When Megan Tilton heard she was a match for her husband, who was dying of acute kidney failure, she didn't hesitate. Seven months pregnant, she chose to induce labor early.

That way, she could donate a kidney to Francis Sigler.

After the procedure, the anesthesia hadn't fully worn off. Megan was so weak she couldn't even open her eyes.

She heard soft voices nearby.

"Mr. Sigler, the baby's still alive... Should we take her to the incubator right away?"

It was the doctor, asking cautiously.

Megan's heart finally settled. Thank God, her baby was alive.

But in the next moment, she heard the voice of Francis, who was supposed to be bedridden and gravely ill.

"Get rid of it."

Francis's words were cold, without a trace of hesitation.

Megan's mind went blank.

Then came the laughter of Francis's buddy, Damian Powell.

"Ha! Fran, you're ruthless. Another year, another kid for Megan to go down with Christy. That's cold, man!

"She deserves it! Christy killed herself three years ago because Megan won that damn pottery contest. This is karma!

"Remember how she sobbed like crazy last time she lost a kid? Funniest thing I've ever seen! She'd never guess it was all Fran's doing.

"She still thinks having a baby will get her into the Sigler family. What a joke! She doesn't know those thugs were hired by Fran in the first place..."

***

Damian's voice grew louder, each word a sharp needle stabbing into Megan's heart, leaving her in unbearable pain.

"Mr. Sigler, you're not sick. Should we still take Ms. Tilton's kidney?"

The doctor spoke again, probing.

"Take it! Of course! Toss it to the dogs!"

Damian's malicious voice rang out once more.

"Hey, while you're at it, take her uterus too. Fran's gonna finish her off at the engagement party in two weeks, so she'll never have another kid for him. No use keeping it!"

The doctor looked to Francis, who was silent for a moment before speaking calmly.

"Do what he said."

Megan's heart sank.

As she was wheeled into the operating room, a single tear slid down her cheek.

So, it was all a lie.

The love, the affection, the promises—none of it was real.

Francis had only ever felt hatred, only ever wanted revenge.

In the darkness, Megan drifted back to that rainy night three years ago when she first met Francis.

She'd been dragged into a shadowy alley by a gang of thugs.

They beat her, forced drugs down her throat, and tore off her clothes.

Just as she was about to give up hope, Francis appeared, chased the thugs away, and saved her.

He took her home and stayed with her through the night, helping her recover from the drugs.

The next morning, Francis held her gently and comforted her.

"I'm Francis. Don't worry—I'll look after you."

Moved by his tenderness, Megan's heart was lost to him.

She thought she'd found true love, never suspecting it was all an elaborate trap.

That night was the beginning of Francis's revenge.

And she, like a fool, walked straight into it.

That dark, rainy night left her with deep psychological scars. She could never again be alone in the dark.

Later, Francis told her he loved children and that only by giving him a child could she marry into the Sigler family.

So, over the past three years, she'd had three children.

The first, she lost three months into her pregnancy, searching for Francis in the snowy mountains. She fell into a crevice and miscarried.

The second, she lost in a car accident while Francis was driving. She shielded him with her own body and lost the baby.

Now, this was her third child.

And all of it had been orchestrated by Francis, just to make her lose her children and suffer.

Megan felt trapped in a nightmare. The gentle Francis had become a demon, standing over her three bloodied children.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. The figure before her came into focus—it was Francis.

He held her hand, looking at her with concern.

"Meg, you're finally awake! How do you feel? Does anything hurt?"

Megan met his worried gaze, feeling nothing but bitter irony.

"Where's my child?"

Francis lowered his head, face full of sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Meg. It's my fault... We couldn't save the baby."

Megan felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing her heart, making it hard to breathe.

She turned away, closed her eyes, and forced herself to speak through the pain, her voice hoarse. "Take me to see her."

Francis was silent for a moment, then called for a wheelchair and took her to the morgue.

There, Megan saw her tiny baby girl, lying quietly as if asleep.

The daughter she'd dreamed of for three years...

Tears finally spilled over, streaming down her cheeks.

She bit her lip so hard to keep from crying that blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Francis frowned and, with a look of concern, wiped the blood from her lips.

"Meg, don't do this. It hurts me... I'll make sure our child is buried properly."

Back in her hospital room, Megan found an excuse to send Francis away, then made a phone call.

It was to a renowned studio abroad whose offer she'd previously refused.

"I accept your invitation, but I have one condition..."

