Ten months. Ten months of being stranded on a barren, isolated island with my baby girl. I placed her fragile, fever-ravaged body onto a makeshift wooden raft. Then I plunged into the freezing ocean water, kicking with everything I had, pushing the raft forward through the swells. In the distance, the dark, triangular fins of sharks sliced through the waves, circling us, closing the gap. Despair, cold and absolute, washed over me. With one final, agonizing burst of strength, I gave the raft a massive push, sending her toward the outer boundary of the bay. I let go. My body sank into the weightless dark of the ocean floor. I closed my eyes, waiting for the teeth to tear me apart. But instead of pain, a blinding light flared through the water. Above, a massive theater curtain slowly rolled back. My husband, Thomas, stepped out onto the deck of a sleek yacht anchored just beyond the artificial reef. Clinging to his arm was Nancy, my former best friend. Thomas looked down at the water, his handsome face carrying an air of smug satisfaction. "Sweetheart," Thomas said, his voice carrying over the water, "she slapped you once, so I put her out here for a year to teach her a lesson. Are you happy now?" He patted Nancy’s hand gently. "I’ll make her apologize to you, and then we’ll put this whole thing behind us." He scanned the shoreline, his brow furrowing as he looked for our daughter. "Where is the baby? Where is Lucy? What kind of mother is she, starving her own child like this?" The surface of the water had already settled into a glassy, undisturbed calm. I was floating now, suspended in the air, watching my own blue, lifeless body drift down into the dark silt of the seabed. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my ghostly lips. Ten months of starvation, of desperate survival, of fighting to keep our daughter alive on a barren rock—it was nothing but a sick game to Thomas. A punishment. He had gotten his wish. But I was never coming back. … "Save Mommy... please save Mommy..." Lucy’s eyes fluttered, her voice a dry, papery whisper as tears tracked through the dirt on her face. Thomas felt a sharp pang of worry and scooped her up into his arms. He waited for a moment, looking around the empty shore, before his jaw tightened in anger. "Your mother must have run off the second she saw the yacht. I have never met a woman so incredibly petty." Lucy wept harder, her tiny, cracked lips moving soundlessly as she pointed toward the dark water. But her strength failed her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she went completely limp in his arms. My heart lunges into my throat. I screamed, throwing myself forward to catch her, but I passed straight through her tiny, fragile body. I froze, staring at my translucent hands. "Medic! Get a doctor over here now!" Thomas’s face drained of color as he ran toward the waiting ambulance parked on the mainland dock. During her emergency treatment, Thomas touched Lucy's arm. She was nothing but skin and bones. Rage and terror shook his voice. "I had supplies dropped on that island every single month! Could Grace not even bother to look for them? To starve a child like this... no wonder she's too ashamed to show her face!" Nancy dabs at her eyes, her tone dripping with mock sorrow. "Oh, Thomas... Grace is so spiteful. How could she abuse her own daughter just to get back at you?" Thomas’s face darkens with pure fury. He pulled out his phone and left me a voicemail: "Grace, you show your face right this second, or so help me God. What kind of mother does this?" He cursed under his breath, but his eyes lingered on our last call history. It was ten months ago. I had just returned from a short weekend trip with Lucy. Walking into our home, I found Nancy naked beneath Thomas on our living room sofa. My entire world shattered in a fraction of a second. I lost my mind, screaming, clawing at them in a blind panic. Thomas shielded Nancy, pushing me hard to the floor. "Stop being hysterical, Grace! I had too much to drink. Every man makes mistakes." With bloodshot eyes, I grabbed Lucy and walked out. Thomas grabbed my wrist. "You don't get to hit Nancy and just walk away. Apologize to her." Nancy whimpered behind him like a delicate, wounded flower. Nausea rose in my throat. I wrenched my arm free. "In your dreams. You both will burn for this. I want a divorce, Thomas." I slammed the door, holding my quiet, confused toddler. We stayed at a cheap motel that night. But the next morning, we woke up on a desolate, rocky island. No food, no phones, no way out. When I tried to swim out for help, sharks—mechanical or real, I couldn't tell then—forced me back. Now I realize the wilderness was a controlled playground, the sharks a cruel deterrent. But I believed it. Before my final dive, I had sliced my finger and written a desperate final message on a piece of slate with my own blood, begging Thomas to take care of our daughter. Back at the hospital, the doctor hands Thomas a critical condition notice. His hand shakes as he signs it. Nancy weeps softly. "I just don't understand how Grace could do this to her own flesh and blood." Thomas stares at a silver guardian angel locket he took from Lucy's neck. It's covered in grime. It was a locket we got together. Years ago, when Lucy was desperately ill, we climbed a mountain trail to a small sanctuary, kneeling at every step. Thomas nearly fainted from low blood sugar near a steep drop; I grabbed him, pulling him up with raw strength, scraping my knees and elbows to the bone. Thomas had cried, holding my bleeding hands. "Don't be so reckless. If you fell with me, Lucy would have no one." I had smiled through the pain. "You and Lucy are my whole world. I'd die before I let go of either of you." "It was all a lie," Thomas whispers now, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and