Beyond Past Shadows

The cramping pain in my abdomen felt like countless needles piercing me as I curled up on the hospital bed, cold sweat soaking through my patient gown. The nurse came in holding the test results, her tone calm and flat. "Hannah Lynn, I'm very sorry, but the fetus didn't make it. You've had a natural miscarriage." I froze for a moment, then tears fell silently onto the blanket. This was the child Brian and I were expecting—just six weeks along. A nearby caregiver whispered, "Should we call Mr. Jones? Maybe he should come over." I shook my head, my fingertips icy cold. I know where he is. This morning, I saw Nora Scott's post on W Chat, tagged at the H Road ski resort. In the photos, she was nestled in Brian Jones's arms, her smile radiant. They were skiing, enjoying the winter sun, while I was here, losing our child. In the evening, Brian's mother, Luna Carter, came. She didn't glance at me once, sitting directly on the sofa, her tone thick with undisguised contempt. "Hannah Lynn, I told you before, you're not worthy of a place in the Jones Family." I clutched the blanket tightly and whispered, "Mom, I..." "Don't call me Mom. I can't handle that." Luna Carter cut me off, "If you hadn't been so persistent, why would Brian have married you? Nora is the true daughter-in-law of the Jones Family." "The child is gone—that's your fate. It has nothing to do with Nora." She added coldly. I closed my eyes and swallowed the words I was about to say. There was no point in arguing; in her eyes, I was always in the wrong. I was hospitalized for three days, and Brian didn't come once. On the day she was discharged, the family driver came to pick her up. As soon as she walked through the villa gate, laughter and chatter filled the living room. Brian Jones was sitting on the sofa with Nora Scott. At Nora's feet lay a pair of skis, and she was still wearing Brian's jacket. "Brian, look at this photo. It turned out really well." Nora handed her phone to Brian, her voice playfully teasing. Brian cupped her chin, his eyes full of affection: "Mm, when someone's beautiful, every photo looks good." The moment their eyes landed on me, the smiles vanished immediately. Brian Jones stood up and walked toward me step by step, still carrying the chill of the snowfall. "You're back?" His tone was cold and indifferent, as if addressing a mere servant. I nodded, my throat tightening. "The child is gone. That's for the best." He said lightly, "Saves us trouble later on." My heart clenched sharply as I looked up at him. "Brian, that was your child too." "My child?" He sneered, "I never once acknowledged that child." Nora Scott walked over, linking her arm with Brian Jones, and looked at me provocatively: "Hannah Lynn, don't be too upset. Brian only has me in his heart. Even if the baby had survived, nothing would have changed." "Nora, don't waste your breath on her." Brian Jones tousled Nora's hair, then turned to me and ordered, "Go wash Nora's ski suit—by hand. No washing machine." I stared at the jacket stained with snow, then glanced down at my still-aching lower abdomen. "I just got out of the hospital. I'm not feeling well." I whispered in protest. "Not feeling well?" Brian Jones raised an eyebrow, reached out and grabbed my chin so hard it hurt. "Hannah Lynn, don't forget your place. You're only allowed to stay with the Jones Family because of my mood." "Are you going or not?" His gaze grew colder. I was forced to nod, tears welling up in my eyes. "That's more like it." He let go, sneering, "After you finish washing the clothes, go to the kitchen and cook. Nora wants her sweet and sour pork ribs." Nora Scott smiled at me smugly, leaning into Brian Jones's embrace. I stepped into the laundry room holding the ski suit. The moment the cold water touched my hand, I couldn't help but shiver. Tears mingled with the water as they fell into the sink—I couldn't tell if they were from pain or sorrow. Luna Carter stood at the doorway, watching me rush about, her tone icy. "Hannah Lynn, behave yourself. Brian's heart belongs only to Nora. No matter what you do, it's pointless." I didn't look up and kept scrubbing the clothes. "Remember your place; don't dream of what isn't yours." After she said that, she turned and left the laundry room. That night, after finishing all my chores, I curled up on the small bed in the guest room. Laughter came from the master bedroom—Nora's laughter, sharp as needles, piercing my heart. I knew that from the moment I lost the child, my life with the Jones Family would only become more difficult.