After the car accident, one of the Johnson sons was dead and the other gravely injured.

When my devout, devoted husband woke up in the hospital, he called out, "Dorothy."

He claimed that his body then held the soul of his brother, Elias Johnson. I went mad, calling doctors, priests, anyone I could, desperate to bring my husband back.

It was not until that night that I overheard his conversation with our son:

"Father, you've loved aunt for years. You even kept yourself chaste in your private prayer room, waiting. Now, finally, you can be with her openly."

The man in the bed reached out to stroke our son's hair.

"If it weren't to stop your mother from destroying her relationship, I wouldn't have married her."

I hid in the shadows, still reeling from their words, when I saw what happened after our son left.

The husband I had always known, icy, composed, and ascetic to maintain his devout faith for seven years, was then holding his sister-in-law close on that tiny hospital bed, sharing a warmth meant for lovers.

The next day, I applied for Jim Johnson's death certificate and burned our marriage certificate.

At his grand wedding, I climbed aboard the helicopter sent to fetch me.

However, my once-cold husband went mad, chasing after us down several streets, desperate and unhinged.

Tracy Baker, sprawled on the bed, caught sight of me peeking through the curtains.

She whispered to the man behind her, "Elias."

His voice grew harsh. "Call me Jim."

With a smug grin, she turned to me, her lips playfully shaping the name Jim over and over.

The wild man on the bed was nothing like the distant, cold man who had rejected me day after day for the past seven years.

I clamped my hands over my ears, but the groans from the bed sliced through, stabbing at my heart.

All through the night, until the first light of dawn, they did not stop. Only then did the two of them sink into a heavy sleep.

I stumbled out of the room, my body numb and frozen.

When I got back to the Johnsons', my son was at the breakfast table. He looked up at my haunted face.

With a flat voice, he said, "You're always so gloomy. It's irritating. Where were you last night?"

He was the spitting image of Jim Johnson.

"After Dad passed, you should've just stayed put, not gallivanting around, getting snapped by cameras and tarnishing our family's reputation."

Since he started talking, he had been right by my side in the prayer room, picking up a serious tone that was way beyond his years.

I used to find his seriousness kind of cute, like he was playing grown-up. Today, I saw something else in his eyes—disdain for me.

A wave of sadness washed over me. Seven years as a mom, and I felt like a total failure.

Numbly, I said, "I came back for some documents, to sort out the death certificate."

His face lit up, his voice suddenly lively. "Mom, you've finally seen the light!"

I managed a weak smile. "Seeing the light? What good does it do? You've all made up your mind."

He looked down, a guilty shadow crossing his face. "No matter what, you're still part of the Johnson family."

I could not help letting out a scornful chuckle.

Seven years back, when I first tagged along with Elias Johnson to join the Johnson family, I was over the moon.

Even after that night, when I drank Tracy's fiery wine and woke up feverish in Jim's bed, I was thrilled.

I thought it was destiny giving us a second chance.

Jim's eyes cut through me like ice. "Elias is Tracy's, and you think you can just sneak your way to the top?"

Even after he put a ring on it, he never warmed up to me again.

His voice was calm, almost detached. "You carry the Johnson name. That's all you'll ever have."

Then I understood. He despised me for stealing his shot at true love.

Marrying me was his last act of loyalty to Tracy.

In a twisted act of revenge, he moved into the prayer room the very next day after our wedding.

For seven long years, no matter how I poked and prodded, I could not thaw his frozen, faithful heart.

After sorting out the death certificate, I got a black-and-white memorial photo of Jim developed on the side.

When I returned to the Johnson estate, I bumped into Jim escorting Tracy home.

Trailing behind them were two children with cheeks like apples, the picture-perfect family.

The bashful look Tracy gave me when she saw me felt like a slap in the face. "Elias can't bear to be apart from me. He hates the hospital, so we're home for his recovery."

