Chapter 4The Heart She Gave

Sienna caught up to them, her eyes darting between the shaking nanny and Grant.

The nanny's eyes widened when she saw Sienna. She shrank back, shielding her face, trembling even harder.

"Grant, what's going on?" Sienna asked, her voice high and breathless. "The baby is fine. We had that video call just last week, remember? The little girl called me 'Auntie.' You saw her on the screen right next to me."

Grant's breathing slowed. The logic clicked back into place. Of course. Sienna wouldn't lie to him.

He looked at the nanny with pure coldness. "Go back and tell Elena that this little stunt didn't work. If she ever uses my daughter's life as a bargaining chip again, I'll take Sienna back to Europe for another three years. I mean it."

He grabbed Sienna's hand and walked away without a backward glance.

"Don't let it get to you, Grant," Sienna soothed as they sat down in the dining room. "You know how Elena has always been. She was jealous of us since we were kids. She's just trying to stir up drama."

"You're the only one who's been reasonable through all this, Sienna. You've never made things difficult. If it were anyone else, I would have lost my mind by now."

I stood by their table, my gaze fixed on their entwined hands. They were wearing matching custom-made gold cuffs. I recognized the design—Grant had spent nights sketching it years ago. I had thought it was my anniversary gift. But that brand only allows one custom pair per customer, for life. He had designed them for her all along.

I didn't realize until after I died that he'd given them to Sienna on her birthday. He always called his favoritism "history." He used "we grew up together" as a shield for every betrayal.

Grant couldn't eat. He kept refreshing his phone. "It's been this long and she still hasn't replied. She's really committing to this."

He got up, claiming he needed the restroom, but he went to the quiet hallway to call me. The mechanical voice of the operator was the only answer.

"Elena, you're really pushing it! You're really pushing your luck!"

On his way back, he passed a utility closet. The door was slightly ajar, and he heard a muffled, rhythmic chanting.

He pushed the door open.

Inside, amidst mops and buckets, a small wooden crate had been turned into a makeshift altar. On it sat a tiny, framed photo of a baby—Lily—and a hand-carved wooden plaque with her name on it. Three sticks of incense were burning in a cup of sand. The scent of burnt offerings hung thick in the stale air.

The nanny was kneeling there, sobbing. "God forgive me... I didn't mean for her to starve... I was so scared of that woman..."

Grant's vision went red. His pupils contracted sharply when he saw the name carved into the wood. He kicked the crate over, the plaque clattering across the concrete floor, the incense scattering like dying sparks.

"You disgusting woman!" he screamed. "Do you have any idea who my daughter is? How dare you curse her with this voodoo nonsense!"

I reached out, my fingers trembling, trying to pick up the pieces of my daughter's memory. But my hands passed through the wood like mist.