He Left Me Pregnant and Grieving—Now He’s the One Begging - Chapter 59: Chapter 59

The voice. The way she spoke.
It was different, and yet somehow, it felt like I had heard it before.
"Who are you?" I demanded again, this time sharper, more forceful, my entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
She tilted her head slightly, as if examining me, as if she was enjoying the way my mind raced to piece together an answer that I already knew deep down.
"You already know the answer to that, don’t you?" she murmured. "But if you need me to say it out loud—Miranda. The name is Miranda."
My breath caught.
"Miranda," I spat, the name burning like acid on my tongue.
She clapped her hands together slowly, her grin widening, like I had just answered a trivia question correctly. "Ah, there it is. Sweet Valeria, always so quick, always so sharp."
A fresh surge of anger coursed through my veins, white-hot and consuming, burning away the last remnants of calm I had left. "You have some nerve showing your face here."
She hummed softly, feigning innocence. "Do I?"
I took a step forward, my voice dropping lower, colder. "You should’ve stayed hidden, Miranda. Whatever game you think you’re playing—"
"Game?" She laughed, "Oh, Valeria, this is so much more than just a game. This is fun."
My nails dug into my palms so hard it almost hurt, my entire body thrumming with the overwhelming urge to rip that smug expression off her face. "Stay the hell away from me."
Her smirk never faltered, her confidence unwavering, and then—
I saw it. Amara. She had stopped moving. Her tiny hands, once busy shaping her little castle, were now clenched into fists in her lap.
Her entire body had gone unnaturally still.
Gone was the carefree laughter, the innocence, the joy.
And in its place was something that twisted my stomach into knots.
Fear. Amara was terrified. She knew this woman.
And whatever memories she had of her, they weren’t good.
A cold wave of fury crashed over me, sharp and unrelenting, and without thinking, I stepped protectively in front of my daughter, my voice a low, dangerous snarl. "Stay the hell away from my daughter."
Miranda’s expression didn’t change. If anything, she looked amused by my reaction, as if she had expected nothing less.
Then, without warning, she took another step forward, closing the distance between us, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned in just enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath against my skin.
"Oh, Valeria," she murmured, her tone sickeningly sweet, dripping with amusement. "You have no idea how much I would love to kill you right now."
My entire body went rigid.
"But where’s the fun in that?" she added, her voice laced with mockery, her words slithering into my ears like poison.
My pulse thundered violently against my ribs.
"Leave," I ground out, barely holding back the urge to tear her apart with my bare hands. "Before I make you."
Miranda only grinned. "We’ll see each other again soon, Valeria."
And just like that— She turned and walked away. As if she had never been there.
As if she hadn’t just cracked open something dark and dangerous inside me.
My hands trembled with barely restrained rage as I turned back to Amara, crouching down beside her, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the storm raging inside me.
"Baby," I whispered, my throat tightening. "Do you know her?"
She hesitated.
Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something—
And then, just as quickly, they pressed shut.
My heart clenched painfully in my chest.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. And I was going to find out exactly what.
***
The moment we stepped into the hotel room, I sensed something was off. Amara had been quiet the entire ride home.
She didn’t run to the bed like she usually did. She didn’t ask for food or a bath. She just stood there, unmoving, her little fingers curling and uncurling as if she was fighting an invisible battle within herself.
Then, without a word, she walked to the desk, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and sat down. She hold hernecklace pendant.
My stomach tightened. Something wasn’t right.
"Amara?" I crouched beside her, brushing her hair back as I tried to meet her gaze. "Baby, what’s wrong?"
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed the pen to the paper, her tiny hand trembling as she wrote something down. I watched as each letter took shape.
When she finally turned the paper toward me, I felt my breath hitch.
“Miranda is my mother. She used me to get close to you. She wants to manipulate your emotions. There’s a bug on me. My ear. And my pendant.”
The words blurred for a second as disbelief and fury clashed inside me.
"Amara—" My voice came out hoarse, but before I could say anything else, she shook her head quickly, panic flashing in her eyes.
Then, with her hands still unsteady, she started writing again.
“No, Mommy. Don’t talk. She can hear us.”
I went completely still, my mind racing.
Miranda had planted a listening device on her.
The realization made my blood run cold. I clenched my jaw, swallowing back the raw anger threatening to explode. Now wasn’t the time for rage. Now was the time for control.
I took a deep breath and picked up another sheet of paper, keeping my movements slow and casual. Amara kept her head down, pretending to draw while I wrote back.
“Where? ”
She hesitated before lifting her hand and touching the back of her ear and point her pendant she was holding.
I forced my expression to remain neutral even as my grip on the pen tightened. A tracking device. A listening and video device. Miranda was keeping tabs on us.
I wanted to tear the damn thing off right then and there, but I couldn’t risk alerting her. I needed to think, to act carefully.
Amara’s tiny fingers clutched the pen as she started writing again.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I wish you were my real mommy...”
The moment I read those words, something inside me cracked wide open.