She made her request, then scheduled her departure for the day of the engagement party—two weeks from now.

Megan did her best not to let anything show.

If Francis realized she knew his true intentions, she might never get away.

So, until she left, she had to act just as she always had.

Seven days later, just before she was discharged from the hospital, Megan received an email from overseas.

Inside were several photos, each showing Christina Linley.

After learning that Francis had only been with her to avenge Christina, Megan had asked the studio to look into Christina's life.

She couldn't understand how winning an award through her own hard work could have driven Christina to depression and suicide.

But the investigation revealed something unexpected—Christina wasn't dead at all.

In the photos, Christina was abroad, smiling blissfully in another man's arms.

Christina and Francis had been childhood sweethearts; their families had arranged their engagement since childhood.

But Christina had fallen for someone else and, afraid of Francis's powerful family, lied about being depressed over Megan's victory, faked her death by jumping into the ocean, and ran away overseas with the man she loved.

Staring at the pictures, Megan couldn't help but laugh.

Francis had gone to such lengths for revenge—hurting her in every possible way, taking three children from her, even her kidney and uterus.

Yet the childhood sweetheart he'd obsessed over was living happily with another man on the other side of the world.

So it was all just a joke.

What bitter irony. What utter absurdity...

Now, Megan truly wondered what Francis's face would look like when he finally learned the truth.

Wasn't he planning to deliver the final blow at their engagement party?

Fine, she'd let him have it.

On that day, she'd give him a gift he'd never forget.

Francis brought Megan back to the villa and showered her with gifts piled high as a mountain.

He supported her, pointing to the heap with a gentle voice, "Meg, do you like them?"

Megan glanced at the pile—handbags, jewelry, cosmetics, keys to luxury cars—but said nothing.

Seeing her cold expression, Francis frowned slightly.

"Meg, are you feeling alright?"

His tone was as caring as ever.

When she looked at Francis—gazing at her with love—his once enchanting face now felt distant and unfamiliar.

She quietly withdrew her hand from his, replying calmly, "I'm fine."

Francis didn't notice anything was off. He fussed over her as usual, attentive and gentle.

If she hadn't heard those cruel words herself, if it weren't for the shocking scar on her abdomen, she might have believed Francis truly loved her.

At dinner, Francis personally ladled soup and served her food.

"Meg, eat more. You've gotten so thin."

Megan stared at the bowl, filled with dishes she used to love, and suddenly asked, "What if I can never have children again?"

Francis froze, a strange look flickering in his eyes, then took her hand and gazed at her tenderly.

"Silly, why would you think that? Once you're healthy again, we'll have more children. Next time... we'll see our baby born safe and sound."

Megan felt only desolation.

More children?

Her uterus was gone—how could she ever have another child?

She forced a smile and lowered her head, hiding the bitterness in her eyes.

"I hope so... Tomorrow, take me to the cemetery. I want to see our baby."

Francis paused, then spoke quietly after a moment, "Alright."

That night, Megan woke from another nightmare.

Her breath came in gasps, sweat soaking the sheets.

Once she calmed down, she got up for a glass of water, but as she cracked the door open, she heard Francis on the phone.

"Find a decent plot.

"No one's using it. Megan wants to visit that brat's grave tomorrow, but I already scattered the ashes at Christy's grave, so just set up a fake one."

Megan closed the door and slumped against it, her body drained of strength.

"Even in death, you won't let our child go. Francis, you're truly heartless," she thought bitterly.

The next day, Megan pretended to know nothing, standing beside Francis in front of a freshly dug, empty grave.

She traced her fingers over the blank tombstone, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

"Baby, I'm so sorry. You and Mommy just weren't meant to be... You're gone..."

Her voice broke with grief, unable to continue.

What she wanted to say was, maybe it was better this way.

She and her child—both just pawns in Francis's twisted revenge for Christina.

Francis stood quietly by, watching Megan's sorrowful expression.

A complicated look flickered in his eyes before he gently pulled her into his arms.

"Meg, don't be sad. You did what you had to for me. The baby would understand."

He murmured soft words of comfort.

Megan stayed silent, her body trembling.

That evening, Francis had an astronomical telescope delivered, setting it up on the villa's terrace.

"Meg, tonight there's going to be a rare planetary alignment—seven stars in a row," he said, walking over to her with a gentle smile.

"They say if you make a wish when the seven stars align, it'll come true. Why don't you try?"

Megan gazed up at the dazzling starlight, but her heart felt numb and cold.

