Chapter 26 My Baby

Chapter 26 My Baby


Chapter 26 ;': Susan’s POV

I sat on the edge of the sofa, cradling my baby gently against my chest. Her tiny fingers curled around mine, her soft little face nuzzled into the crook of my neck. The warmth of her presence was the only thing keeping me steady tonight. Every movement, every little sound she made, reminded me why I had to stay strong. I would endure everything—Tabitha, Lucien, the house, the world—just for her.

The house was quiet, too quiet. Even the hum of the air-conditioning seemed distant. My focus was entirely on feeding my child, humming softly to her as I adjusted her in my arms, trying to keep her comfortable.

And then… the sound of soft, deliberate footsteps. I froze. My heart tightened.

“Baby mother,” a voice said, smooth, mocking, and dripping with sweetness that I knew well enough to be venomous.

I didn’t look up. I kept my eyes on my baby, ignoring the presence that always brought unease.

“How are you doing?” Tabitha continued, leaning against the doorway like she owned the room, like she always had a right to be here.

I kept silent. My lips pressed together, refusing to rise to her bait. I refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“I’ll cherish your child like mine,” she said, taking a step forward, her eyes scanning my little girl with a cruel possessiveness. “But once I am pregnant,” she added, a wicked smile curling her lips, “I’ll have to throw your child out. My baby must inherit everything.”

A shiver ran through me. My heart thudded in my chest. My grip on my daughter tightened instinctively.

“Tabitha,” I said softly, looking up at her for the first time, my voice calm but steady. “Please… I know I might have offended you in one way or another. I don’t want trouble. Please… don’t do anything to my child when I finally leave here. Please, just take care of her.”

Her laugh was sharp, cruel, echoing in the room. “Now,” she said, mockingly sweet, “now you can beg. No one ever plays games with me and wins. I always win.”

Something inside me tightened—anger, fear, and exhaustion all tangled together. But I didn’t beg. I didn’t flinch. My hands remained firm around my baby.

“Well,” Tabitha continued, “I will want you to crawl. Crawl, baby mother. Crawl to me.”

I stared at her, my stomach twisting. This wasn’t just cruelty. This was a psychological war, meant to crush me. I wanted to scream, to shove her away, but I knew that any reaction could be twisted, used against me. I had learned that the hard way.

And then… I saw it. Her expression changed slightly, a tiny flicker of panic. Her eyes darted toward the door.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. I knew who it was before I even heard the voice.

“Lucien,” Tabitha whispered, suddenly changing her posture, letting herself fall to the floor in a perfect, calculated fake stumble.

My heart leapt, panic rising alongside a bitter anger. I could feel my baby squirm in my arms.

The door opened. And there he was. Tall, commanding, eyes sharp, every step measured. My stomach twisted at the sight, a mixture of fear and the old familiar pull that I had tried so hard to ignore.

“Susan!” he barked, but his eyes darted first to Tabitha on the floor.

“What have you done to Tabitha?” His voice was furious, sharp, accusatory—but his gaze didn’t settle on me.

I felt my chest tighten. My hands instinctively held my baby closer. I wanted to scream, to tell him she had done this herself, that it was all her manipulation—but I held my tongue. I had no strength for argument. Not now. Not in front of him.

Tabitha, lying on the floor, let out a soft, controlled whimper, her eyes flicking toward me like a predator daring me to defend myself. Her grin was subtle but wicked. She had played her part perfectly.

I felt tears sting my eyes. Anger, helplessness, and exhaustion mingled in a bitter, aching cocktail. I wanted to shake Lucien, to make him see everything—the manipulation, the lies, the games. But I was too tired. My body, my mind, my heart were all frayed.

Lucien’s steps were quick now, moving toward her. I knew what he would do: pick her up, scold me silently, blame me in his mind. The air was thick with tension.

And in that moment, holding my child close, I realized something painfully clear: I couldn’t rely on anyone. Not Tabitha. Not Lucien. Not even the house that had once seemed like my sanctuary. I could only rely on myself.

The baby stirred in my arms, tiny fists clenching. I whispered softly to her, “It’s okay, my love. Mommy’s here. Always.”

And then… Lucien bent down to lift Tabitha, his face still furious, still controlling, still impossibly infuriating.

I watched silently, my heart heavy. I didn’t cry. I didn’t shout. But inside, a storm raged—a storm of fear, anger, and the unyielding need to protect my child, even if it meant standing alone.

And I knew, deep down, that this war was far from over.