Chapter 4: The Conspiracy Revealed

I remembered the headlines, the endless debates on talk shows and message boards. Everyone had an opinion, but none of them knew the truth.

Internet sleuths uncovered her college transcripts—she’d gone to some no-name school overseas, barely scraping by.

Her record was a mess—multiple failed courses, especially in anatomy. She’d had to repeat the basics more than once.

People were starting to believe me, finally questioning Madison’s credentials—until Travis stepped into the spotlight.

He went on camera, voice full of sorrow. “Lila started showing signs of paranoia after she got pregnant.”

He wiped away a fake tear, saying, “I watched Dr. Kelly do everything she could. I’m grateful she saved my wife. I’m sorry my wife’s illness caused so much trouble.”

He made a spectacle of it—handing Madison a bouquet, hugging her for the cameras, inviting every local news crew to watch.

Madison stood at a podium, reading from her “published” papers, full of jargon no one understood. The crowd was impressed, not realizing it was all smoke and mirrors.

Her followers exploded overnight. She was hailed as a hero, offered a permanent position at the hospital. My story was forgotten.

I watched from somewhere above, unseen, as Travis slipped his arm around Madison’s waist. His voice was low, conspiratorial. “So, what’s my reward?”

She giggled, tracing a finger down his cheek. “Me—myself.”

He tapped her nose, a smug grin on his face. “Careful what you promise. I might hold you to it.”

He leaned in, whispering, “Lila’s folks left her everything. Once I tie up the paperwork, we’re out of here. Europe, maybe. Or the islands.”

He laughed, a cruel edge to his voice. “Honestly, we owe it to her. If she hadn’t dragged me to that fertility clinic, I never would’ve met you.”

They didn’t even wait for privacy. Right there in the hospital corridor, they kissed—hungry, triumphant. My stomach twisted with grief and rage.

It hit me like a freight train. This wasn’t an accident. Travis and Madison had orchestrated everything—my pain, my baby’s death, my ruin.

The water, the rushed train ride, Madison’s so-called emergency C-section—it was all a setup. They’d killed us in plain sight, hiding behind medical jargon and public sympathy.

Back in my body, I steeled myself. I wouldn’t let them trick me again. No matter what, I would keep my secret. I would survive, and so would my baby.

Just as I started to breathe easy, thinking I’d avoided disaster, Madison Kelly strolled into the car anyway—earbuds in, gum snapping, eyes locked on me. The game was far from over.

But I wasn’t the same girl she cut open.