They were all googly-eyed until I nearly gagged. Only then did they finally think to ask, "Where did you run off to?"

I waved the black-and-white photo in my hand, grinning from ear to ear. "Just getting some photos of Jim."

Their expressions cycled through a whole slideshow of emotions when they saw the picture.

Jim's scowl was so intense it could scare a ghost. "Dorothy! What is this all about? Lately, you're either at the doctor's or confiding in a priest, and now you're fussing with old photos."

"Elias, Jim's gone. They can't possibly refuse us a funeral, can they?"

"When is Jim's funeral? When do we get the ashes?" I peppered him with questions.

He was speechless.

Just then, my son, who had been lurking behind me, lunged forward with a burst of energy. He shoved me to the ground, grabbed the photo, and ripped it to shreds, sobbing, "I can't look at Daddy's picture. I just can't!"

Jim, witnessing the scene, wrapped his son in a tight embrace and said icily, "Dorothy, this is the last time I will put up with your drama. One more stunt, and you will be packing your bags and leaving the Johnsons for good."

The boy in his arms shot Jim a triumphant glance, which he returned with a nod of approval.

Little did they know, from where I stood, I caught every detail of their silent conspiracy.

Like father, like son, they were a perfect pair in their deceitful performance.

However, I was done with the Johnsons too.

Ignoring the sting of the scrapes on my hands, I stumbled back to my room, turned it upside down, and found an old phone card hidden in a compartment of my suitcase.

I swapped the card, powered up the phone, and was instantly flooded by a deluge of messages.

I called the only number saved. "Yves, I want to come home."

The voice on the other end was raspy, tinged with disbelief. "Dorothy?"

"You have gotten so daring, vanishing without a word. I have been worried sick, searching for you all these years, terrified—"

I cut him off. "Yves, I am in Twilight City. Come get me. I am ready to come home."

"All right. I will swing by Twilight City to get you in three days."

I ended the call and sat there on the bed, staring into space for what felt like forever.

The only thing hanging on the wall was our wedding photo, the only one of Jim and me together.

For seven years, I could not figure it out.

Why had the boy I saved, the one who used to sit by the river with me, sharing drinks and laughter, turned so icy?

The photo frame suddenly came apart, and a piece of photo paper slipped out.

I picked it up. It was Tracy's half of the wedding photo.

Her smile was radiant. Shaking, I laid her picture over mine.

It was a perfect match. So that was why he had wanted that photo developed.

On the back, it read:

In this life, there is no one else who deserves to stand by my side but you.

My tears fell freely.

I gripped the photo, desperate to confront Jim and demand the truth.

Without thinking, I stormed into the prayer room.

The emptiness caught me off guard.

That was when it hit me. He was no longer the devout believer he once was.

I tore through the prayer room in a frenzy, and when I lifted the kneeling pad, I found a hidden stash of Tracy's photos.

"Tsk."

"You found out."

Tracy stood behind me, her gaze mocking.

"You knew all this time." I stared at her, stunned.

She let out a scornful laugh. "What are you talking about? Jim acting as Elias, or these photos?"

She gloated, "He went to great lengths to get these photos, but I was the one who took them for him."

"His mark is on every single one."

She looked down at me as if I were a joke.

A joke who, for years, dressed in all kinds of seductive outfits for the prayer room, only to be heartlessly kicked out every single time.

"Every time you flirt and walk away, he turns on the photos to release it."

My stomach churned.

She was all smiles. I finally snapped, charging at her to throw a punch, but she knocked me down with a swift shove.

Twirling a lighter in her hand, she teased, "So, if the prayer room goes up in flames, do you think Jim will come save you, or…"

"And what about these pictures?"

With those words, she flicked the lighter, set the handkerchief ablaze, tossed it at my feet, then spun around and slammed the door shut.

The prayer room was a wooden annex of the mansion, and the fire took hold fast.

I scrambled to my feet, yanking at the door, but it was locked tight from the outside.

