Twenty Six Calls He Never Answered

When Corey Pierce came back to our marriage after his affair, I gave him three chances. Three chances to cut the girl out of his life completely.

He weaponized every single one of them. He used those chances to take her out for quiet dinners, to build custom furniture for her apartment, to spend entire nights by her side when she felt "anxious."

After the third time, he came home, threw away every physical trace of her, and took my cold hands in his.

"Trust me, Caroline," he had sworn, his eyes dark and earnest. "I will never betray you again."

I believed him. Right up until the moment my car collided with a young womans at a rainy intersection.

Through the cracked windshield, I watched the girl frantically dial her phone, tears streaming down her face. A moment later, a voice crackled through her car's Bluetooth speakers. It wasn't Corey. It was his best friend.

"Look, man, I'm telling you not to go," the friends voice echoed into the damp air. "You've used up your three strikes. Caroline is definitely going to file for divorce this time."

And then, I heard my husband. His voice was casual. Fearless.

"Caroline grew up in the foster system. Shes spent her whole life with nobody to love her, nobody to care if she lives or dies. Shes more terrified of divorce than I am." A beat of silence. "Just cover for me. I know what I'm doing. This is the last time."

I lay there in the wreckage, my blood pooling against the crushed metal, my entire body turning to ice.

The weeping girl standing in the rain wasn't a stranger. She was the mistress he had promised to abandon, the fragile little secret he was still so desperately protecting.

Twenty minutes later, Corey Piercethe man who had sworn his soul to our familyburst through the emergency room doors like a hurricane, searching for her.

Separated only by a thin hospital curtain, I listened to Coreys voice. It was thick with a frantic, aching reprimand.

"Why didn't you call me the second it happened? Is my number just for show, Brielle?"

I heard the rustle of sheets as Brielle likely forced herself to sit up. When she spoke, her voice was sickeningly sweet, laced with manufactured timidity.

"You told me your wife only gave you three chances. I didn't dare"

"What the hell does that matter?" Coreys voice rose, vibrating with raw emotion. "If you need me, you call me. If something terrible happened to you, what am I supposed to do?"

I lay quietly in the adjacent bay, staring up at the harsh fluorescent lights until my vision blurred into a sea of white.

When the crash happened, my mind had been sharp, adrenaline pumping through my veins. My first instinct, my only instinct, had been to call my husband.

Twenty-six times. The phone had rung twenty-six times. He hadn't answered a single one.

Brielle had called once, and he had answered on the first ring.

Because Corey knew the truth: I was a girl with no family, no safety net, and nowhere else to go. He knew I would sit in the dark and wait for his return call, no matter how long it took.

A doctor slipped past the curtain to check my bandages. The screech of the metal rings on the track was loud.

As the fabric pulled back, Corey turned. The venomous rage he had been harboring for the "reckless driver" who hit his precious Brielle vanished from his face the second he saw me.

He froze. But the shock only lasted a second before his defense mechanisms kicked in.

"You investigated her?" he spat, the words dropping like stones between us. "You tracked Brielle down and hit her on purpose?"

The breath was knocked completely out of my lungs. Not once did his eyes scan my battered body to see if I was hurt. His first, immediate instinct was to interrogate me. To protect her.

Ever since I had uncovered the affair, Corey had guarded Brielles identity like a state secret.

She comes from a difficult background, he had told me once. If you expose her to our social circle, it will ruin her.

Yet, my backgroundthe fact that I was an abandoned ward of the statewas something he had casually broadcasted to every elite country club and boardroom in the city. He did it to remind everyone, and perhaps himself, exactly how dependent I was on him.

I swallowed the sharp, metallic taste of bitterness in the back of my throat. A hollow, broken laugh escaped my lips.

"That makes four," I whispered, my voice raspy. "You broke your promise."

Months ago, when I first handed him the divorce papers, he had climbed to the rooftop terrace of our penthouse.

If you leave me, Ill jump! he had screamed over the wind, his eyes wild. I cant survive in this world without you, Caroline! I told you, you are the only woman I will ever love!

My heart, stupid and starved for affection, had caved. I gave him three chances to untangle his life from hers. He scrubbed away the texts, the hotel receipts, the lingering scents of her perfume. I had been so hopelessly naive, thinking I had won the war for my marriage.

But today, reality had backhanded me across the face.

"Is there really a difference between three times and four?" Corey hissed, dropping his voice to a lethal whisper so the girl behind the curtain wouldn't hear. "She was in a car crash, Caroline. Are you really so cold-blooded that you'd expect me to leave her here to die?"

What could I even say to that?

Could I tell him that I was in that crash, too? That while his mistress had suffered a scraped knee, I had just received ten stitches in my torn shoulder?

