When my mother falls gravely ill, my husband, who has asthenospermia, promises to help me think of something. So, I give him all my savings.

Despite being pregnant, I get a part-time job doing DoorDash deliveries. However, I see my husband when I pass by a realtor's office. He's supposed to be hard at work like me, but he's buying a place for his childhood friend. He even has his arm around her.

"That old hag thinks I only earn that little each month. Don't worry, Yvette. I only give her 10% of what I earn. The rest goes to you!"

I hold back my tears and grab the hem of his shirt, wanting to borrow some money for my mother's treatment. However, he shoves me away irritably. "I give you 2000 dollars a month! Isn't that enough? Have you spent it all on useless things?"

He leaves without another look back, ignoring my cries and pleas. He also kicks me, effectively murdering the child he's always dreamed of having.

Later, he grovels at my feet and begs for forgiveness. It's too bad I've already given up on him. I don't want him anymore.

"What's wrong with you? You're so late that my meal is already ice cold!"

It was pouring heavily when I had been stuck in traffic during peak hours, accidentally going over the delivery time by a single minute.

Enraged, the customer dumped the entire meal on me.

All I could do was force a smile and apologize while offering compensation.

The moment I walked out of the apartment building, I was taken aback when I saw my husband, who should've been working just as hard as I was, lavishly spending money on a new apartment for his recently divorced childhood sweetheart.

"Good thing I'm smart enough to tell her that I only make 2,000 dollars a month when really, I make 20,000," Hans Walker said. "Luckily, she's dumb as a rock and actually bought it. She even handed all her savings to me. That's why I could afford to buy you this place.

"Don't worry, Yvie. I promise you'll have a share in my paycheck every month."

Blushing, Yvette Lloyd buried her head in Hans' chest and murmured, "Hans, you're the best."

Hans beamed with pride. "We grew up together, after all. Even though you're divorced now, I'll take care of you for the rest of your life."

I froze. As my eyelids twitched, soup dripped from the ends of my hair and stung my eyes.

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Hans, who had once worked overtime, pushing himself to exhaustion—just to help pay for Mom's medical bills—was now lying about his salary to buy a house for another woman.

With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and called him.

After my call was rejected again and again, he finally picked up.

My voice was hoarse when I asked when he could visit Mom at the hospital, but he simply brushed me off.

"Honey, I'm busy working for your mom's medical bills. I don't have time to drop by the hospital," he said, his voice dripping with impatience. "I get that you feel bad for her, but you should at least try to be more understanding toward me too.

"Right, stop calling me. I need to focus on work now."

As the dial tone buzzed in my ear, my chest tightened. I felt like I was on the verge of suffocating.

Even now, Hans was still lying to me.

I smiled wryly.

When he was a child, a fire broke out in his home. Mom, a professional firefighter, gave him her own oxygen mask and braved the risk of an explosion to carry him to safety. But in doing so, she inhaled too much smoke, leaving her with severe complications.

After we got married, Mom treated him like her own son. Never had I expected that, after all these years, suffering would be all that remained of our relationship—not bliss.

The person Mom saved was nothing more than an ungrateful, heartless bastard.

Dejected, I stumbled back home. As I glanced around the old, shabby house I had lived in for at least a decade, I received a message from Hans.

"Honey, I need to work overtime at the office, so I won't be coming home. You should get some rest early."

I dropped my gaze, too tired after a long day to question whether he was telling the truth. Suppressing the unease in my heart, I quickly got myself ready to head to the hospital and take care of Mom.

Just as I straddled my electric scooter, Mom's attending doctor called.

"Your mother's condition has suddenly worsened! She's been rushed into surgery," he shouted frantically. "Hurry up and come pay her bills!"

My heart skipped a beat. Releasing the handlebars of the scooter, I collapsed to the ground, looking utterly disheveled. My knees scraped against the pavement, leaving a gaping wound. But I was too preoccupied to feel the pain.

Trembling, I fumbled for my phone and tried to ask Hans for some money.

"Honey, Mom's condition just worsened. Can you send some money over, please?"

Hans remained silent, clearly doubtful of my words. "I already spent everything I had on the last payment. Where am I supposed to find more money now?

"Honey, your mom has been bedridden for years. We can't keep getting dragged down by someone who's about to die. Maybe… you should just give up."

Realizing that he was still lying to me, I immediately broke down and cried, "Please, I'm begging you! I know you still have money—just send me a little more! She's in surgery right now. If I don't pay, she's going to die!"

Yvette's voice suddenly rang out from the other end of the line.

