During my time in the hospital, I neither cried nor made a fuss.

I managed to hobble over on crutches to pay the hospital bills myself.

Dennis sent me some money for living expenses, along with a rare message, “Let me know if you need more.”

It was the first time he directly messaged me. Normally, he'd just deposit the money into my account every month without a word. Even after I'd reached out to him hundreds of times, he wouldn't even reply with a simple emoji. But this time, I declined the payment.

Angry, he called me.

"Estella, you have no right to throw a tantrum," he snapped. "We'll talk about you complaining to my mom when I get back."

An hour later, Dennis brought Priscilla to the hospital for a pregnancy check-up.

Seeing my indifference, he shot me an angry glare and then went off to find Priscilla's doctor.

Priscilla sat by my bed, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well, isn't this perfect? After all those fertility treatments, you still couldn’t keep it. And now you won’t ever be able to have children again!"

She was trying to provoke me.

In the past, I couldn’t stand her. Whenever she showed up, I’d grab her hair and slap her until my anger faded. But now, I felt nothing towards her.

Priscilla grew irritated at the disdainful look I gave her.

When Dennis returned with the test results, she suddenly rammed her belly into the edge of the table. Blood began to drip steadily onto her Victorian-style dress.

She grabbed my hand, which was now bloodstained. "Mrs. Ford, please, don’t hurt my baby! Just because you've lost yours doesn’t mean you should harm mine. This is Dennis’s child! How can you be so cruel?"

I watched her solo performance in silence.

By the time Dennis stormed in, panic-stricken, I still hadn’t wiped the blood from my hands.

Dennis, as always, didn’t trust me.

He slapped me across the face. "Estella, I tolerated your nonsense before, but now you're targeting an unborn child? How could you be so heartless?"

His slap left me dazed. His furious voice echoed in the ringing of my ears.

"Apologize! I want you to get down on your knees and apologize!"

When I didn’t move, Dennis yanked me off the bed and forced my head toward Priscilla.

Apologize? Fine!

I swung my fist into his stomach...

Seeing her writhing in agony on the floor, a smirk tugged at my lips.

“Is this kind of apology satisfactory for you two?”

"Estella! Are you out of your mind?"

Dennis kicked me away, causing the stitches in my abdomen to burst open again...

Only then did he notice the fresh stitches on my abdomen. His eyes showed a hint of fear.

"You just had surgery? Why are there stitches from a miscarriage on your abdomen?"

For ten years, whenever Dennis was frustrated with other women outside, he’d vent it on me.

He never considered my feelings. Over the years, he forced me to terminate seven pregnancies; my uterus was already severely damaged.

This last child had been a result of countless fertility treatments, after which I’d always felt terribly sick. I couldn’t eat or sleep. Although I wasn’t pregnant, the suffering was no less than pregnancy itself.

Dennis stared at my wound for a long time. I thought he might recall the hardships I endured over the years for him.

But then, he laughed coldly.

"Estella, do you really hate me that much? Hate me for making you lose our children?"

"You went so far as to have your uterus removed just to spite me? Fine! You're ruthless!"

Dennis scooped up the frail Priscilla and left without looking back.

Clutching my bleeding wound, I broke out in a cold sweat from the pain.

Does it hurt? Knowing that I can leave the day after tomorrow, it doesn't hurt anymore.

The doctor had just stitched me up and said I was too weak to be discharged, but when he was on leave, I sneaked back home.

In the drawer, wrapped carefully, was our wedding ring.

After ten years of marriage, the only thing Dennis Ford and I truly owned together was that ring.

When Dennis proposed, his face was as cold as ice. I held the ring gingerly in my hands, trying to ignore the whispers from nearby onlookers, “Is he proposing? He looks like he's owed half a million dollars, and the bride even has to put on the ring herself.”

It was the only thing Dennis had ever given me. I wore it every day as if it were a treasure, even in the shower, refusing to take it off. But Dennis disliked seeing the ring on me. He would take it off my finger every night before joining me in bed. By the next morning, I would find it on the floor and slip it back on. Eventually, he stopped bothering.

The day he forced me to apologize to Lewis Hudson, he once again removed the ring himself.

I stared at the ring, lost in thought. This time, I wouldn't put it back on. I left it by Dennis's bedside, only to hear his voice behind me.

“Well! The precious thing you usually treasure so much, why aren’t you wearing it today?” At this hour, he’s usually lost in some other woman’s embrace. Today was unusual.