"Corey?" Brielles soft voice drifted from the other bed. "What did the other driver say? Do we need to pay her off?"

My husbands entire posture softened instantly. He stepped back toward her, his voice melting into a soothing hum. "Don't worry about her. She's fine. Just focus on resting."

Lying in my hospital bed, hearing myself reduced to 'that person,' I actually smiled.

No matter how fiercely my stitched skin burned, it was nothing compared to the agony shredding my heart.

Coreys only act of mercy toward me that afternoon was waiting until he thought I was asleep to quickly sign the stack of hospital billing forms the nurse had left on my bedside table.

If he had actually caredif he had bothered to read a single line of the paperwork he was blindly autographinghe would have noticed the document slipped perfectly in the middle.

A divorce settlement. Already signed by me.

By nightfall, the wound on my shoulder had grown angry and infected. My temperature skyrocketed to a hundred and three.

Shivering violently, I dragged myself out of bed and navigated the sterile corridors alone to find a doctor and pay the pharmacy fees.

As I leaned against the nurse's station, I heard the whispers behind my back.

"That girl in Bay 4 just had a few scratches, but her boyfriend bought out a whole VIP suite for her. Meanwhile, this poor woman looks like shes dying and shes completely alone."

I offered a self-deprecating smile to the linoleum floor and turned around.

Only to find Corey storming toward me. Before I could even register his presence, his hand cracked hard across my cheek.

The sound echoed down the quiet hallway.

"You have crossed a line, Caroline!" he seethed, grabbing my uninjured arm. "Who told you to use my black card at the front desk? Do you want Brielle to see the name on the account? Do you want her to find out who you are?"

My fever-ravaged body swayed, the edges of my vision blackening.

The burning imprint of his hand on my face made the tears pooling in my eyes spill over.

Seeing me break, Coreys manic energy shifted. The anger deflated, replaced by a sick, suffocating kind of tenderness. He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around my trembling shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I justnobody loves you more than I do, Caroline. You have to know that," he murmured into my hair, playing the role of the devoted savior once again. "Ive made it perfectly clear to her. I am going to end it. I just need a little more time. Ive bent over backwards to keep this family together, what more do you want from me?"

Years ago, when Corey Pierce dropped to one knee and offered a diamond to the foster kid everyone else had overlooked, I thought I was the luckiest girl on earth.

The old-money wives in our circle had gasped, whispering behind their manicured hands: What kind of karma did that nobody rack up in a past life to land a man as devoted as Corey?

I had drowned in that illusion. I let it consume me.

Right up until Brielle threw a temper tantrum. To appease her, Corey casually leaked a traumatic video of me being bullied in high school to the country club group chats, ensuring I was ostracized by the very women I tried to befriend.

Once, because Brielle called him complaining of a panic attack, he abandoned me on the side of a deserted highway in the dead of winter. I had to walk six miles in the snow, terrified and freezing.

And then, it escalated. He allowed Brielle to call my phone at three in the morning, letting me listen to the breathless, wet sounds of them in bed together. The stress, the sheer suffocating heartbreak of it, caused me to miscarry the baby I had just discovered I was carrying.

His response? He blamed my "jealousy" and "narrow-mindedness" for making my body too weak to hold onto his child.

My cheek was ice-cold against his designer jacket. Sweat beaded on my forehead as the pain radiated through my bones.

Corey pulled back and pressed his car keys into my palm.

"You being here is making Brielle anxious. She cant rest. Check yourself out and go home."

My skin was on fire. The hallway was spinning.

But I managed a single, hollow nod. "Okay."

A flicker of somethingguilt, maybe, or just confusion at my lack of a fightcrossed his face.

Right then, my phone buzzed. It was a nurse from the assisted living facility where Mrs. Gable lived.

Mrs. Gable. The woman who had run St. Judes Children's Home. The only mother I had ever known. She had collapsed. Heart failure.

Panic obliterating my fever, I stumbled toward the elevators and forced my way up to the cardiac wing.

When I burst through the doors, Mrs. Gable was turning a terrifying shade of blue, gasping desperately for air as doctors swarmed her bed.

"What happened?" I screamed, grabbing a nurse.

"A young woman came in here looking for her," the nurse said rapidly, prepping a syringe. "They got into a massive argument. The girl was screaming at her, saying some really vicious things, and the patient went into cardiac arrest!"

My pupils dilated. The world snapped into terrifying focus.

For a girl who had nothing, Mrs. Gable was my anchor to humanity.

I spun around and bolted out of the ICU, my legs carrying me blindly down the hall until I found them. Brielle was pressed against Coreys chest, crying her fake, delicate tears.

