Three Knives to Break My Chains

My adoptive sister, Ivy, was abused barely a week after her wedding. The moment I heard, I rushed over to protect her.

Instead, she locked me in the house with her husband, who was in a blind, drunken rage. He stabbed me three times before the police arrived.

After the emergency surgery, my recovery was a nightmare.

Seeing Ivy triggered violent panic attacks, my chest seizing so hard that my halfhealed stitches tore open again and again.

My husband, Connor, stayed by my bedside day and night, strictly banning Ivy from my sight.

But two months later, when I was finally discharged and walked through our front door, the first thing I saw was Connor holding my weeping sister in a tight embrace.

Seeing me tremble, the familiar panic clawing at my throat, Connor stepped forward to block me. "Megan, Ivy is so fragile. It’s been months.

You have to let it go." I stared at her, and the terror took over. My hands shook violently, clawing blindly at the air, accidentally scratching his neck.

He winced, his face hardening. "Enough! You lived in a filthy barn for fifteen years, sleeping with the livestock.

You weren't this fragile then." He sneered. "Are you really going to use your sob story to manipulate everyone again?" I froze, staring at the man in front of me.

My mouth opened, then closed. I couldn't find the words. Maybe it was time to stop begging for scraps of love.

Maybe this was the end. … Seeing me stand there in silence, a flicker of panic crossed Connor’s face. "Megan, I..." He took a step toward me. "I didn't mean it like that." "I just meant...

Ivy’s been sheltered her whole life. She doesn't have your resilience." Resilience. What a polite word for survival. She was sheltered. I remember my own childhood.

My foster parents treated me like a farmhand from the moment I could walk.

While other kids did homework, I was mucking out stables, hauling feed, and sleeping in the drafty, ammoniasoaked barn as punishment.

The dark, the smell of manure, the terrifying scuttling of rats—those nights are branded into my bones. Then the police came.

A weeping couple—my biological parents—pulled me into their arms. That was the day I met Ivy.

I learned the truth later: Ivy's biological parents had switched us at birth in the hospital, driven by a sick, desperate superstition that the more I suffered, the more blessed their own daughter’s life would be.

I still remember Ivy kneeling before me on our first day in that grand house, her tears dripping onto my bare feet. "Please, don't make them send me back.

I'm so scared..." My heart softened. I begged my parents to let her stay. When I met Connor in college, I didn't know how to handle love.

I told him my darkest secrets, hoping to scare him away. But he just held me, his eyes wet with tears, and whispered, "I'll protect you, Megan." For years, he was my anchor.

He stayed awake during my worst nightmares, pulling me back to reality. But then we got married. He met Ivy. And slowly, imperceptibly, the tide began to turn.

I looked up at Connor. "Ivy’s sheltered life was paid for with my blood." The fleeting guilt on his face evaporated. "Not this again," he sighed, sinking into the sofa. "I know you suffered.

I know she got your life. But how is that Ivy's fault? She was a victim too." He never used to say things like that.

Before he met her, he couldn't even stand the mention of her name. “I hate anyone who stole your life,” he’d say. Now, he sat beside her, casually rewriting history.

Seeing the tension rise, Ivy slid off the couch and fell to her knees. "Megan, I was so scared that night.

I didn't mean to lock the door." Her tears fell right on cue. "If you want, take a knife and stab me ten times.

Just forgive me." I recoiled, my heart hammering. "Get up, Ivy." Whenever she knelt, bad things happened.

The last time she knelt, she was begging me to save her from Derek, her abusive husband.

I had rushed over, trying to shield her, only for her to push me inside and lock the door from the outside, leaving me to face a madman with a blade.

Connor immediately pulled her to her feet. "Megan, haven't you punished her enough? She's your sister. I'm only trying to help her so you don't live with the guilt later.

Just show some grace." Grace. I looked at the subtle, protective way his hand rested on her shoulder.

A cold laugh escaped my throat. "If you want me to be so generous, why don't I just give you my husband, too?" They froze.

Connor’s hand slipped from her arm, and he stepped closer to me. "So that's what this is.

Megan, are you seriously jealous of your own sister?" I pushed his hands away. "The moment she locked me in that room to die, she stopped being my sister." I reached into my bag and pulled out a business card, throwing it on the coffee table. "This is Wesley’s card.

He’s a toptier divorce attorney. He’s booked out for years, but if you mention my name, he’ll take your case." Ivy looked at Connor, biting her lip, and shook her head.

Connor picked up the card. "Megan, stop pressuring her. She's terrified of Derek." Ivy shrank behind him, clutching his arm. "I... I can't do it..." I sighed. "Fine.

If you're too scared, I'll have Wesley file your divorce petition when he files my assault charges against him." Silence fell over the room.

They both avoided my gaze. "What are you hiding from me?" I asked, a chill running down my spine. Connor stammered, "Megan, he’s still her husband.

If we involve the police, it’ll ruin Ivy's reputation. So..." They hadn't called the police.

Everything Connor had told me in the hospital about Derek being in custody was a lie designed to keep me quiet. "Megan, you're strong," Connor said, stepping in front of Ivy, shielding her the way he used to shield me. "You’ve recovered.

Let’s not be vindictive." My chest felt like it was being hollowed out with a rusty spoon.