What wishes did she have left to make?

Once, her greatest dream had been to grow old with Francis, to raise a family together, and live a happy life.

Now, Francis had shattered that dream beyond repair.

As the seven stars slowly formed their perfect line, Megan closed her eyes and made a silent wish.

"To never see Francis again."

When she opened her eyes, her face was blank, empty.

Francis seemed to notice her indifference, a flicker of confusion passing through his gaze.

Ever since she'd lost the baby, Megan had changed.

She barely spoke, never smiled, and treated him with a coldness he'd never known before.

He reasoned that maybe it was because she'd carried the baby for so long—of course, she was devastated.

After all, she'd waited for this child for years.

Francis's eyes grew complicated as he looked at Megan.

Still, he spoke to her with gentle warmth. "Meg, I had a new kiln custom-made for you. Tomorrow, let me go with you to the studio and help you set it up."

Megan wasn't sure why Francis had suddenly decided to gift her a kiln, but she happened to need one for a new piece, so she agreed.

The next day, Francis accompanied Megan to her studio.

He watched as she expertly handled her tools, pouring her heart into shaping the clay.

He couldn't help but admire her—Megan truly was a gifted ceramic artist.

Her work always seemed to possess a spirit, a vitality that lingered in the mind.

The kiln setup went smoothly. Megan placed her finished piece inside and waited for the firing to finish.

Francis stayed by her side until late at night, draping his jacket over her shoulders to keep her warm and ordering her favorite midnight snacks.

Finally, it was time to open the kiln.

Just as Megan stepped forward, Francis called out to her.

"Meg..."

She turned to look at him.

"What is it?"

Francis hesitated, a flash of guilt crossing his face before he forced a smile.

"It's nothing. Just be careful."

Megan took a deep breath and opened the kiln door.

In that instant, the fired ceramic exploded, shards flying in every direction.

Sharp fragments slashed across Megan's face and eyes.

A wave of agony crashed over her as blood blurred her vision.

Just before she lost consciousness, she heard Francis's panicked shout.

"Meg!"

Megan slowly opened her eyes, a sharp pain stabbing through them as her vision clouded into a blur.

She struggled to make out her surroundings, but everything remained indistinct, and panic began to rise in her chest.

Fumbling her way off the bed, she staggered toward the door of her hospital room. Before she could open it, she heard Damian's voice outside.

"Fran, adding sulfur to the clay to trigger an explosion? Man, you really went all out! That bitch is in for it now!"

Damian's voice dripped with malicious glee.

"It's just a shame her face isn't ruined and she's not completely blind. If she were, that'd be the perfect tribute for Christy's death anniversary!"

Megan's body went rigid, a chill crawling up from the soles of her feet and spreading through every nerve.

Sulfur in the clay?

So the explosion in the kiln hadn't been an accident at all—it was Francis's carefully calculated plan.

Because today was Christina's ridiculous "death anniversary," he wanted revenge, wanted to destroy Megan's face and blind her.

She thought her heart couldn't hurt anymore, but now it felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing it so tightly she could hardly breathe.

Last year on this very day, she'd risked her life for Francis, entering a cave that hadn't been fully cleared to document ancient cave paintings for an archaeological project he wanted.

While preparing to fire ceramics, the cave collapsed, crushing her shoulder under falling rocks—she'd barely survived.

And two years ago, Damian told her Francis had been kidnapped, and the kidnappers demanded she crawl ten meters across a plank covered with nails, or they'd kill him.

For Francis, she hadn't hesitated, crawling on her knees until her legs were shredded and bloody, passing out as soon as she made it across.

Her knees still ached with old injuries, throbbing painfully whenever it rained.

All of it—every bit—had been orchestrated by Francis, just because today was Christina's "death anniversary."

Damian's voice rang out again.

"Fran, why bother treating her eyes? Why not just take her corneas while you're at it, make her completely blind? That's real revenge for Christy!"

After a moment, Francis replied coldly, "If she recovers, tormenting her will be more fun.

"Besides, if she can't see, how will she witness the big surprise at the engagement party?"

His voice was low, but it cut through Megan's heart like a knife.

Dizzy and desperate, she stumbled back toward the bed, reaching out blindly.

Suddenly, her foot caught on something and she crashed hard to the floor.

The noise startled Francis, who rushed back into the room.

"Meg!"

Seeing her collapsed beside the bed, panic flashed across his face. He hurried over, lifting her up in his arms.