"That awful old woman called me a homewrecker!" Brielle sobbed, burying her face in his shirt. "I just tried to explain myself, and she threw herself onto the floor to frame me, I swear!"

"You're lying!" I screamed, lunging forward.

Brielle peeked out from Coreys embrace, shooting me a triumphant smirk before revealing some pathetic, faint red marks on her wrists. Her wails grew louder.

But I had seen Mrs. Gable. I had seen the deep, bloody crescent-moon gouges on the old woman's arms. Defensive wounds.

Seeing the smug satisfaction dancing in Brielles eyes, something inside me snapped. I closed the distance and slapped the mistress across the face with everything I had.

A fraction of a second later, a hand struck my face with twice the force, sending me crashing to the floor.

The coppery taste of blood instantly flooded my mouth.

Corey stood over me, his hand still raised, trembling slightly. A flash of regret vanished from his eyes as quickly as it appeared.

"What gives you the right to hit her?" he roared. "Your so-called 'mother' verbally assaulted her first! Is this the kind of trashy behavior you learned in that orphanage?"

I blinked away the tears, staring up at the man I had married. I couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

Society had always judged me. They looked at foster kids as feral, uneducated strays.

But Corey used to be the man who would smash a scotch glass against a wall to shut up anyone who dared to mock my upbringing. Now, he was the one wielding the knife.

Seeing my shattered expression, a muscle feathered in Corey's jaw. But Brielle whined, sinking deeper into his arms, shivering like a wet stray.

"Corey... if you hadn't come, they would have ganged up and killed me..."

Coreys eyes hardened, picturing her imaginary suffering, and he looked down at me with pure disgust.

"Tomorrow night is the foundation gala. You will publicly apologize to Brielle. Don't think I don't know how this worksif you don't clear her name, that old woman will run to the press and ruin Brielles reputation."

I shook my head, my hands gripping the cold tile. "I won't"

"If you don't apologize," Corey interrupted, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm, "I will pull all my funding from St. Judes. And the black card you use to pay for Mrs. Gables private medical care? Consider it frozen."

He crouched down, forcing me to meet his cold gaze. "Think about it, Caroline. On a waitress's salary, how long do you think itll take you to buy her a matching heart on the transplant list? Hmm?"

I thought of Mrs. Gable, hooked up to the machines, her body frail and failing.

I closed my eyes. And I surrendered.

The next evening, beneath the glittering chandeliers of the charity gala, Corey shoved a piece of paper into my hands. An apology script.

Brielle drifted over, looking angelic in a white silk gown. As she passed me, she dug her manicured nails viciously into my bruised arm.

Her smile was flawless. "Mrs. Pierce. An apology doesn't mean anything without a little sincerity, does it?"

Before I could react, the pointed toe of her stiletto slammed into the back of my knee. My leg buckled, and I crashed to the marble floor in a humiliating heap.

Kneeling there like a puppet with its strings cut, I read the words Corey had written for me into the microphone.

"It was Mrs. Gable who initiated the conflict. I apologize on her behalf to Miss Brielle, and I will be compensating her for her distress..."

The murmurs from the elite crowd rippled through the ballroom like poison.

Takes the trash out of the system, but can't take the system out of the trash.

Did you see her just hit the floor? No dignity. God knows why Corey keeps her around.

That Brielle girl comes from a much better pedigree. Give it a month, there will be a new Mrs. Pierce.

The contempt in their eyes burned like hot coals on my skin.

Brielle looked down at me from her pedestal, drinking in her victory.

I forced myself up, my fever still raging. I stumbled, the room spinning. Corey instinctively took a half-step forward, his hand twitching.

"Are you sick? You look terrible."

I slapped his hand away. He stiffened, immediately clearing his throat and straightening his cuffs. "Don't misunderstand. I just don't want you throwing up and ruining the event."

Brielle stepped in, pretending to help steady me. She leaned close, the scent of her cloying perfume invading my space.

"Take care of yourself, Mrs. Pierce," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "Oh, by the way... I heard the hospitals heart donor suddenly backed out today. Decided they didn't want to give their organs to your precious director after all. Looks like she'll be waiting another ten years."

She paused, feigning a pout. "Oh, wait. She probably doesn't have ten years left, does she?"

The vicious, mocking gleam in her eyes pushed me over the edge of sanity. I lunged forward, my hands locking around her throat.

"You don't get to play god with her life!" I screamed, the sound tearing my vocal cords.

A second later, Corey ripped me off her, using so much force I went flying backward.

"Are you out of your mind, Caroline?!" he bellowed. "I made you apologize to teach you a lesson, not so you could attack her again!"

I tumbled down the three carpeted steps of the stage, every bone in my body screaming in agony as I hit the floor.

