away who specialized in cases involving abuse and parental rights. Her name was Patricia Morrison and according to her website, she had won multiple cases against wealthy families trying to use their resources to control custody proceedings.

I met with her the next day, bringing all my evidence, the emails, the insurance policies, the video footage, the lab report about the penny royal oil. Patricia listened to everything, taking notes, her expression growing darker with each revelation. Emily, this is one of the most clear-cut cases of attempted murder I’ve ever seen outside of a crime drama, she said when I finished.

But you’re right to be cautious. The Chen family has a lot of influence. We need to approach this strategically. What do you suggest? First, we document everything and create multiple backup copies stored in different locations. Then, we get you and Tyler somewhere safe. After that, we file for an emergency protective order and press charges simultaneously.

The key is doing it all at once so he doesn’t have time to react or disappear. But what about Tyler? His father said, “That postnuptial agreement he mentioned, I’d need to see it, but most of those agreements don’t hold up when one party was being coerced or didn’t have independent legal counsel.” And given that Marcus was literally trying to poison you, any judge would see through his custody claims.

For the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope. There’s something else. Patricia said, “You mentioned his affair with Jennifer. Do you have her last name?” I pulled out my phone and showed her the emails. Jennifer Hartley. Patricia typed something into her computer, then frowned. Jennifer Hartley. That name sounds familiar.

She clicked through a few screens. Oh. Oh, no. What? Jennifer Hartley was married before. To a man named Scott Patterson. He d!ed 3 years ago from sudden liver failure. The de@th was ruled natural causes, but she pulled up a news article. There were questions. The life insurance payout was significant, and some of Scott’s family members suspected foul play, but nothing was ever proven.

The room started spinning. “You think she k!lled her husband? I think it’s a remarkable coincidence that she’s now involved with your husband, who is actively trying to k!ll you using a method that causes liver failure.” “Oh my god, they’re doing this together.” Patricia nodded grimly. “I think we need to involve the police sooner rather than later.

This isn’t just about your case anymore. If Jennifer and Marcus are working together, and if she’s done this before, there could be more victims. We spent the next hour planning. Patricia would contact a detective she trusted in the state police, someone outside of the local department where Marcus’ uncle had influence.

They would begin an investigation into both Marcus and Jennifer. Meanwhile, I would continue acting normal at home to avoid suspicion, but I would stop consuming anything Marcus prepared for me. And Emily, Patricia said as I was leaving, sleep with your door locked and keep your phone with you at all times. That night was one of the longest of my life.

Marcus came home late as usual. I pretended to be asleep when he came to bed. I felt him settle in beside me, heard his breathing slow into sleep, and I just lay there staring at the ceiling, terrified. This man, who I had loved and married and built a life with, had been slowly poisoning me for months, planning my de@th, all so he could collect insurance money and start over with his mistress.

The next morning, Marcus made me a protein shake as usual. I watched him from the corner of my eye, saw him glance at his briefcase, saw his hand move toward it, but then his phone rang, and he stepped out of the kitchen to take the call. I quickly poured the shake into a mason jar instead of drinking it and sealed it tightly. More evidence.

I have to go into the office early, Marcus said, coming back into the kitchen. Big meeting. Did you drink your shake? Almost done with it. I lied, gesturing to the empty glass I had in my hand. I had actually filled it with apple juice from the fridge. He smiled. Actually smiled. Good girl. You need to keep your strength up.

After he left, I threw up in the bathroom. Not from the pregnancy, but from pure revulsion. Later that day, detective Sarah Morrison, no relation to Patricia apparently, came to meet with me at a coffee shop far from my neighborhood. She was in her 40s, sharpeyed, and she didn’t waste time. “I’ve reviewed the evidence your attorney sent over,” she said. “This is serious, Mrs. Chen.

We’re opening an investigation immediately, but I need you to understand something. If Marcus or Jennifer suspect you know what they’re doing, you could be in immediate danger. Are you somewhere safe? I’m still at home. I didn’t want to raise suspicion by leaving suddenly.” I understand, but Emily, and I’m calling you Emily, because we’re past formalities here.

These people are planning to k!ll you probably within the next few weeks before or during your delivery. You can’t stay in that house. But if I leave now, won’t that tip them off? We’ll make it look natural. You’re seven months pregnant with a 4-year-old. It’s completely reasonable for you to want to visit your sister for a few days. Get some help.

Can you do that tonight? I thought about it. Melissa lived 4 hours away. Marcus knew about her, but hadn’t wanted me visiting her. If I suddenly announced I was going, he won’t let me go, I said. He’ll find some reason why I can’t. Then we’ll give him a reason he can’t argue with. I’ll have my partner call your husband this afternoon.