"Meg, when did you wake up? Why did you get out of bed? Did you hurt yourself?"

Megan shook her head, her voice hoarse and trembling.

"My... my eyes... I can't see clearly..."

Francis relaxed a little, thinking she'd just woken up.

He gently helped Megan to a chair, his tone soft and careful.

"Meg, are you in pain anywhere?"

Megan didn't answer, her body trembling—whether from pain or fear, she couldn't tell.

Francis sat her down, carefully checking her for injuries.

Looking at Megan's swollen eyes and pale face, a pang of guilt flickered in his chest.

Instinctively, he reached out to touch her cheek.

But Megan turned her head away, evading his hand.

Francis paused, withdrawing his hand, his gaze lingering on the cuts across her face.

"I'm sorry, Meg..."

He took a deep breath, his voice thick with emotion.

"But don't worry, Meg. The scratches on your face are minor—they'll heal soon, no scars.

"Your right cornea was damaged. There's some swelling, but it's not serious. However..."

He hesitated, pain etched across his face.

"Your left eye is in worse shape—the optic nerve is injured. From now on... You probably won't be able to see clearly out of it...

"But don't worry, the doctor said with special glasses, you'll still be able to live normally."

Megan's body trembled. She slowly lifted her head, murmuring a weak, almost inaudible reply.

"Got it."

After leaving the hospital, Megan began packing up her things.

She gathered every item connected to herself from Francis's place—nothing was spared.

Whatever she could throw away, she tossed out; whatever could be burned, she set alight. She was determined to leave nothing of hers behind.

Francis noticed and asked, puzzled, "Meg, you've been getting rid of a lot of stuff these past few days, haven't you?"

Megan answered coolly, "If it's useless, I'm throwing it away."

Francis frowned, sensing something was off but unable to pinpoint it.

"Alright, if you want to replace anything, I'll buy you new ones. But you just got out of the hospital, you're still recovering—let the housekeeper handle this."

Megan didn't stop sorting.

"I don't like other people touching my things."

Francis watched her, a sudden wave of unease rising inside him.

He couldn't shake the feeling that Megan was hiding something.

Looking at her packing, he hesitated before speaking. "Meg, we haven't gone out together in ages.

"I booked a private room—thought we could celebrate you getting discharged, and our upcoming engagement."

Megan adjusted her glasses and glanced at him, her gaze icy.

She was about to leave and didn't want any last-minute complications, so she nodded in agreement.

When they arrived at the private dining room, Francis's buddies were already waiting.

Megan looked at them, disgust churning in her stomach, but she forced herself to play along.

Midway through dinner, Damian suddenly piped up, "Fran, didn't you say you had a gift for Meg in the car? Go get it! She'll be thrilled!"

Francis hesitated for a moment, then got up to leave.

"Meg, wait here—I'll be right back."

Megan nodded, saying nothing.

Whatever the gift was, it no longer mattered to her.

As soon as Francis left, his buddies started making excuses to leave the room as well.

"Meg, my stomach hurts. I'll be back in a bit."

"Meg, I need to make a call."

***

Watching the last few people leave, a sense of dread rose in Megan's chest.

She hurried to follow, but just as she reached the door, it was suddenly slammed shut.

She pushed and shoved, but the door wouldn't budge. Her heart sank as she pounded on it, desperate, but no one answered.

She reached for her phone, only to realize it had vanished somewhere along the way.

Suddenly, the lights cut out, plunging her into total darkness.

The blackness closed in like a giant hand, choking the breath from her throat.

Her body went rigid, her breathing quick and shallow, trembling uncontrollably.

It was as if she'd been dragged back to that rainy night, when she'd been pulled into a shadowy alley by a gang of thugs.

They beat her, forced unknown drugs down her throat, and tore her clothes from her body.

She'd fought with everything she had, but it hadn't mattered.

Cold rain lashed her exposed skin, and the terror, the hopelessness, had branded itself deep into her soul.

Now, that same fear crashed over her again.

Twisted, leering faces flashed before her eyes, their mocking laughter ringing in her ears.

She beat against the door with all her strength, sobbing and screaming Francis's name.

"Francis! Francis! Help me! Please, Francis..."

Her breath came faster and faster. She collapsed against the door, clutching her ears, curling into herself, her body shaking violently.

Just as she was about to break, the door suddenly swung open.

A harsh light flooded in, blinding her.

She looked up, but it wasn't Francis standing in the doorway.

