The next day, I contacted a lawyer to discuss the divorce.

Hannah Wagner, a polished middle-aged woman, listened to my story and calmly analyzed it. "Mr. Tate's behavior falls under emotional neglect and psychological abuse. Although it's hard to legally define as fault, we can fight for your share of the marital assets."

I nodded. "Ms. Wagner, there's one more thing I want."

"What is it?"

"My daughter's sweater."

Hannah paused for a moment, then understood immediately. A trace of sympathy flickered in her eyes. "Ms. Jamison, don't worry. I'll handle this for you."

As I walked out of the law firm, my phone rang. It was Jeremy. I hesitated for a moment but still picked up.

"Where are you?" His voice on the other end was strained with suppressed anger. "You need to come back now. I—"

I cut him off. "Jeremy, I've already hired a lawyer. The divorce agreement will be sent to you soon. If you don't agree, we'll meet in court."

With that, I hung up before he could say more.

Just then, a notification popped up, letting me know that Chloe had posted something new.

The latest post was from half an hour ago, showing a photo of her, Jeremy, and Lily in front of a carousel at an amusement park.

Jeremy was leaning intimately against Chloe while holding Lily in his arms.

The caption read, "Thank you for such a wonderful afternoon."

It seemed like Jeremy was doing just fine. Good for them. Let the three of them live happily ever after.

…

A week later, it was Eliza's death anniversary.

In past years, I spent this day alone. I'd buy a bouquet of her favorite white daisies and go to the cemetery to talk to her.

Jeremy always had an excuse not to come—either a big meeting or an unexpected business trip.

This year, just like any other, I headed to the suburban cemetery clutching a bouquet of daisies.

The photo on her tombstone was taken when she was five. She was wearing the yellow sweater I had knitted for her, and her smile was bright and innocent.

I gently wiped the dust off the photo and spoke softly to her. "Eliza, Mommy's here to see you. I've moved to a new place. It's very quiet. I'm knitting you a new sweater. Once it's done, you won't be cold there…"

My voice caught as I spoke.

Just then, I heard the faint sound of footsteps behind me. I assumed it was a cemetery worker and didn't turn around.

But then a familiar voice called from above me. "Shirley?"

I spun around in shock and saw Jeremy. He looked thinner, with faint dark circles under his eyes and a haggard expression.

What stunned me even more was that he wasn't alone. Chloe and Lily were standing beside him, and Lily was wearing that yellow sweater.

At that instant, my blood ran cold.

"What are you doing here?" My voice shook with anger.

Jeremy seemed oblivious to my reaction. He placed the chrysanthemums Chloe was holding in front of Eliza's tombstone and sighed. "I brought Chloe and Lily to visit Eliza."

Chloe stepped forward and softly said, "Eliza, I'm here to see you. Don't be mad at your dad. He's always thinking of you."

I sneered. "Jeremy, who is she visiting Eliza as? Your friend? Your neighbor?"

I paused, my gaze sharp as a knife. "Or your first love?"

The moment I said that, both Jeremy's and Chloe's expressions changed.

He instinctively stepped forward to shield Chloe and yelled, "Shirley Jamison! What nonsense are you talking about? Don't tarnish Chloe's name here!"

His very defensiveness only served as further proof of the facts.

"Nonsense?" I took a step closer to him. "Wasn't your girlfriend of three years in college named Chloe Stevens? She disappeared after her family had issues, and you were depressed for an entire year because of it. You think I didn't know?

"You married me because I was simple, easy to control, and a woman suitable for marriage. Also, do you think I don't know that you bought the unit Chloe's living in now?"