mounting fury. He stands abruptly and flings the silver locket into the trash. His phone rings. It's the site manager from the private island property. "What is it?" Thomas snaps. "Mr. Leonard... we found a note written on the island. It looks like a suicide note from your wife." "A suicide note?" Thomas sneers. "She's playing the victim now? Trying to manipulate me? She's pathetic. There are no wild animals on that island. She's hiding. Find her and bring her to me." He hangs up, laughing coldly. "She loves her own life too much to actually end it. Let's see how she explains this when she's dragged back." I float above him, watching him plan my humiliation. It's almost funny. How can he find me on that island? I'm in the lake. The operating room light goes out. The doctor steps out, grave. "The child's stomach was filled with nothing but grass and wild berries. Extreme, prolonged malnutrition has caused organ distress and compromised her immune system. We stabilized her, but she's in a coma. We need to monitor her." "Grass?" Thomas freezes, his voice cracking. "That's impossible. I personally authorized crates of canned goods and fresh fruit to be delivered. How could she starve?" Ah. Only for the first three months did we find any crates. After that, nothing. We lived on bitter berries, roots, and insects. Sometimes, while Lucy slept, I would press a sharp stone to my arm and let her drink my blood to keep her hydrated. She was so good, never complaining, whispering, "Daddy will find us, Mommy." A sharp, phantom pain pierces my chest. So Thomas's "supplies" were a lie. I burn with hatred. But then I notice Nancy's face pale. She bites her lip and whispers, "When things get tough, not every mother has the strength to protect her child. She probably kept the food for herself." Thomas instantly swallows the poison. "Of course. Grace ate it all." He believes her, missing the cruel spark of satisfaction in Nancy's eyes. In the ICU, Lucy murmurs in her sleep, "Mommy... water... please." Thomas tries to offer a cup, but Lucy doesn't open her eyes. Tears just leak down her pale cheeks. The phone rings again. "Mr. Leonard, we've searched every inch. Your wife isn't on the island." Thomas's grip tightens. He pales slightly, then scoffs. "She knows she's been caught. She's hiding. Let her rot out there. Let's see how long she lasts." The assistant hesitates. "Sir, the construction crew is ready to drain the central lake on the property. Should we proceed?" "Drain it," Thomas says coldly, hanging up. He texts my number a photo of Lucy in her hospital bed. Lucy is in critical condition. If you have a single shred of decency left, come see your daughter. He throws the phone aside, his eyes wandering to the trash where he threw the locket. He reaches in and pulls it back out. But a sudden shriek breaks the silence. Nancy drops her phone, her face white with terror. Before she can grab it, Thomas picks it up. It's a forged "suicide note" from me, sent from an anonymous number: I hope Thomas and Nancy burn in hell! I want the world to know what monsters you are! You forced me to starve Lucy. You deserve to die! Thomas's veins bulge. He punches the drywall. "She's trying to ruin me. A fake death to destroy my reputation!" Nancy whimpers, "It's my fault. I'll go beg her for forgiveness if she just comes back." "No!" Thomas sneers, his last ounce of worry replaced by disgust. "She starved our child and staged a fake suicide to blackmail me. If she wants to play dead, let her. She's dead to me." In his rage, he doesn't notice the handwriting isn't mine. During our college years, we wrote over a hundred letters to each other. They are still sitting on our bookshelf at home. When we used to fight, he would read them aloud to tease me. Once, in a fit of anger, I tried to burn them. Thomas had extinguished the flames with his bare hands, his arms covered in blisters. He had cried, not from the pain, but from the fear of losing them: You wrote these to me, Grace. You have no right to destroy them. He used to boast: Even if you burn them, I can copy your handwriting perfectly. I know every curve of your letters. We had a real, beautiful love once. My ghostly eyes sting, but my heart remains cold. I am dead. My only wish is for my daughter to survive. The next morning, Lucy wakes up. But she is disoriented, traumatized. "Mommy... water..." Thomas frowns. Nancy covers her mouth. "Oh, the poor thing. Did your mother deny you water too?" Lucy cries, struggling to find words. "Daddy... don't... don't fight with Mommy..." She closes her eyes, tears soaking her face. "Lucy's chest... hurts." Thomas's heart drops. He checks his phone. Still no reply from me. The door swings open. His mother, Helen, walks in, her expression pinched. "Still no sign of Grace? If you ask me, file a police report for desertion and divorce her. She couldn't even give you a son, and she's nothing but trouble. She has no family, no backing. Just cut her loose." Thomas ignores her, his jaw set. "She wants a war of attrition? I'll give her one. Divorcing her now just lets her off easy. I want her to look me in the eye and tell me she isn't ashamed of what she did to our daughter." Helen scoffs. "She probably ran off with another man. Nancy is right here, ready to be a real mother to Lucy." Nancy blushes, staying silent. Thomas sneers. "Who says I'm waiting for her? I just want to see how long she can keep up this little game. The moment she shows her face, I'm throwing the divorce papers at her." The door bursts open again. His personal assistant stands there, panting, face pale as a sheet. Thomas frowns. "Did you find her? Is she too cowardly to face me?" The assistant shakes his head, trembling. "Sir... they just drained the lake on the island. They found a woman's body."
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