It was a group of strange men, faces twisted with lecherous grins, closing in on her, step by step.

"Hey sweetheart, been waiting long?" one of the men sneered, yanking off her glasses and grinding them beneath his heel.

"Come on, let us show you some real love!"

"Don't worry, you'll be begging for more in no time," another laughed, his voice thick with cruel anticipation.

Their faces blurred together with those thugs from that rainy night, and Megan's mind went blank.

Her eyes brimmed with terror and despair as she scrambled backward, her voice hoarse and pleading.

"Please... don't... don't come any closer..."

The men advanced, grinning viciously, until one grabbed her arm.

"Relax, pretty thing. Just do what we say, and you'll have the time of your life..."

They forced Megan down onto the table, tearing at her clothes with rough hands.

She fought desperately, knocking over a bottle—glass shattered, slicing into her skin, and blood gushed instantly.

Her clothes were ripped to shreds, exposing pale flesh that only seemed to excite them more.

Their shouts grew feral, echoing like animal howls in the dark.

Megan broke completely, her struggles fading, her eyes empty and lifeless.

She felt herself growing colder and colder.

"If only I could die..." she thought.

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Stop!"

Francis's furious voice thundered from the doorway.

He stood there, face ashen, eyes blazing with rage.

The men froze, startled by his shout, their hands suspended in midair as they stared at him.

He charged inside, shoving them away, stripping off his jacket, and wrapping it around Megan's trembling body.

Francis scooped her up and carried her swiftly out of the room.

Megan's vision blurred, and just before she lost consciousness, she thought she heard Francis's frantic voice calling her name.

"Meg! Meg..."

When Megan slowly opened her eyes, the blurry outlines of her own bedroom came into view.

She lay on her soft bed, her body aching as if it had been torn apart—a painful reminder of everything that had just happened.

The horrifying images surged back, making her shiver uncontrollably.

She remembered being pinned to the table, her clothes ripped away by those men.

In her moment of utter despair, it was Francis who had carried her away.

But why had Francis saved her?

Hadn't he hated her enough to wish she'd suffer forever?

A sudden ping from a phone interrupted her thoughts.

She groped around, finding her glasses—one lens was cracked.

After putting them on, she saw Francis's phone sitting on the nightstand.

Without thinking, Megan reached for it.

The screen lit up, displaying a photo of her.

She stared at it, momentarily lost.

In the picture, she was smiling blissfully.

Francis had taken it himself, saying he wanted to see her face every day.

She swiped the screen, but the phone was locked. She tried Christina's birthday as the password.

Incorrect.

Thinking for a moment, she entered Christina's death anniversary.

The phone unlocked.

This time, the lock screen showed a photo of Christina.

Of course, Francis had gone to great lengths, disguising everything for the sake of revenge.

Just then, another message popped up.

Megan opened it—it was a group chat between Francis and his buddies.

As she read the messages, a chill swept over her, freezing her to the core.

"That warm-up before the engagement party was insane, huh?"

"Man, I almost died laughing listening to her beg through the door!"

"Didn't she always act so high and mighty? Didn't she call herself an artist? Now look at her, pinned down on a table by a bunch of thugs, just like a dog!"

"Fran, why'd you save her? Should've just let those guys play her to death!"

"Seriously, after her uterus got removed and her eyesight's almost gone, she'll never have your kids anyway. What's the point of keeping her around?"

"Yeah, Fran, don't tell us you're going soft. Don't forget, Christy died because of that woman!"

"That's right—if it weren't for her, Christy wouldn't have gotten depressed and jumped into the ocean. Her body was never even found!"

Reading these messages, Megan's fingers clenched so tightly around the phone that her knuckles turned white.

She kept scrolling through the chat, and soon she saw Francis's reply.

"Of course I haven't forgotten my hatred.

"But any woman I've touched—even an enemy—no one else is allowed to touch.

"And, I saved her because, knowing her, if those guys actually slept with her, she wouldn't survive it.

"If that happened, our plan to finish her off at the engagement party would be wasted, wouldn't it?"

It felt like a knife twisting in Megan's chest.

So Francis had only saved her to make her suffer even more.

He really did want her to live a fate worse than death.

She kept reading the chat.

"Fran, you're always thinking ahead!"

"We've already got all the evidence ready to frame her for 'plagiarizing' Christy's work—once the engagement party comes, we'll expose her in front of everyone."

"Exactly, let's ruin her reputation for good. She'll never show her face in the ceramics world again, ha!"

