The Last Breath
VIVIENNE'S POV
My marriage anniversary became the worst day of my life.
It was the day where I was arrested for a crime I didn't commit. The day I ran and got run over by an SUV.
Now I lay here begging for nothing but death. My body is a prison I can't escape, paralyzed from the waist down, dependent on tubes and wires to keep what's left of me functioning. I should have died in that crash, but the universe hated me so much that it kept me alive to suffer.
The door opens with its familiar creeping sounds, and I don't have to turn my head to know who's entered.
That particular sound of footsteps has haunted my nightmares. I would remember it no matter where I was. Even in half dead form, I knew who it was.
Margaret Lancaster.
The woman I've called Mother for twenty-three years, approaches my bedside. Even now, she looks perfect. Pearl earrings. Blonde hair perfectly styled. Lipstick hiding the venom she’s about to spill.”
"Still fighting my love?"
Her voice carries that familiar note of false concern, the same tone she used when I was eleven and crying over a scraped knee, when I was sixteen and heartbroken over my first boyfriend, when I was twenty three and naive enough to believe she loved me.
But I see her clearly now, in these final moments. The mask has slipped just enough to reveal the coldness beneath—the calculating stare of a woman who has been planning this moment for years.
And all I can do is watch as she settles into the chair beside my bed with the air of someone visiting an old friend rather than watching their daughter die.
"You know," she begins, her voice taking on a conversational tone that makes my blood run cold, "I've been thinking about your biological mother lately. Elena was such a brilliant woman, too brilliant for her own good. She asked too many questions, just like you started to do."
Elena. My birth mother's name falls from Margaret's lips like a curse, and suddenly the fragmented memories I've carried all my life begin to shift into focus. Everything about my life had been a lie.
Margaret's perfectly manicured fingers trace the edge of my blanket, and I catch the glint of satisfaction in her green eyes. "She discovered things she shouldn't have. About the pharmaceutical trials, about the money, about what we were really doing to those poor refugees in Syria. Elena thought she could expose us, thought her research gave her power." A soft laugh escapes her lips, "She learned how wrong she was."
The machines around me seem to beep faster, matching the frantic rhythm of my trapped heart. My mother, my real mother…was murdered. And the woman who raised me, who I trusted, who I called family, was her killer.
"You should have stayed dead the first time, just like your mother. But even after that car dove into yours, you still managed to survive. You lucky fucker."
The words hit me like physical blows. If I wasn't already half dead, her words were enough to have put me in a grave.
"Poor little Vivienne," Margaret continues, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Always so desperate to please. Do you know how pathetic it was to watch? The way you tried so hard to earn love from people planning your death?"
My vision blurs with tears I can't shed, rage I can't express. Twenty-three years of my life have been a carefully orchestrated lie.


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