Being discharged did not feel like freedom.
If anything, it felt like I was being pushed back into a world that had already decided to crush me completely.
The doctor's voice was calm when he spoke, almost too calm for the weight of what he had just dropped into my life. He talked about antenatal registration, nutrition, rest, emotional stability. He spoke about motherhood as if it was something natural, something joyful, something that should bring hope.
But all I felt was fear.
Pure, suffocating fear.
I sat there on the hospital bed, my hands resting on my lap, my body still weak, my mind barely able to process the words eight weeks pregnant. The room felt smaller, like the walls were slowly closing in on me. I kept nodding as the doctor spoke, not because I understood, but because I didn't know how to tell him that I felt like I was drowning.
A child.
Inside me.
While my husband sat in prison, branded a murderer.
While powerful people hunted us from the shadows.
While the estate I lived in felt like a graveyard filled with watching eyes.
When the doctor finally left, the silence pressed hard against my chest. Amanda sat beside me, her presence steady, grounding. She didn't speak immediately. She didn't need to. She knew. She always knew.
"I'm scared," I finally whispered.
Amanda reached for my hand. "I know."
I stared at the wall, my throat burning. "I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I want to bring a child into this mess. Into this cruelty. What if something happens to the baby? What if… what if something happens to me?"
"You're not alone," Amanda said softly. "You won't be."
But even as she said it, I knew the truth.
This fight was already mine.
When we got back home later that day, the mansion felt colder than usual. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every sound feel suspicious.
I stood in front of the mansion for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the walls, the windows, the carefully trimmed hedges. Nothing looked different. And that was the problem.
Amanda insisted on staying with me, no matter how much I tried to protest. She dropped her bag on the couch like she owned the place and said she wasn't leaving anytime soon.
I didn't argue.
I didn't have the strength to.
I sat on the edge of the bed later that evening, staring at the walls, feeling my body ache in ways I couldn't explain. My mind kept drifting back to the doctor's words. Stress. Rest. Emotional health.
How was I supposed to rest when danger felt like it lived under the same roof as me?
How was I supposed to be emotionally stable when someone out there had written a letter telling me they had won?
I pressed my palm lightly against my stomach without thinking. The gesture surprised me. It felt unreal. There was nothing there yet, nothing I could feel. And yet, the thought that something was growing inside me made my chest tighten painfully.
"I don't want to do this alone," I whispered to no one.
Amanda must have heard me from the doorway. She walked in quietly and sat beside me. "You won't," she repeated. "And this is not the end, Jade. Damian's case isn't dead."
I turned to look at her. "They sentenced him to twenty-five years."
"Yes," she said. "But cases can be reopened. Paroles can be considered. Evidence can surface. These people are not perfect. They're hiding things, and hiding always leaves cracks."
Her words stirred something small inside me. Not hope exactly. Something sharper. Something desperate.
"I'm a lawyer," she said firmly. "And that case was a disgrace. There were gaps. Too many. Which means someone was afraid."
"Afraid enough to buy a judge," I muttered.
"Exactly." She leaned forward. "People who are innocent don't need to manipulate the system. People who are guilty do."
I stayed quiet, listening.
"There are still loose ends," she continued. "My sister's phone. Damian's phone. His mistress's phone. Whoever did this wasn't careful enough to erase everything. They're just powerful.
Powerful.
The word tasted bitter.
Amanda's phone buzzed.
She froze.
I knew that look. Something had shifted.
"It's Pepe," she said.
My heart immediately began to race. "What now?"
She read the message slowly, then looked up at me with a sharp inhale. "Pepe finally found the location of my sister's phone."
The room tilted slightly. "Found… where?"
"Here," she said. "In this estate."
My stomach dropped.
Not outside.
Not another city.
Not another state.
Here.
I wrapped my arms around myself as a chill slid down my spine.
"But… how?" I whispered. "He's been trying for weeks."
"That's the thing," Amanda said. "The location wasn't accessible before. It was blocked. Masked."
"And now?"
"And now it's suddenly on."
The implication settled slowly, like poison spreading through my veins.
"So they wanted us to see it," I said.
Amanda didn't deny it.
"They're either making a mistake," she said carefully, "or they're sending a message."
I swallowed hard. "Which one scares you more?"
She met my eyes. "The second."
My unease deepened instantly. This wasn't exposure. It was provocation.
"They're watching us," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "They know where we are. They know what we're doing."
"And now they know we're getting closer," Amanda added.
I glanced around the living room. The windows. The hallway. The staircase. Everything suddenly felt too open. Too visible.
"I don't feel safe," I said.
"I know," she replied softly.
I paced the room, my heart pounding. "Then it wasn't random. None of it was. Susan. The party. The framing. Damian. Me."
"No," Amanda said firmly. "It wasn't random."
I stopped pacing. "Do you suspect anyone?"
She hesitated. "Not yet."
I laughed bitterly. "I do."
Amanda looked at me sharply. "Who?"
"Mrs. Alexander."
She went quiet.
"It doesn't make sense," I continued, my thoughts spilling out fast now. "Her behavior. Her stories. Claiming your sister was some distant cousin. Keeping her photograph. Being overly involved but never truly helpful. It doesn't add up."
Amanda frowned. "You think she knows more than she's saying?"
"I think she's involved," I said. "Or she's protecting someone who is."
The silence that followed felt heavy.
Amanda exhaled slowly. "If you're right, then we need proof. Solid proof."
I nodded, my hands curling into fists. "We need to find who is operating your sister's phone."
Amanda met my eyes. "And we will."
I felt something shift inside me then. Fear was still there. Pain was still there. But beneath it, something else was growing.
Resolve.
Whoever was playing this game had made one mistake.
They stayed close.
And I was done being hunted.
"I won't run anymore," I said quietly. "Not with a child inside me. Not after everything they've taken."
Amanda reached for my hand. "Then we fight smart."
I nodded. "We find who is operating your sister's phone."