He was at the mirror, dabbing antiseptic on the scratch marks on his neck. I thought of our wedding day when I ran into a hotel in my Victorian-style dress to catch him cheating. I went wild, slapping the other woman's face. Dennis was just as calm then, methodically tending to his scratches with a cotton swab, speaking with the same nonchalance.

“Next time, why not come earlier? A threesome would be more fun, wouldn’t it?”

For these ten years, no matter how hysterical I became, his attitude toward me was always icy. Now my heart was completely cold, indifferent to everything about him.

I ignored him and took all of my clothes from the closet, placing them into a suitcase. Dennis panicked, grabbing my wrist.

“It’s so late, where are you going?” A flash of unease crossed his face.

With that tug, my wound began to bleed again.

“Just grabbing a change of clothes for the hospital.”

Only then did Dennis relax. He fetched the first aid kit from the bedroom and lifted my shirt, but I pulled away.

“Don’t touch me with your filthy hands!”

Dennis's expression turned dark, and he grasped my hair, kissing me forcefully...

I slapped him hard.

“Estella, you love me, don’t you? You know I’ve never been one for playing hard to get!”

“Stop pretending!”

He came closer once more, and I grabbed a pair of scissors, pressing them to my throat, “Dennis, if you take another step, I’ll end it here and now!”

He panicked, slamming his fist against the door. “Estella, how far are you willing to take this?”

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I wiped away my tears and continued packing my belongings.

Outside, it was just a phone call, and Priscilla Lane obediently came over. They engaged in their usual activities, the sounds making my skin crawl. This time, they were in the living room. Dennis was doing it on purpose, trying to punish me with this. But I no longer cared about him at all.

Dragging my suitcase through the living room, the strange scent made me feel physically sick.

Dennis immediately called out to me, “If you know you were wrong, come over. Otherwise…”

I closed the door gently behind them, their angry voices still echoing faintly as a sharp pang hit my heart.

Dragging my suitcase to the hospital, I passed the area where thick smoke rose constantly—clothes and shoes contaminated by illness were destined to be incinerated there. As I opened the suitcase, each item of clothing fell into the furnace, the flames consuming everything instantaneously.

It was over. Tomorrow, I could finally leave.

Back in my hospital bed, I fell asleep in less than ten minutes, for once not plagued by insomnia. However, my phone buzzed incessantly through the night, waking me too early in the morning.

When I turned it on, a deluge of notifications bombarded me. The top three trending topics were all about me, Dennis, and Priscilla.

"Scandal! CEO caught on set with his mistress!"

"Dennis takes Priscilla home; Estella burns her clothes in fury."

The internet was swarming with comments, denouncing Priscilla as the other woman. Despite Dennis being married for years, Priscilla had knowingly taken on that role, leading to her being blacklisted everywhere.

I skimmed the comments. The insults were from countless anonymous accounts. I could guess her aim with this drastic act—it was to burden Dennis with guilt, ensuring her future as the next Mrs. Ford.

Then Dennis arrived, grabbed my phone for a quick look, and smashed it to the floor.

"Estella, you're ruthless. You knew acting was Priscilla's passion, and now you've annihilated her career. Are you happy?"

"I see why you were so calm last night; you planned to ruin her all along, didn't you?"

"She just had a miscarriage and can't take this kind of pressure. If I hadn't found her, she might've jumped!"

"Come with me… She's on the thirteenth floor of the hospital. You're coming to apologize!"

Apologize?

I couldn't help but laugh incredulously.

"Apologize for what? Was anything online untrue? Isn't Priscilla the homewrecker?"

"She knew you had a family, yet flaunted her actions in front of your wife. Doesn't she deserve criticism?"

Dennis seized my wrist, dragging me out. He didn't hear a word I said; his mind was consumed with thoughts of Priscilla, like some fragile heroine from a tragedy.

Seeing Dennis pull me along, the journalists by the bed sprang to life.

"Mrs. Ford, are the photos online real? Did Dennis and Priscilla really flaunt their relationship in front of you?"

"Mrs. Ford, Priscilla has been the other woman for years; have you been unaware?"

Just as I was about to speak, Dennis leaned in, hissing in my ear, "Estella, I know you have a flight tonight. If you speak up, you know what I'm capable of."

Indeed, with his resources, it wouldn’t matter where I tried to escape.

I laughed bitterly at myself.

Facing the reporters, I declared loudly, "Miss Lane is not the mistress. The photos are all doctored. It was my jealousy that led me to hire people to defame her."

As I finished, Dennis gave me a firm shove. "Apologize!"

Gazing at Priscilla's seemingly delicate face, I bowed deeply. "I'm sorry, Miss Lane. I was wrong from the start, intruding on your relationship."