My Funeral, His Destruction Stage

Adelle POV The door clicked shut, muffling the distant sounds of my family' s chatter from the penthouse above. Daisy was still sobbing, her small body trembling in my arms. "What' s wrong, sweetie?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, though I knew the answer. She just continued to cry, burying her face into my shoulder. After a moment, she lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed. "Mommy, can I give you a massage? To make you feel better?" My heart ached. She thought I was the one who needed comforting. "No, sweetie. Mommy' s fine." I lied, pulling her gently onto the sofa beside me. I stared at the pristine white walls of our new apartment, the silence heavy around us. My brilliant idea of living just one floor below Carter, of being a constant thorn in his side, was a disaster. My family would be up there constantly, fawning over Fernanda and her child, all while casually cutting me down. And Daisy would be caught in the crossfire, her emotional well-being slowly eroded by their callousness. This wasn't how I was going to protect her. Tomorrow, I needed a new plan. A real one. The next morning, after dropping Daisy off at school, I drove to the city' s largest children' s charity organization. The building was bright and colorful, filled with the sounds of happy children. My heart ached, a silent plea. Please, let them help. When I finally sat across from Mrs. Davison, the kind-faced director, my voice was strained. "I… I want to place my daughter, Daisy, into a suitable home. A shelter, perhaps. Or foster care." The words tasted like ash. My stomach clenched. Mrs. Davison' s smile faltered. "Mrs. Preston, I understand your concern, but we don' t typically accept children from stable homes. She has a father, a mother, and a grandparent network." Tears welled, hot and stinging. "But I don' t have long, Mrs. Davison. I' m dying. I have glioblastoma. Terminal brain cancer. And I have just months left." The words, spoken aloud, were a raw, agonizing truth. "My husband… he has another family. He neglects Daisy. My own family… they' ve turned their backs on her. She' s only five. She has no one." My voice broke, a raw, ragged sound. "She needs a safe place. A loving place. Before I' m gone." I choked back a sob, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. "Please. She' s a good girl. So smart. So kind. She deserves a chance." Mrs. Davison' s eyes were filled with pity, but her expression remained firm. "Mrs. Preston, I truly sympathize. But our regulations are very strict. As long as Mr. Preston is her legal guardian, and there is no proven abuse or neglect, we cannot intervene." "No proven abuse?" I cried, my voice rising. "He hit her yesterday! He slapped her! She' s terrified of him! He' s constantly absent, emotionally abusive! And my family, they ignore her, they dote on his illegitimate child!" I was unraveling, my carefully constructed facade crumbling. "I' m dying, Mrs. Davison! I don' t have time for legal battles! He' ll never give up custody. Not with his public image at stake. He' ll keep her just to spite me, to maintain the facade of the perfect family man, while she suffers!" Mrs. Davison shook her head sadly. "I understand your frustration, Mrs. Preston. But our hands are tied. You would need to pursue legal action to prove his unsuitability as a parent. Without that, he remains her legal guardian." I left the charity organization feeling even more despair than I had arrived. The world had become a bleak, suffocating tunnel. Death awaited me, a terrifying certainty, but the thought of Daisy' s future, untethered and vulnerable, plunged me into an abyss of terror far deeper than any fear of my own demise. Back in the apartment, I found the strongest painkillers I had, swallowing them dry. I collapsed onto the sofa, closing my eyes, wishing for the blessed blankness of oblivion.