"I can't wait to see her face when we stamp Christy's name on all her pieces and brand her a thief."

"Heh, what I want to see is when Fran plays that video of her stripped naked by those thugs three years ago, plus all their 'dirty' bedroom photos, right on the big screen. What do you think she'll do then?

"And then, Fran, you just call her a slut and dump her in front of everyone. Think she'll kill herself right there?

"Just imagining it gives me chills!

"I can't wait for the engagement party!"

***

Reading those cold, vicious words, Megan felt every drop of blood in her body turn to ice. She was frozen from head to toe.

Her hands shaking, she took off her glasses, curled up on the bed, and hugged her knees tight to her chest.

Thinking about everything they'd plotted, her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

"They're so cruel... so evil..." she thought.

The door creaked open.

Francis walked in carrying a bowl of soup. The moment he saw Megan, pale and clutching his phone, the smile froze on his face and panic flashed in his eyes.

"Meg, why are you holding my phone?"

He hurried over, set the soup down, and snatched the phone from her hands.

Looking up at Francis, Megan's heart pounded, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was shake her head helplessly.

Francis grew even more flustered, gently steadying her.

"Meg, what's wrong? What happened?"

He shot a nervous glance at his phone.

The screen was locked again, and Megan wasn't wearing her glasses—he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

He pulled Megan into a tight embrace, his voice soft and full of regret. "Meg, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I should've protected you. I let you get hurt."

"Those men went into the wrong room. I've already taught them a lesson. I swear, I'll keep you safe from now on. I'll never let anything happen to you again..."

His voice was thick with concern.

Listening to Francis's promises, Megan felt nothing but a wave of nausea.

He said he wouldn't let anyone hurt her—

But wasn't he the one who'd caused all her pain?

Just remembering how they plotted to destroy her in that group chat made her whole body tremble uncontrollably.

The truth was, even Francis didn't know why he'd suddenly burst into the room to save Megan.

When he'd heard her calling his name over and over from outside the door, it was as if something had gripped his heart and squeezed hard—it hurt like hell.

He kept reminding himself that Megan was the reason Christina was dead, that Christina was the one he loved.

But, in the end, he couldn't stop himself; he rushed in and put a stop to it.

Seeing Megan's face, so desperate and helpless, made his heart feel like it was being torn apart.

He even had the urge to kill those men.

He kept telling himself he was doing this for Christina, that saving Megan was just so he could finish her off at the engagement party.

Now, Francis noticed something was wrong with Megan and asked anxiously, "Meg, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

But Megan still couldn't get a word out, shaking her head desperately.

Francis started to panic.

"Meg, say something! Please, don't scare me..."

Megan's breathing grew faster and faster, but she still couldn't speak.

Francis, frantic, rushed her to the hospital.

But when they faced the doctor, Megan was suddenly able to speak again.

Francis was stunned, staring at her in disbelief.

"Meg... y-you can talk?"

Megan was just as surprised as he was.

But whenever she looked at Francis, she still couldn't utter a single word.

The doctor ran a series of tests and finally gave his conclusion.

"Ms. Tilton is suffering from functional aphasia."

"Functional aphasia?"

Francis frowned; he'd never heard of such a thing.

The doctor explained, "It's a psychological disorder. When someone experiences severe emotional trauma, it can trigger selective mutism—a kind of expressive impairment.

"The patient may be unable to speak in certain situations or with certain people because of the psychological impact. Did Ms. Tilton go through something traumatic recently?"

Francis's face changed as he thought about what had happened in the private room.

To confirm, he called in the buddies who'd been there that night.

Sure enough, when Megan faced them, she couldn't speak.

They assumed Megan's muteness came from nearly being assaulted by those men.

But Megan knew that wasn't the real reason.

What truly terrified and disgusted her was Francis and his friends.

They were far more frightening, far more hopeless, than those thugs.

Francis held Megan close, his voice full of pain.

"Meg, I'm so sorry... Don't worry, I won't let any of those guys get away with it...

"I promise, I'll help you get through this... I swear..."

***

But right before leaving the hospital, Megan overheard Francis's friends mocking her in the hallway.

"That woman's half-blind and now she's mute too—hilarious!"

"Can't wait to see what she does at the engagement party!"

"Just imagine her trying to say something and not being able to get a single word out—man, that'll be a show!"

***

Listening to their ridicule, Megan's face was expressionless, her heart untouched.

Only one day left until the engagement ceremony.

She was finally about to leave.