We’ll say we’re investigating a series of burglaries in your neighborhood and recommend that pregnant women and young children stay with family temporarily for safety just for a few days. That gives you a legitimate reason to leave. It was a good plan, but there was still the Tyler problem. What about my son? His adoption. Marcus’ father said they’ll fight for custody.

Detective Morrison leaned forward. Emily, when your husband goes to prison for attempted murder and when his girlfriend is investigated for possibly k!lling her first husband, the Chen family’s claims on Tyler are going to look very different. Judges don’t award custody to families with active criminals in them. You’ll be fine.

That afternoon, everything happened quickly. Detective Morrison’s partner, a friendly sounding officer named Detective Rodriguez, called Marcus at work. I heard Marcus’ side of the conversation. A burglary pattern in our neighborhood? I see. Yes, she’s pregnant and we have a young son. You really think it’s necessary? All right.

All right. I’ll talk to her. When Marcus called me, he actually sounded concerned. Emily, the police just called. There’s been a series of break-ins in the area. They’re targeting homes during the day. They suggested you and Tyler might want to stay with family for a few days until they catch the guy. Oh, no. Really? Maybe I should call Melissa.

Yeah, that’s probably smart. I don’t want you and Tyler here alone while I’m at work. When can you leave? I can pack tonight and drive to her place tomorrow morning. Good. That’s good. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe. The irony of that statement almost made me laugh. That night, I packed carefully.

clothes for me and Tyler, important documents, my evidence file hidden in Tyler’s diaper bag, and the mason jar with the poisoned shake. I acted cheerful around Marcus, thanking him for being so concerned about our safety. He was especially affectionate that evening. He rubbed my feet, asked how I was feeling, talked about names for the baby.

It was surreal, like talking to the man I thought I married, not the man who had been poisoning me. Before bed, he made me one more shake for the road tomorrow, he said. Keep your energy up for the drive. I took it upstairs and poured it into by another mason jar when he wasn’t looking.

The next morning, Marcus helped me load the car. He kissed me goodbye, hugged Tyler, put his hand on my belly. “Take care of my girls,” he said. “Your girls?” I repeated, surprised. He had been so dismissive about the pregnancy being a girl. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking maybe having a daughter won’t be so bad. She can marry well.

Bring another good family into our legacy.” He smiled. “As long as we have those five sons, too.” I drove away feeling numb. He was already planning to control our daughter’s life, marry her off for family benefit, and he still expected me to have five more sons. None of that was going to happen. I called Detective Morrison once I was an hour away. I’m out.

I’m driving to my sisters. Good. Stay there. We’re moving forward with the investigation. We should have enough for an arrest warrant within 48 hours. We’re also bringing Jennifer in for questioning about her first husband’s de@th. What happens now? Now you stay safe. Take care of yourself and your son. Let us handle the rest.

But things didn’t go as planned. That evening, Melissa’s doorbell rang. It was Marcus. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my heart pounding. Tyler was upstairs watching cartoons, and Melissa had gone to the grocery store. I wanted to check on you, Marcus said, stepping inside without being invited.

Make sure you got here safely. I’m fine. You didn’t need to drive all this way. 4 hours isn’t that far. He looked around Melissa’s modest apartment. His lip curled slightly. This is where you’re staying. There’s barely room for you. Let alone Tyler too. It’s fine for a few days until the police catch that burglar.

About that, Marcus sat down on the couch. I called the police station back to get an update. They seemed confused. Said Detective Rodriguez wasn’t working any burglary case in our neighborhood. My bl00d went cold. That’s weird. I managed to say. Maybe there was a miscommunication. Yeah, maybe. He stood up and walked toward me. Or maybe someone’s been lying to me.

Marcus, where are my protein powder and your vitamin bottles, Emily? I noticed they weren’t in your luggage when I was loading the car. I I must have forgotten them. You forgot the vitamins you take religiously every single day. The shakes you depend on for energy. He took another step closer. What’s really going on? I back toward the kitchen, trying to keep distance between us.

I don’t know what you mean. I think you do. I think you’ve been snooping through my things. I think you found my emails. Maybe even the insurance policies. His voice was calm, almost conversational. That’s what made it terrifying. The question is, what are you planning to do about it? Marcus, you need to leave or what? You’ll call the police.

Go ahead, call them. Tell them what exactly. That your husband bought life insurance. That he had an affair. That he wanted you to take vitamins. He was right. Even with all my evidence, without the police investigation being complete, it would be his word against mine. And he had his family’s lawyers on speed dial.

I know about the penny royal oil, I said quietly. I had the liquid from your bottle tested. Marcus’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. What bottle? The brown bottle in your briefcase. The one you’ve been putting in my drinks every morning. I have video footage of you doing it, and I have lab results proving what it is.