Unable to stand another second, I turned and walked into my bedroom, locking the door behind me. At 1:00 AM, Connor slipped into the room.

He knelt by my bed, taking my hand. "Megan, let the anger go.

Bitterness won't heal you." He gently traced the scar on my arm, a tear falling onto my palm. "I wish I could have taken those blows for you." I pulled my hand back, wiping it on the sheet.

Maybe he’s just confused, a desperate, foolish voice whispered inside me. Maybe he’s just caught in the middle. But then, a soft, muffled sob drifted from the guest room.

Without a moment's hesitation, Connor stood up and rushed out. He didn't return for the rest of the night. In that long, dark silence, everything became clear.

After our parents died, they left everything to me. I had pampered Ivy, wanting to shield her from the harshness of the world, thinking we were all we had left.

Instead, they had both treated me like a fool.

When dawn broke, I called Wesley. "It looks like Ivy won't be needing that divorce lawyer," I said, my voice steady. "But I do." Connor was a marryin husband.

When we met, he was the handsome, popular college senior. Everyone thought he came from money, but only I knew he was an orphan raised by his grandmother in a trailer park.

I protected his pride, hid his past, and had my father set him up with a comfortable corporate job.

When my parents passed and I took over the family firm, I promoted him to General Manager.

But no matter how much I gave him, in his eyes, I was always the dirty girl from the barn who relied on his charity to survive. "Hurts to watch someone else take what’s yours, doesn’t it?" Ivy’s voice shattered my thoughts.

She was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, a cruel, mocking smirk on her face.

My hands started to shake. "Connor!" Ivy stepped into the room, flashing her perfect dimples. "Calling for him? Don't worry, I'm not that stupid.

I sent him out on an errand." She placed a cold hand on my shoulder. "Remember when you came back and stole my life? My parents?" I shook her hand off. "Stole?

They were my parents." She smiled, walked over to my nightstand, and slid open the drawer, pulling out a halfempty box of Trojans. "Did you even notice these were missing?

They're actually quite nice." My stomach lurched. "You have no idea how much he despises you," she whispered, leaning down. "He says you’re too needy, always whining about your past.

And..." She covered her nose, laughing. "He says you still smell like manure. It makes him sick to touch you." "Why did you have to come back, Megan?

If you hadn't, Connor would be mine.

This house, the company—everything would be mine." I squeezed my hands into fists. "If you want him so badly, take him." She lunged, her fingers clamping tightly around my neck. "Are you bragging to me?" Then she let go, laughing as her hand drifted down to her stomach. "Connor is such an idiot.

He refused to divorce you. That's why I had to marry Derek—to hide the fact that I was carrying Connor's baby." I stared at her, paralyzed.

She reached into the closet and tossed a medical sheet onto the bed. It was a pregnancy report. Four months.

Four months ago, when our company was struggling and I was drinking myself to a stomach ulcer to secure clients, Connor had missed my emergency hospitalization. "You wondered why he didn't show up that night, didn't you?

He was in my bed." The room spun. I leaned over and threw up. The pieces finally fell into place.

Why he protected her, why he wept when she married Derek, why he asked about her safety first while I lay bleeding in the ER. A buzz from my phone broke the silence.

It was a text from Wesley with a draft of the divorce agreement. Without looking at Ivy, I packed a small bag and headed to the clinic for my followup appointment.

While walking out of the doctor's office, Connor blocked my path. "Megan, stop this nonsense." "Why must you always threaten me? First with your tragic past, now with divorce.

Why can't you be independent like Ivy?" I looked at him, feeling a profound emptiness. My trauma, which I thought he had helped me carry, was just leverage to him.

I forwarded him the PDF. "I'm not threatening you. We're done." He stared at his phone, his face paling.

He grabbed my wrist. "Megan, look, I know I've been distant lately..." His phone rang. It was Ivy. Whatever she said made his face go white.

He let go of my arm and ran toward the exit without a single word of explanation. As his figure disappeared, Ivy stepped out from behind a pillar in the lobby. "See?

You're nothing to him." "One mention of a stomachache, and he leaves you behind." Her voice was dripping with venom. "Too bad you're a barren hen." She pointed a manicured finger at my stomach. "Oh, I remember.

Connor told me you used to steal birth control pills when you were a kid because you were afraid of the neighbor's son raping you.

You ruined your own body." A loud ringing filled my ears. The neighbor’s son, who used to corner me in the dark.

The sheer, paralyzing terror that had made me swallow those pills in secret. I had trusted Connor with my deepest shame. And he had turned it into pillow talk.

Before I could breathe, a man in a black jacket stepped out from the shadows. It was Derek. The man who had stabbed me was standing right there, free and smiling.

The trauma hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't breathe. I fell to the floor, thrashing wildly, screaming as the lobby swam around me.

Bystanders gathered, pointing and whispering. Ivy stepped forward, her heel pinning my hand to the cold tile. "Don't worry, sister.

I'll make sure you get a nice, quiet room in the asylum. And I'll take good care of Connor and your inheritance." My vision faded.

With my last ounce of strength, I pressed the emergency bypass button on my phone. Connor rushed back in, shouting at Ivy, "Is this your 'little lesson'?

You went too far!" In those final seconds, as my vision narrowed to a tiny, dark pinprick, I saw the green "location sent" bubble on my screen.

I let out a ragged breath and let the darkness take me.