Rising From Ashes: The Broken Wife's Return

Karen lunged toward the roaring red woodchipper.

Two massive security guards stepped in front of her. They grabbed her arms, their grips like iron vices, pinning her in place.

Karen thrashed against them. She kicked at the mud. She watched in horror as the final section of the Dogwood trunk was shoved into the machine's metal teeth.

A horrific grinding noise filled the air. Wood chips spewed out of the exhaust pipe like dirty snow, scattering across the ruined lawn.

Karen's legs gave out. She dropped to her knees in the wet dirt, her fingers digging frantically into the mud.

Her hands shook violently as she pulled her phone from the pocket of her silk robe. She dialed Israel's private number.

It rang for a long time. Finally, the line connected. The smooth, quiet sound of jazz music playing inside the Maybach drifted through the speaker.

"Why?" Karen choked out, her voice raw and shredded. "Why did you destroy it? It was all I had left."

A low, cruel laugh came through the phone.

"I know exactly what that tree was, Karen," Israel sneered. His voice dripped with jealousy and contempt. "Dr. Blair Moran gave you that little token of affection, didn't he?"

Karen stopped breathing.

"I will not allow the proof of your emotional infidelity to grow in my backyard," Israel stated.

Karen's brain short-circuited. Blair. He thought the tree was from Blair.

She opened her mouth to scream the truth. She wanted to tell him that buried beneath those roots was the urn containing the ashes of their unborn child. The baby she lost. The baby he never knew about.

But her throat locked up. The years of his coldness, his absolute refusal to ever listen to her, formed a lump of glass in her airway. She couldn't make a sound.

Her silence only fueled his anger.

"Pour the concrete," Israel ordered coldly.

The line went dead. The dial tone hammered into her skull.

Behind her, the heavy engine of a cement mixer roared to life. Thick, gray sludge began to pour from the metal chute.

The wet concrete spilled into the deep crater, burying the mud, burying the wood chips, burying her baby.

"No!" Karen shrieked.

She ripped herself out of the guards' grasp and threw herself at the pit. She plunged her bare hands into the wet, heavy concrete. She clawed at the thick gray sludge, trying to dig down to the small urn.

The coarse gravel sliced into her cuticles. Blood welled up from her fingertips, swirling into the gray cement.

The foreman marched over. He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her up from the ground.

"Don't interfere with Mr. Fernandez's landscaping plans, lady," he warned.

Karen stared blankly at the smoothing surface of the concrete. The last physical trace of her child had been erased from the world. By its own father.

A black Range Rover pulled into the driveway. Arthur Coleman, Israel's Chief Executive Assistant, stepped out.

Arthur walked across the ruined grass, holding a black umbrella. He stopped in front of Karen and held out a crisp white envelope.

"You have two hours to vacate the premises," Arthur said. His voice was entirely professional. "Mr. Fernandez has instructed that the property be prepared for Ms. Conley's arrival."

Karen looked at Arthur's blank face. A hollow, terrifying laugh spilled from her bleeding lips.

She didn't take the envelope. She turned around. Her hands were coated in blood and gray sludge. She dragged her feet across the patio, walking back into the empty mansion like a corpse. She looked down numbly, watching thin lines of dark blood welling up on the soles of her bare feet. The sharp, splintered edges of the wood chips had sliced deep into her tender skin with every frantic step she took, leaving a trail of red behind her, but the agonizing numbness in her chest ensured she felt absolutely nothing.