For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, incredibly, he started laughing. You think you’re so smart, he said. You and your little investigation. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you’ve been acting strangely? That I wouldn’t figure out you were planning something? The police know everything. No, they don’t. Because you haven’t shown them everything yet. I checked.

No charges have been filed. No arrest warrant issued. You’re still gathering evidence, building your case, which means I still have time. Time for what? He pulled something from his jacket pocket. A small syringe filled with clear liquid. This is a concentrated dose, enough to cause a fatal reaction within hours. Tragic, really.

You came to your sister’s house. You were stressed about the burglaries. You went into early labor and there were complications. These things happen with high- risk pregnancies. I ran. I made it to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find from the block on the counter. Stay back, Emily. Don’t be dramatic.

Just make this easy for Tyler’s sake. Do you really want him to find you? Because I will catch you eventually. This house isn’t that big. Where was Melissa? How long did grocery shopping take? I heard the front door open. M. I’m back. They were out of the Oh my god. Melissa dropped her grocery bags when she saw Marcus holding the syringe and me with the knife. Call 911.

I screamed, but Marcus moved fast. He grabbed Melissa’s phone from her hand and threw it across the room where it shattered against the wall. Then he locked the front door. Now, he said, turning back to me. Let’s all calm down and talk about this. rationally. “There’s nothing rational about trying to k!ll your wife,” Melissa said, her voice shaking.

“I’m protecting my family’s legacy. Emily doesn’t understand the pressure I’m under. My father, my grandfather, they built an empire. I have responsibilities.” And Emily was going to ruin everything by leaving me, taking Tyler, turning our daughter against me. “So, your solution was to murder her?” Melissa asked incredulously.

“It’s not murder if it looks like natural causes,” Marcus said matterof factly. “Women d!e in childbirth all the time, especially with pre-existing complications. The penny royal would have caused just enough damage to make it believable. Liver failure, pregnancy complications, tragic but natural. He was insane. Actually, insane.

And he was talking about it so casually, like he was discussing a business plan. Marcus, I said carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. Think about Tyler. He’s upstairs. He could come down any second. Do you want him to see this? Something in Marcus’ expression shifted. Tyler, he’s a good boy. Smart. He’ll understand someday why I had to do this.

He’ll take over the business. Carry on the Chen name. He won’t want anything to do with you if you hurt me. He’ll get over it. Children are resilient. That’s when I heard it. Sirens in the distance getting closer. Marcus heard them, too. His eyes widened. You called them already. When? Before you got here? Melissa said. Emily texted me that you showed up.

I called 911 from the grocery store parking lot before I came in. It was a lie. Melissa hadn’t known Marcus was there, but it worked. Marcus panicked. He lunged at me with the syringe. I dodged, but I was 7 months pregnant and not exactly agile. He caught my arm, tried to press the needle against my skin.

That’s when Melissa grabbed the cast iron skillet from the stove and h!t Marcus over the head. He went down hard, the syringe rolling across the floor. Melissa kicked it away and grabbed me, pulling me toward the door. Tyler, I screamed. We need to get Tyler. I ran upstairs, well, waddled as fast as I could, and grabbed Tyler from the bedroom where he was still watching cartoons, completely oblivious to what had happened downstairs.

Mama, where are we going? We’re leaving, baby. Hold on tight. By the time we got outside, three police cars were pulling up. Detective Morrison jumped out of one of them. He’s inside, I gasped. He tried to inject me with something. He confessed everything. Two officers ran into the house. Marcus was still on the floor, dazed from the skillet it h!t.

They handcuffed him and dragged him out to the car. As they passed me, Marcus looked at me with such hatred I actually stepped back. “This isn’t over,” he said. “My family will destroy you. You’ll never see Tyler again. They’ll make sure of that.” “Actually,” Detective Morrison said, stepping forward, “your is going to be pretty busy dealing with their own legal problems.

See, when we started investigating you, we found some interesting financial records. Seems the Chen family real estate business has been involved in some questionable dealings. Money laundering, tax evasion, fraud. The FBI is very interested in talking to your father. Marcus’ face went pale. And your girlfriend Jennifer, she was arrested 2 hours ago.

Seems when we started asking questions about her first husband’s de@th, a few things came to light, like the fact that she had taken out multiple life insurance policies on him, too. And witnesses who saw her buying penny royal oil from an herbal shop. She’s been quite talkative, actually, trying to make a deal. She told us a lot about your little plan.

I watched as they put Marcus in the police car. This man I had married who I thought I knew was a complete stranger, a monster. The next few weeks were a blur. Marcus was charged with attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, and a dozen other charges. Jennifer was charged with murder in the first degree for k!lling her first husband and conspiracy charges related to the plot against me. Both were denied bail.