Smoke billowed, stinging my eyes shut, and I stumbled back to a corner untouched by flames.

Just when I was sure I was a goner, the door burst open, and Tracy and Jim barreled in.

I looked at him, begging with my eyes, but when Jim saw me crumpled on the floor, his gaze flickered.

The kneeling pad was nearly swallowed by fire, and without a second thought, he turned his back on me. Watching him walk away, my hope shattered.

Tracy yelled out, "Elias, save Dorothy!"

She stamped her foot, frustration clear, and dove back into the inferno.

As she got close, I caught her sneer. Then she slapped herself hard across the face.

The sound of the slap rang out, and she hit the floor. I could not believe my eyes.

Jim heard the commotion, spun around, scooped up Tracy, and shot me a poisonous look. "If you're so keen on staying in the fire, be my guest!"

He then calmly instructed the servants, who were scrambling with buckets, "Forget the fire. She'll let you know when she's ready to come out. Then you can save her."

I closed my eyes with a wry smile.

Seven years together, and it was nothing compared to a handful of photos.

…

However, I did not die.

When I opened my eyes again, the sharp scent of disinfectant stung my nose.

I locked eyes with my son, his gaze red and raw. A mix of relief and regret washed over me.

"Dorothy, if you're going to die, do it somewhere quiet, on your own. Don't take anyone else down with you!"

Jim's eyes were laced with red veins, betraying his weariness.

"Tracy tried to save you out of the goodness of her heart, and you nearly got her killed. Do you get that?"

I could not help but let out a mocking laugh.

"What's so funny? She's still out cold from the shock, right over there. You're going to owe her an apology!"

My son's voice wavered with tears. "Mom, you were playing with danger, and when Aunt tried to save you, she got knocked down. You really need to say sorry."

I burst into laughter, unable to contain it any longer. "Elias, Alan, were you really just waiting by my bed to lecture me about apologies?"

He paused, caught off guard. Just as he was about to reply, the nurse announced that Tracy had come to.

Father and son dashed to the next room as if their lives depended on it.

I closed my eyes slowly, tears trailing down my face.

Three days can feel like an eternity, I mused.

Before I could open my eyes again, Jim was lifting me up. "Tracy's in tears, blaming herself for your injuries. Go and clear things up!"

As the fire raged, timbers tumbled down, and I instinctively reached out to shield myself.

He grabbed my burned arm tightly, and I winced, recoiling from the pain.

He scowled. "What's your problem?"

I looked up at him, my eyes filled with sorrow. "Elias, I'm not causing trouble. I just wanted to go where Jim went. Is that too much to ask?"

His grip softened, a flicker of compassion in his eyes.

Then we heard Tracy's daughter, her voice laced with panic. "It's awful. Mom's passed out from crying."

He started pulling me frantically, not caring as the bandages unraveled and my wounds scraped against the ground.

He dragged me to Tracy's bedside, where they commanded me to stand. "If Tracy doesn't wake up, you're going to stand there until she sees you and forgives you."

The burns on my hands and feet stung fiercely, but that pain was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.

Tracy lay on the bed, unconscious, her eyelids fluttering.

I bent over and yelled with a heavy heart, "Tracy, I'm sorry!"

My voice echoed so loudly that onlookers in the hallway gathered to see what was happening. Tracy woke up, more out of necessity than desire.

I looked up numbly. "Can I go back to my bed for treatment now, Elias?"

He just stared at the bloodstains on the floor, his brow furrowed, silent. My son had already been giving me looks of disdain.

With Tracy's smug eyes on me, I used all my strength to leave the room.

At the doorway, I could still hear her whining to him, "Dorothy's injuries look so bad. They're scaring me."

Because of her act, I ended up in the general ward downstairs, since there were no beds left.

They put me in the hallway of the ward.

All through the night, I lay there, listening to the coughs echoing down the corridor, enduring the searing pain, waiting for the morning light.