Hidden behind Coreys broad shoulders, Brielles lips curled into a wicked, gleeful smile.

I was scrambling to my feet, ready to charge at her like a feral animal, when my phone vibrated violently against my ribs.

It was the hospital.

"Mrs. Pierce?" the nurse's voice was frantic. "Its Mrs. Gable. She's... she's gone. Someone took her from her room!"

My heart plummeted into my stomach. I looked up, locking eyes with Brielle. Her triumphant smile had widened into something demonic.

Ignoring the horrified gasps of the wealthy onlookers, I staggered toward her, my eyes bloodshot and wild.

"She is the only family I have in this world. Don't you dare touch her!" I choked out, my whole body shaking so violently I could barely stand.

The ballroom erupted into chaos. Corey, his pride deeply wounded by my public spectacle, grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back with brutal force.

"Enough, Caroline! Are you done making a fool of yourself?!"

My heels caught the edge of the carpet. I fell backward, crashing straight into the towering pyramid of champagne flutes.

Glass shattered like bombs going off. A thousand razor-sharp shards rained down on me, slicing through my dress and biting deep into my skin.

Corey froze, a flicker of genuine panic flashing across his face as he took a step toward the wreckage. But Brielle was faster. She hurried over, kneeling by the glass, playing the concerned saint.

"You're smarter than you look, sister," she whispered, so quietly only I could hear. "You figured out I took the old bat. But why don't you try to guess exactly how I'm going to torture her?"

A sickening wave of terror washed over me. By the time my brain caught up, my bloodied hands had already shot out, grabbing her by the neck of her gown.

"I will kill you if you hurt her!"

A massive force yanked me into the air and threw me back down into the glass. Coreys hand cracked across my face again.

"I have been more than patient with you, Caroline! What has Brielle ever actually done to you? Look at yourself! You're acting like a psychotic bitch!"

In the reflection of his dark eyes, I saw what he saw: a bloody, unhinged, hysterical woman ruining his perfect night.

But all I could see was Mrs. Gable, dying somewhere alone in the dark.

My hand blindly grabbed a jagged shard of a champagne bottle. With a feral scream, I lunged at Brielle.

"Ah! Corey, save me!"

I brought the glass down, but Corey threw himself in front of her. The jagged edge sliced through his tailored suit, biting deep into his shoulder blade.

He didn't even flinch. He just turned to his security detail, his eyes completely dead.

"My wife has lost her mind," he ordered coldly. "Make her get on her knees and beg for forgiveness. A hundred times. Let her bleed until she wakes up from this delusion."

Two massive bodyguards forced me down into the glittering sea of broken glass. My bare knees hit the shards. The pain was blinding.

But as I was forced to bow my head, I saw Brielle casually wave her glowing phone screen in my direction.

It was a live video feed. St. Judes Children's Homethe only place I had ever felt safewas engulfed in thick, black smoke. Through the tinny speakers of her phone, I heard Mrs. Gables weak, rattling coughs begging for help.

The bottom fell out of my world.

"Let me go!" I thrashed wildly against the bodyguards. "Corey, please! Let me out of here!"

I fought like a cornered animal, but Corey stepped forward, his heavy hands clamping down on my shoulders, locking me into the glass.

"You're not leaving this room until you've apologized a hundred times."

I stopped fighting him. I didn't have the time. I threw myself forward, ignoring the glass shredding my legs, and began to forcefully bow, over and over, the blood smearing across the marble floor, blinding my vision.

I looked up, my eyes sweeping over the horrified crowd, committing every single one of their faces to memory.

Corey saw the utterly dead, hollow look in my eyes and froze. His grip loosened, a sudden, inexplicable terror gripping his chest. He reached out to pull me up.

I slapped his bloody hand away. With superhuman adrenaline, I ripped myself free from the guards, turned my back on him, and sprinted out of the ballroom.

Corey stood frozen among the shattered glass, his heart plummeting like a stone as he watched me disappear into the night.

By the time I reached the outskirts of the city, Hope House was an inferno. The flames were licking the roof of the old attic.

I didn't think. I sprinted straight into the fire, coughing through the suffocating smoke until I found her. I frantically tore at the ropes binding Mrs. Gable to the wooden beam.

She slumped into my arms. She looked up at my soot-stained face, offered me one last, gentle smile, and then her chest stopped moving.

I sat there in the burning room, holding her lifeless body. In that moment, the last piece of my soul quietly died.

A second later, the roof groaned. A deafening explosion ripped through the air, and everything went completely black.

As the largest donor to the charity foundation, Corey Pierce arrived at the orphanage flanked by a swarm of journalists, ready to do damage control.

But the moment he pushed open his car door, the towering wall of flames reflecting in his eyes caused him to freeze dead in his tracks.