For months after giving birth, Jane remained in a fog of grief and confusion. Her body had healed, but her soul was hollow. She had waited—prayed—that Job would return, that he would somehow appear and fight for her, for their children, for the love they once swore was unshakable. But he never did. No letter. No messenger. Nothing but a void so deep, she began to wonder if he ever meant the promises he made.
The day her twins were taken from her remains etched in her memory like a wound that refused to close. She had been too weak to fight, too stunned to comprehend. One moment she was a mother, and the next, she was just… empty.
Her family said it was for the best. That someone else would raise them. That it was better this way. They expected her to move on, to forget. But how could a mother forget the weight of her children in her arms? The sound of their tiny cries? The way her heart had stretched to fit them both the moment she saw them?
She tried to obey. Tried to fall in line. But she couldn't. The walls of that ancestral home began to suffocate her. Each sunrise reminded her she was living a life stripped of its meaning. And so, one night, she packed the little she had and fled.
She didn't have a destination—just a mission.
Find them.
No matter how long it took, no matter how hopeless it seemed, she would search every corner of the earth if she had to. She had no power, no money, and no one to call family anymore. But she had her determination. That was all.
She slept in shelters, took cleaning jobs, worked in kitchens, mopped floors, washed laundry for strangers—anything that would get her closer to her goal. She visited orphanages under fake names, claiming she wanted to adopt. She combed through streets, schools, hospitals—always searching for clues, always hoping for a face, a birthmark, a familiar eye shape.
Years passed.
She grew older. Life weighed heavy. Her back ached, her hands grew rough, but her heart never stopped aching.
Even when the world moved on, Jane did not.
Now, lying in that unfamiliar bed in Alden's house, with that cold, arrogant girl downstairs who looked too much like her pain, she felt the stirrings of a truth too cruel to speak aloud.
Jane had woken up early, the way she always did. She tucked in the edges of her bedsheet, straightened her uniform, and stepped out quietly into the hallway. The house was silent, save for the ticking of a distant clock. It was peaceful—for a moment.
She moved room to room, cleaning with practiced grace, polishing surfaces until they gleamed, sweeping away every speck of dust. This job, though new, wasn't unfamiliar. What was unfamiliar was the quiet dread that clung to her every time she heard Kara's voice or caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of her eye. There was something unsettling about that girl… too sharp, too cold. Too familiar.
By mid-morning, Jane was in the main sitting area dusting the lower shelves when she heard the deliberate shuffle of feet behind her. She didn't need to turn. She already knew who it was.
Then came the first bowl—thud—tossed onto the marble floor, leftover rice scattering. Jane paused, looked at it, and silently turned back to her work. The second plate followed, splashing soup against the freshly polished floor. Jane didn't flinch. Her eyes just flickered, tired.
Kara stood with her arms folded, watching, expecting a reaction, waiting for Jane to raise her voice, to argue, to give her the excuse she needed.
But Jane said nothing. She calmly picked up the broken plates and returned with a mop. She refused to give Kara what she wanted.
That only infuriated her more.
Later that day, Jane was walking through the corridor carrying a glass of steaming water from the kitchen, meant for Alden's herbal tea. She wasn't expecting Kara to come barreling around the corner like a storm. They collided—Kara's doing—and the glass fell with a sharp crack, the hot water splashing across Jane's arm and legs.
Kara shrieked as if she had been the one burned.
"You stupid woman! Look what you've done!" she shouted, drawing the attention of nearby staff.
Jane tried to apologize softly, rubbing her scalded skin. "I didn't see you coming, I—"
"Liar!" Kara screamed, her voice echoing through the hall. Then, with rage clouding her eyes, she slapped Jane hard across the face.
The impact stung, but Jane didn't cry out. She simply staggered slightly.
"You think I don't see what you're doing?" Kara shouted. "Trying to play the innocent? Trying to trap my father into keeping you here? You're disgusting!"
Jane raised her eyes, full of pain, but not hatred. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Kara slapped her again.
Then again.
By the time the third slap landed, the other workers had rushed in, wide-eyed and speechless. A few tried to intervene, but Kara pushed them aside.
"This woman is cursed!" Kara shouted, her voice cracking now, hysteria rising. "I won't let her ruin this home! I won't—"
"Kara, that's enough!" one of the cooks yelled, her hands trembling.
Kara spun around, panting like a wild thing, her eyes red, her hands shaking.
Jane stood frozen, the side of her face swollen, eyes glassy, and body trembling from the scald and the shame.
From somewhere deep within Kara, the scream she wanted to let out rose, hot and maddening—but she bit it down.
She stormed off, leaving the hallway in shocked silence.