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His Mistress Killed Our Daughter Novel Cover

His Mistress Killed Our Daughter

Malcolm took my child away six times. Each time it was because Celia wanted to experience what it felt like to be a mother. After the seventh time, he didn't return her for a long while. He called me, saying, "They’re twins anyway, two daughters who look exactly alike, so giving Maisy to Celia isn’t a big deal." Meanwhile, Celia sent me a picture of herself feeding my daughter soda. She also sent a message: "Malcolm said I can just treat her like a toy." After that, my younger daughter was gone, and Malcolm's hair turned gray overnight. Our seven-year relationship was completely over. ================================= "Her head is so soft, her hands too," Celia kept texting me, adding, "She’s even more fun than a doll; I can feed her anything I want." It felt like something snapped in my mind, a buzzing filled my ears. I tried calling her, but she never picked up. I had no choice but to call Malcolm. My anxiety made me drop the phone repeatedly, silently begging for him to answer quickly.
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Chapter 2

“No need, I know Celia was just upset about missing her child and accidentally pushed me,” Emberly suddenly said as she walked out the door, still holding Maisy. Ever since becoming a mother, I'd become sensitive to anything involving children. At that moment, the distinct scent of soda on Maisy hit me.

“Emberly!” I was overwhelmed with emotion and rushed forward to grab my child, but Malcolm blocked me, shoving me aside.

“Emberly Jenkins, have you lost your mind since having the baby?” he exclaimed. “Celia just wants to know what it's like to be a mom. She wouldn't harm Maisy.”

Wouldn't harm her? Then why the soda smell? My mind raced, my heart pounded as I kept my eyes fixed on Maisy.

“Apologize to Celia right now,” Malcolm demanded coldly.

I clenched my teeth. “Fine.” I was about to kneel, but then I noticed the lawn was full of sharp thorns. I quickly pulled back.

“No need for Emberly to apologize,” Celia said in a pitiful voice. “I'm already a widow, so I'm used to being mistreated. I don't mind.”

I saw the sympathy in Malcolm’s eyes. In the next moment, he gripped my hand so tightly that I gasped in pain.

“If you want to take Maisy, you'd better apologize now!”

I wanted to explain about the thorns, but for Maisy’s sake, I stayed silent and kneeled anyway. The thorns pierced my skin, and the pain nearly made me cry out. Yet, I held it in, bowing my head repeatedly.

“I’m sorry, Celia, I shouldn’t have pushed you that day,” I said through gritted teeth, looking up at Malcolm. “Can I have Maisy back now?”

He hesitated for a moment. “You’ll get her back in a couple of days. You should just go home for now.”

A pang of desperation hit me. “No, please, Malcolm, she's your child too. How can you bear to let her be in harm’s way?”

I clung to his leg, praying he’d relent and give me back Maisy.

“How could she be in harm's way?” Malcolm said, pushing me away coldly. “Emberly, can’t you show a little compassion and let Celia enjoy being a mother for a while? Honestly, she's been taking care of Maisy better than you. Besides, you have twins—two daughters who look exactly alike. Giving one to Celia wouldn’t be a big deal.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Both of my daughters meant everything to me. I couldn’t let either be taken away.

I struggled to stand, only to find the thorns had dug into my skin, nearly making me fall over.

“Stop pretending!” Malcolm growled at me. “Don’t think you can fake an injury to get Maisy back. I’ll be staying at Celia’s too, and I’m her father—I’ll take good care of her.”

“Emberly, don’t worry,” Celia chimed in. “I’ll look after Maisy and return her in a few days.”

Right then, Maisy started crying. The thought of Celia feeding her soda shattered my heart. I reached out for Celia, but Malcolm shoved me away again.

“Go home already and stop making a scene!” he snapped before leading Celia back inside. The door slammed shut with a loud “bang.”

I forced myself up, the long thorns tearing into my flesh as I rose. My legs were covered in thorns, blood dripping down, but the pain felt distant as I frantically knocked on the door.

Only my phone buzzed repeatedly in reply. Celia had sent another picture. Maisy was in the bathtub, Celia holding a steaming kettle over her.

[I’m just giving your daughter a bath. Stop banging on the door, or I might accidentally spill this hot water.]

I froze, my entire body shaking as I typed back with trembling fingers.

[I was wrong, I was wrong, please don’t hurt my daughter.]

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