Carolyn accidentally liked an article criticizing her husband's mistress’s poor acting.

The very next day, photos from her youth flooded the internet—images of her dressed provocatively, fawning over wealthy bosses while serving drinks.

When the news reached her, Carolyn’s mind exploded with a deafening roar. An instant, bone-deep chill swept through her body.

Fingers trembling, she called Carl, desperate to ask what on earth was going on. He answered only to say hurriedly, “I’m busy,” and hung up.

Every message she sent him afterwards vanished without a trace.

Carolyn refused to give up. On her fifty-fifth attempt, Carl finally picked up.

His breathing on the other end was heavy, muffled, feverish.

“Can’t you bother my assistant with your problems? Must I clean up your messes every single time?”

Carolyn was taken aback. She drew a sharp breath, hesitated, then finally asked, “Did you post those photos online?”

Carl scoffed. Through the receiver came the rhythmic, unmistakable creak of a bedframe.

He hadn’t stopped—if anything, his movements grew more forceful, drawing a soft gasp from the person beneath him.

“Carl… is that your wife? Does she hate me? Why did she sic those trolls on me?” The voice was fragmented, nearly lost to ragged breathing.

“What if I did post them?” Carl’s tone turned icy. “Carolyn, if you don’t want your mother on her deathbed to see those photos, you’d better behave.”

The sounds from the call continued, but they weren’t for Carolyn anymore.

“You only need me to like you. I’ve already punished Carolyn for you, little darling. Don’t be angry, okay?”

Their heavy, intertwined breathing and stifled moans pierced her like a dagger, brutally twisting in her heart.

“Good girl, relax. Let me…”

Then, all sound cut off, plunging into silence. The monotonous dial tone severed every torturous image in her mind.

Carolyn’s heart sank. Her face turned ashen; her spirit plummeted.

A flood of buried memories washed over her.

Seven years ago, she had paved Carl’s way, glass after glass of alcohol. She had prostrated herself at men’s feet to fund his education, to scrape together his startup capital.

When he proposed, Carl told her, “I’ll become successful—famous. I’ll make everyone envy you. I’ll love you for a lifetime.”

Back then, her heart brimmed with devotion. She never imagined that sincerity would prove so fleeting, crumbling less than a month into their marriage.

Every promise now lay like shattered glass, reflecting her own foolish image back at her.

They had moved from a five-hundred-dollar basement to the elite Hillside Villa. Everyone said she’d hit the jackpot. Only she knew the hardship behind it all.

She’d stayed up with him until dawn. During the toughest times, trapped between her mother’s exorbitant ICU bills and Carl’s tuition, she’d shed her dignity—enduring the oily, repulsive hands of men roaming her back and waist.

The bitter days were finally over. But her husband had changed.

Suddenly, the sharp screech of tires braking pierced the air outside.

The next second, the door flew open. Dorothy stormed in, furious.

Immediately, she grabbed a fistful of Carolyn’s hair. “It’s all over the city! I’ll be the laughingstock of every society matron! You shameless, promiscuous slut!”

Pursing her lips, Dorothy looked Carolyn up and down as if she were garbage. “What a curse on this family, to bring a jinx like you into our home.”

Carolyn found it laughable. “Mom, that’s not what you said back then. You called me your family’s lucky star. You said marrying me was your greatest fortune.”

Dorothy’s face flashed with embarrassment before smoothing back into its usual haughty mask.

“You did sacrifice a lot for this family back then. But let’s not forget—you’ve also enjoyed years as a wealthy wife. And all this time, you still haven’t given the family a son.”

She leaned forward. “And that terminally ill mother of yours—where would she be now without Carl?”

Carolyn said nothing. The house was so vast and quiet she could hear the clock ticking.

“No man can stand having pictures like that of his wife floating around. Your worlds are completely different now. You can’t help him anymore. Carl’s a CEO. His ties to the Dylan Group heiress grow stronger every day. Do you really want to drag him down?”

Carolyn’s hands clenched.

The chasm between her and Carl was already too wide to cross.

Her very existence was probably just a stain on his polished résumé.

Silence stretched. She didn’t even notice when Dorothy left.

Opening the bedside drawer, she took out the small-carat diamond ring.

Carl hadn’t worn it once since their wedding. She’d asked him about it, in the beginning.

He’d said it wasn’t appropriate for client meetings—such a modest ring might raise doubts about the company’s stability.

He’d already had someone else back then.

The lock turned.

Carl came home looking tired. His eyes immediately found the angry red mark on her cheek. His handsome brow furrowed, and his thumb brushed gently over the bruise.

His jaw tightened. Without a word, he turned to fetch an ice pack, wrapped it carefully, and pressed it to her face.

“There now, don’t be angry, all right? She’s the daughter of a major client’s CEO. This project is vital for me. You’re making things difficult. I was just humoring her.”

He held her close, apologizing softly.

She closed her eyes in his embrace, breathing in the unfamiliar perfume on his clothes. The truth couldn’t have been clearer.

“Fine,” Carolyn sighed. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

She seemed to forgive him.

For the next few days, he canceled every social engagement.

He moved around the kitchen in an apron that never quite fit, though his cooking swung from too salty to too bland.

The house no longer felt cold and empty. The kitchen smelled of life; the bed held another’s warmth. He stayed by her side almost constantly—a silent form of compensation.

Late in their bedroom, the air grew thick with careful heat. They held each other close, their kisses soft and slow.

“Carolyn,” Carl murmured, his hands tracing the curves of her body. “Let’s have a baby.”

