PART 1:
At the funeral, I later found out that my husband, **Michael Carter**, showed no trace of grief.
“They both froze to death,” he said flatly. “That useless woman finally got what she deserved.”
Those words still replay in my mind like a curse.Only hours before, I had been begging him to stop the argument and take me home. We were standing at the edge of a frozen cliff in **Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado**, surrounded by endless white silence. Then, without warning, he shoved me hard.
I fell into nothingness.
I remember screaming as the freezing wind swallowed every sound, reaching for anything that wasn’t there. High above, Michael looked down with an expression I will never forget—a calm smile that still haunts me.
“Don’t worry,” he called casually. “Neither you nor the baby will suffer long.”
Then everything turned white.
I hit a narrow ledge halfway down the cliff. Pain exploded through my body—broken ribs, a twisted wrist, blood spreading into the snow beneath me.
Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my swollen belly.
“Please stay with me,” I whispered over and over. “Please don’t leave me.”
The storm roared on, snow slowly burying me as each breath burned colder than the last. I wasn’t thinking about myself anymore.
I was fighting for my son.
Then I heard voices above the wind.
Michael hadn’t left.
He was still there—with **Ashley**, his so-called executive assistant.
“Is she dead?” Ashley asked impatiently.
Michael let out a quiet chuckle.
“For fifty million dollars… she better be.”
That was when I understood the truth. This wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t rage.
It was planned.
The hiking trip. The isolated mountain. The massive life insurance policy. Even my pregnancy had been factored in—because the payout would be higher if both I and the baby died.
“Your mother wasn’t the only pregnant woman at Vale Harbor,” he said.
My entire body went still.
“My hand instinctively moved toward my stomach, as if remembering the shape of Lucas even now, though he was already born.
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