The Chen family tried to fight for custody of Tyler as Robert had threatened. But with Marcus in prison and the FBI investigation revealing massive fraud in the family business, the judge wasn’t sympathetic. Robert and his wife were actually charged as accessories after the fact. They had known about Marcus’ affair and his plans to divorce me, and there was evidence they had encouraged him. I gave birth 6 weeks later.

A healthy baby girl. I named her Hope Tyler. Adjusted surprisingly well. He was young enough that we could explain things in simple terms. Daddy made bad choices and had to go away. He was sad at first, but with therapy and lots of love from Melissa and Rebecca, and even my parents, who I reconnected with after years of Marcus keeping us apart, he started to heal.

The divorce was finalized while Marcus was awaiting trial. I got full custody of both children, the house, which I immediately sold, and a settlement from the Chen family to drop any civil claims. It was enough money to start over somewhere new. But the strangest part came 6 months after Marcus was arrested. I got a letter from him in prison.

Emily, I know you probably hate me. You have every right to. I’ve had a lot of time to think in here, and I’ve realized how wrong I was. Not just wrong, sick. I let my family’s expectations and my own ambitions turn me into someone I don’t recognize. Don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.

But I want you to know that I’m glad you found out. I’m glad you stopped me because I would have done it. I would have k!lled you. The mother of my children. The woman I once loved. All for money and pride and this stupid idea of legacy. I’m getting help now. Real help. Therapy. Medication for conditions I didn’t know I had. It doesn’t excuse what I did. Nothing can.

But maybe it explains it. Tyler and Hope are lucky to have you as their mother. You’re strong in ways I never appreciated. I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I’ll sign whatever papers you want. Full custody, restraining orders, whatever keeps you and the kids safe from me and my family. You deserved better.

You always did, Marcus. I read the letter three times, then I burned it. I didn’t owe him forgiveness. I didn’t owe him understanding. And I definitely didn’t owe him a response. But I’ll admit, there was a tiny part of me that felt not relief exactly, but maybe closure. He was admitting what he had done, taking responsibility.

It didn’t change anything, but it meant I wasn’t crazy. I hadn’t imagined the abuse, the control, the danger. A year later, Marcus was convicted and sentenced to 25 years in prison. Jennifer got life without parole for murdering her first husband. I moved to a different state, changed my name and the kids’ names, and started over completely.

I went back to teaching, this time at a small private school where I made friends and built a community of people who actually cared about us. Tyler is eight now. He’s smart, funny, kind. He doesn’t remember much about Marcus, which is probably for the best. He just knows he has a mom who loves him and a sister who adores him. Hope is three, and she’s a force of nature.

Strong willed, independent, curious about everything. She’s nothing like what Marcus would have wanted in a daughter. She hates dresses, loves dinosaurs, and has no interest in being quiet or obedient. She’s perfect. Sometimes I think about that morning when I found Marcus’ emails. If I hadn’t gone looking, if I hadn’t trusted my instincts, if I had just ignored the warning signs, I wouldn’t be here.

Neither would hope. And Tyler would be growing up in a family of criminals and abusers. Learning that women are property and violence is acceptable if it serves your purposes. But I did look, I did trust myself, and I fought back. That’s what I want to tell anyone reading this who might be in a similar situation. Trust your instincts.

If something feels wrong, it probably is. Document everything. Tell someone you trust. Get help. Get out because you deserve better. You always did. And one more thing. About a month after Marcus was convicted, I got a call from Detective Morrison. She said they had found evidence of two other women Marcus had dated seriously before me.

Both had d!ed of mysterious illnesses. They were reopening those cases as potential homicides. It turned out I wasn’t Marcus’ first victim. I was just the first one who survived. Sometimes late at night when both kids are asleep and the house is quiet, I think about those women. I wonder what they were like, what dreams they had, what futures were stolen from them.

And I feel this overwhelming responsibility to live well, to make the most of the second chance I got. So I do. I wake up every morning, make breakfast for my kids, go to work, come home, read bedtime stories, and fall asleep grateful for another day. It’s not the life I planned. It’s not the fairy tale I thought I was getting when I married Marcus. But it’s mine. It’s real.

It’s safe. And honestly, it’s better than anything I could have imagined back when I was that young teacher who met a charming man with old money and a family legacy. Because now I have my own legacy. Two beautiful children who are growing up knowing they’re loved unconditionally, knowing they can trust the people around them, knowing that no amount of money or reputation is worth sacrificing your integrity or your safety. That’s the legacy that matters.

As for Marcus, he’ll spend the next quarter century in prison. His father and uncle are facing federal charges. The Chen family name is synonymous with scandal now, not success. Their empire crumbled under the weight of its own corruption. And me? I’m just Emily. Not Emily Chen. Not that pregnant woman whose husband tried to k!ll her.

Just Emily, mother, teacher, survivor.