“How?”

She frowned slightly.

In the next moment, his large warm hands gripped her waist, turning her onto the sofa. Their clothes seemed to vanish. His hot breath brushed her neck, sending a shiver through her.

Then Carl’s phone rang.

Karen’s tearful voice came through the speaker. “Carl, it’s my fault. I won’t see my ex again. I didn’t know he still had feelings for me. Please don’t be mad. Don’t punish me by having a baby with Carolyn—it would break my heart.”

Carolyn’s breath froze. Each word was like a red-hot needle, driving straight into her chest.

She was forced awake.

All the tenderness, the companionship, the afterglow—it was all a performance. Carefully staged by Carl. Meant only to provoke another woman he loved.

Carl stood up with practiced ease. “My assistant. Must be urgent. I need to head to the office.”

The door closed with a heavy thud. The room fell into dead silence, broken only by the roar of a sports car starting outside.

Her own phone rang urgently. Carolyn hesitated, then answered.

“I saw what happened online. Carl doesn’t deserve your kindness. You shouldn’t let your talent rot in a gilded cage. Still not ready to come with me?”

“I’m coming. Just give me a little time. There are still a few things I need to wrap up.”

“Good. I’ll arrange a top agent and a writing residency for you in Paris.”

Carolyn entered the immigration office with her documents in hand.

“Your application will take about a month to process, Ms Carolyn,” the officer told her. “It’ll go into effect automatically after that.”

When the official seal came down on her passport, a strange calm finally settled over her.

Carl hadn’t been home for days.

She was packing her suitcase when the hospital called.

“Mrs Carolyn? Your mother says she misses you,” the nurse said. “She’d like a visit.”

Carolyn hailed a cab right away.

Her mother was having a good day, relatively speaking. She’d even asked the nurse to brush her hair.

Seeing her, the dark clouds in Carolyn’s heart lifted a little. She walked over, took the comb from the nurse, and gently worked through the sparse strands left by the chemo.

Afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, warm and quiet.

“Where’s Carl been lately?” her mother asked softly. “Did you two have a fight?”

“Mom, no, of course not.” Carolyn laughed lightly, though the words tasted like ash. “He’s just swamped at work. Big project.”

She couldn’t let her mother worry.

Her mother sighed. “You worked yourself to the bone for him back then—even drank yourself sick. Thank goodness he made something of himself. Things are finally looking up.”

Lost in reminiscence, Natalie didn’t notice the bitterness that flickered across her daughter’s face.

“Mom, I need to use the restroom,” Carolyn said quickly, already turning away before she gave herself away.

In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and stared at the dark circles under her eyes. Her mind drifted back to when she first met Carl.

He’d transferred in during their senior year. The teacher seated him right behind her. He fell for her at first sight and pursued her with single-minded intensity.

She once mentioned craving buns from the north side of town. From then on, Carl woke at three every morning, braved the snow on his bike, and rode from the south end—a three-hour round trip—just to hand her steaming buns before homeroom.

When her grades slipped, he stayed up three nights straight, annotating every problem on three hundred of her practice tests with detailed solutions.

Thanks to his relentless tutoring, they got into the same university.

Then the nightmare hit. Carl’s father got hooked on gambling, lost Carl’s entire tuition, and racked up massive debts. Chased by loan sharks, he fell from a building and died.

That night, Carl told her he couldn’t go to university with her. He had to work in a factory to pay off the debts.

Carolyn couldn’t bear to see him throw his future away. A talent like his deserved more.

So she spent that summer working hostess jobs, drinking with clients, earning enough to cover Carl’s living expenses for four years.

A knock on the bathroom door snapped her back.

“Carolyn? Are you alright in there? You’ve been a while.”

She dried her face and stepped out. “I’m fine, Mom. Just got a call. I should head back—need to make dinner for Carl.”

Before she left, her mother said, “Invite Carl over for a meal tomorrow. It’s been too long.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” She fought back the lump in her throat, hoping her mother wouldn’t see how pale she’d gone.

Back in the cold, empty house, she texted Carl: *Need to talk. Can you come home?*

He replied instantly: *Okay.*

He walked in at three in the morning, the air around him heavy with a woman’s perfume.

Seeing Carolyn on the couch, he said, “My assistant mentioned you visited Mom today. How is she?”

“She’s good. Says she hasn’t seen you in ages and wants to have a meal together. Are you free?”

“Sure. I haven’t visited her in a while either. I know a quiet private kitchen in the suburbs—the food’s light, good for patients. We’ll go there. Tomorrow evening work?”

She hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. She gave a small nod.

Carl looked at his wife’s gentle profile, her hair loosely tied back, a few strands falling lazily against her neck. A wave of tenderness washed over him.

He leaned in with a soft smile, aiming for her lips. Carolyn instinctively turned her head away. To cover the motion, she reached up to help him out of his coat.

“I’ll run you a bath. You should get cleaned up.” Almost pushing him toward the bathroom, she wanted to avoid any further contact.

As water began to run inside, she picked up the coat he’d just shed and tossed it into the laundry hamper.

A folded piece of paper slipped from the pocket. Her heart plummeted when she caught sight of the familiar hospital letterhead.

It was her mother’s hospital.

A cold dread gripped her. Had something happened to her mother’s condition?

Hands trembling, Carolyn unfolded the paper.

The words **‘Early Pregnancy Diagnosis Certificate’** stabbed into her vision.

And in the patient name field, printed clearly: **Karen Karen.**