Chapter 4: If They Wanted Me GoneA Life Without Looking Back

"Genevieve!"

I was jolted awake by Vincent's furious roar, drenched in cold sweat, my heart pounding violently.

"Drop the act! Get up!" He yanked me off the sofa.

My head struck the coffee table, and the pain flashed through me so sharply that my vision went black.

"I know Shivvy and I wronged you. If you're angry, take it out on me. But do you have to drive Shivvy to her death before you'll be satisfied? She just gave birth and is at her most vulnerable right now!"

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I already knew another accusation had been dumped on me.

As it turned out, Siobhan had been subjected to a wave of online abuse.

She was a moderately popular online comic blogger, having gained tens of thousands of followers by drawing comics about our everyday lives as best friends.

In the middle of the night, someone had noticed inconsistencies in her posts and made a thread questioning whether Siobhan had knowingly become a homewrecker, seduced her best friend's husband, secretly had a child with him, then forced her best friend to become the baby's godmother.

As commenters pieced the story together, they began cursing Siobhan for being fake, shameless, and filthy. Some of the more vicious and enraged comments were downright vile.

Logically speaking, there was only one person who could have made that post—the best friend at the center of it all.

I gave a speechless, bitter laugh.

Siobhan had gone to extraordinary lengths, destroying her own career and reputation just to frame me and drive me completely out of this family.

But why bother? I had already said I would divorce Vincent.

"Someone tracked down the hospital and attacked Shivvy. They nearly hurt Leo, too. Do you know that? Or did you send them?"

Vincent was consumed by rage, his face and neck flushed red, his eyes bloodshot. "Are you happy now that you've gotten your revenge?"

I showed him my phone. "I didn't do it."

But, of course, I was nothing more than a villain to him right then.

He slapped the phone out of my hand and demanded, "You'd better make things right now. Say that you didn't make the post, that it was all fabricated and completely untrue."

I shook my head. "I didn't do it. And I won't lie, either. I'm not going to sit here and say things I know aren't true."

Vincent was beside himself with fury at this point. He slammed his fist down on the coffee table, cracking the glass panel that had been there for over a decade.

"Genevieve, don't make me hate you." He was breathing heavily, his voice low and restrained, thick with conflicting emotions.

"Well, I hate both of you!"

We glared at each other for several seconds.

He abruptly stood up, slammed the door behind him, and left.

Eventually, my mother filmed the clarification video. Her eyes were red as she said, "I don't know what kind of intentions the person spreading these rumors had. Shivvy is my goddaughter. My biological daughter, Ginny, died in a car accident when she was twelve.

"Shivvy only drew what she imagined Ginny would look like when she grew up because she wanted to do something for me. Shivvy and my son-in-law have been together since high school. They dated, got married, and had a child together. There was never any homewrecker, no cheating, and no falling-out between best friends."

The death notification and cremation certificate they produced belonged to Siobhan's mother. They had covered up the crucial identifying information, but left enough visible to create confusion.

Public opinion instantly swung in their favor, and everyone began sympathizing with Siobhan.

I dragged the video back and replayed it more than a dozen times and heard my mother repeatedly claim her biological daughter had died at twelve.

My heart had seemingly gone numb from the pain.

I called my mother, trembling. I wanted to ask her why she hated me so much, why she would help an outsider slander her own daughter. But the moment the call connected, all I heard was a busy tone.

It seemed that she had known I would confront her—and had blocked me in advance.

A bitter ache spread through my heart.

Since they wanted me dead, I would disappear completely.

Another wave of agony tore through my stomach, and my consciousness gradually blurred.

Just before I passed out, I dialed his number. "Can you come pick me up?"

"Wait for me."