"Hans, she's clearly using you as a walking ATM," she said, her intention to sow discord between us as clear as day. "She asks for money every chance she gets. She doesn't even care about your wellbeing.

"You'd better stay away from those two parasites as soon as possible."

My mind went blank, and my breathing grew labored.

So, what he meant by working overtime at the office was spending the night in the master bedroom of his new luxury apartment with his childhood sweetheart.

I scoffed. But thinking about the time we had spent together all these years, I still clung to a sliver of hope and implored, "Honey, I swear I'm telling the truth. Mom's situation is dire now.

"Please, just send me some money to save her, okay? You can at least do it for the sake of what she did for you when you were a kid—"

Before I could finish, Hans cut me off angrily and bellowed, "Are you talking about how she dragged me out of that fire? So what? Wasn't that her duty as a firefighter? How long are you going to keep guilt-tripping me over that?"

I never expected him to see things that way.

"That's not what I meant." I quivered.

Losing all his patience, he shouted, "All you ever do is ask for money! Have you ever cared that I'm still working overtime at the office this late?

"Unlike you, Yvie actually cares about me. She brings me homemade meals at work all the time.

"You, though, chose to work as a DoorDasher just to make some quick cash. Do you know how humiliating that is for me in front of my colleagues?

"Lauren, I'm so disappointed in you."

Staring at the disconnected call, I hauled myself back to my feet and roughly wiped my tears. I picked up my scooter and sped off into the rainy night.

Sweat and tears blended on my face, but I couldn't care less. The only thing on my mind was that I could see Mom if I just went a little faster.

…

I sat outside the operating room all night. It wasn't until Mom was wheeled into the ICU did I finally heave a sigh of relief.

"Make sure you pay the surgery bill as soon as possible. Coupled with the expenses for the ongoing treatment… it's going to be a hefty sum."

As I stared at Mom lying silently in bed, I slumped to the floor. I had no idea how long I sat there before forcing myself to stand up and head home. I had no other option now.

I took the property deed out of the safe.

This house was a gift from Dad before he passed away. It wasn't a fancy one, but it was decent and could probably fetch a considerable price if I sold it to pay Mom's bills.

Just as I was about to step out of the door with the deed, I ran into Hans, who was accompanied by Yvette.

"What's that in your hand?"

I decided to come clean with him, saying that I was going to sell the house to save Mom.

Looking at how disheveled I looked, Yvette pinched her nose in disgust and hooked her arm around Hans'.

"Your mom only has pneumonia, doesn't she? Why do you have to sell the house to pay for her treatment?" she asked. "I bet you probably have some tricks up your sleeve. You just want to sell Hans' house for your own benefit!"

I couldn't be bothered with her. All I wanted was to rush to the hospital with the money as soon as possible, but once I saw Hans' skeptical expression, I knew he wouldn't agree to my plan.

"Move, please. I'm in a hurry," I said with a stoic expression.

Before I could reach the door, however, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and bellowed, "Lauren, are you out of your mind? It's just pneumonia. How expensive can the treatment possibly be? You have no right to sell my house!"

Trembling, I pulled out Mom's medical report from a canvas bag that had faded from repeated washing. I was about to hand it to him when he snatched it and tore it to shreds.

"Don't you dare try to trick me!" he shouted. "Listen, I won't allow you to sell this house! I've given my all for you and your mom all these years, and yet you're selling my house. What are you plotting, huh?"

Hans shoved me to the ground. The moment the back of my head collided with the ground, I inhaled sharply.

"Quit the act. You're just a DoorDasher. Stop wincing like you're absolutely exhausted!"

I could no longer keep my emotions at bay. Spiraling in turmoil, I screamed, "My mom has cancer. She's dying! What's wrong with selling the house my dad left for me to save her?"

Hans froze.

Seeing this, Yvette immediately chimed in, "Hans, you've been with her all these years, and her mom has always been fine. Why does she suddenly have cancer?

"Judging by how much money they gleaned from you over the years, perhaps this is a trick they pulled to swindle you out of money."

Just like that, she made it look like Mom and I were nothing but gold-diggers.

Indeed, Mom's medical bills had weighed heavily on our finances over the years. Hans seemed to have realized this too, and his expression immediately hardened.

"Lauren, we've been married for ages. There's no need to lie to me. I hate liars like you the most!" he spat.

"Stay here and reflect on yourself. I'll go confirm whether your mom's situation is true."

Ignoring my cries and pleas, he locked the door and left.

I curled up in a corner, utterly devastated. Clasping my hands together, I silently prayed for Mom's health.