After leaving the cemetery, I hailed a taxi to the old apartment in the city center.

That used to be the home I shared with my parents. After Bruce and I got married, we lived there. The tragic incident had happened there.

Over the past six years, I had suffered severe post-traumatic stress disorder and deep depression, so I dared not set foot there.

Bruce feared that it would trigger my memories and worsen my condition if I revisited there, so he bought a luxurious riverside apartment to help me start anew.

Everyone praised him as a devoted husband who was so nice to his depressed wife and a good guy.

I used to think the same.

Now, looking back, I realized how laughable it was.

Bruce and I were getting divorced.

Before leaving this city, I wanted to return and take one last look at the place that held all my happiness and all my sorrow. It was like a formal farewell.

As the taxi turned into the alley of the old neighborhood, my heart clenched suddenly.

A black Maybach was parked downstairs. It was unmistakably familiar to me.

Wasn't Bruce supposed to be handling the emergency at the construction site in the southern suburbs?

His urgent matter was there?

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. I thought I had run dry of tears for him.

Yet when the harsh truth confronted me once again, tears ran down uncontrollably.

With trembling hands, I dialed Bruce's number.

The phone rang for a long time before he answered. His voice sounded husky with desire. "Vera? What's wrong?"

I struggled to suppress the lump in my throat and tried to keep my voice as calm as possible. "Bruce, I... I miss Mom and Dad. I'm almost downstairs at the old apartment. I want to go up and take a look."

Instantly, the sound of clattering dishes and a sudden commotion erupted on the other end of the line.

Bruce's tone shifted to extreme panic. "No, Vera. Don't go up. You're pregnant now. You are not well. What if seeing things stirs up emotions and harms the baby? We've been through so much to have this baby. Please, be good and listen to me. Go home now. I'll be right back after handling things here."

His voice was filled with urgent concern. He seemed to genuinely care for the baby and me.

But I could only feel irony. "I'm just downstairs. I'll take a quick look and leave."

Without waiting for his response, I hung up the phone and quickly hid in the shadow of the alley wall.

In less than three minutes, the door to the apartment building opened.

Bruce emerged, holding the little boy from the video.

He was clutching Rosalyn with the other hand.

The three of them rushed out and looked flustered.

I saw clearly that Rosalyn was actually wearing a silk dress with intricate embroidery. It was my mother's favorite one.

And the little boy held my daughter's beloved rattle.

It was my home, my parents' home, the place where my daughter passed away...

But it had become the love nest of my husband and another woman.

Bruce's supposed "fear of triggering my memories and worsening my condition" and his excuse of not wanting me to go back to a place of sadness turned out to be just a convenient excuse for keeping his mistress hidden away.

I raised my phone and snapped dozens of photos of the glaring three people and the Maybach's license plate.

Watching them get in the car and flee, I leaned against the weathered wall. I couldn't support myself and slowly slid to the ground.

So, when the heart was truly broken, it became numb to pain.

As soon as I returned home, I immediately called Martin. "I've got the evidence. Please come over, and we can sign the authorization."

While waiting for the lawyer, the doorbell rang.

I assumed Martin had arrived early and opened the door.

But there was the last person I wanted to see.

It was Rosalyn.

She stood at my doorstep and held the hand of a little boy. She looked smug.

She looked me up and down with disdain. "Vera, did you enjoy the video? Were the photos clear? You really know how to keep calm. I thought you would have blown up at Bruce yesterday."

She walked into the living room as if she owned the place. She surveyed the apartment where I'd lived for six years. "This place is nice. It is a river-view flat with great scenery. But Bruce told me that this apartment would eventually be transferred to my son, Caiden."

Her triumphant expression made my stomach churn.

"Get out," I said coldly.

Rosalyn seemed to have heard the most ridiculous joke and laughed wildly. "Vera, don't be so angry. It's bad for your health."

She heaved her breasts deliberately and leaned closer. She whispered, "Let me tell you the truth, Vera. Bruce never loves you. He only pities you because your family is gone, and no one wants you. That's why he took you in out of kindness. He says it feels like being with a shell of a person when he is with you. He feels suffocated with despair. He only loves me and his son, whom I gave birth to."

Each of her words pierced my heart.

I slapped her hard across the face with all the force I could muster.

Rosalyn went with the push, stumbling back dramatically.

Her head hit the sharp corner of the coffee table with precision.

Blood instantly flowed from her forehead.

"Help! She's killing me!" Rosalyn screamed, and her voice was piercing through the ceiling.

Just then, the apartment door burst open, and Bruce rushed in.

His face was full of urgency.

As soon as he saw Rosalyn lying on the floor, covered in blood, his eyes turned red.

He shouted at me, "Vera, have you lost your mind? How did you become so vicious?"

Rosalyn sobbed uncontrollably in his arms. "Bruce, don't blame her. It's all my fault... Caiden missed you and kept crying at home. I had no choice but to bring him here to see you... She might have had another episode. She wasn't intentional..."

While speaking, she winked at Caiden.

Caiden suddenly charged at me and knocked me to the floor with all his might. "Bad woman, don't bully my mommy."

I fell backward uncontrollably and hit the floor hard.

Immediately, a warm liquid surged from beneath me.

"My belly... It hurts... My baby..." I groaned in agony, and cold sweat beaded on my forehead.

Bruce glanced at me struggling and then at Rosalyn, whose forehead was still bleeding profusely.

He hesitated for a short moment.

He said to me coldly, "Vera, enough. Stop pretending!" "I've done everything I could to accommodate your depression over the years. Why aren't you satisfied? "Rosalyn is bleeding badly. She needs to go to the hospital immediately."

With that, he picked up Rosalyn, who was sobbing, took the hand of the smug-looking boy, and stormed out without a backward glance.

He left me alone on the cold floor, and blood continued to flow beneath me.

My vision blurred, and my consciousness began to fade.

Just as I was about to faint, the door opened again, and a familiar figure appeared against the light. "Vera."

Outside the emergency room, my lawyer, Martin, paced anxiously along the corridor. His face was etched with worry.

Martin was the son of my father's colleague and grew up with Bruce and me.

He took out his phone, repeatedly dialing Bruce's number.

Once, twice, three times...

The phone only returned a cold busy signal. No one answered it.

Martin was so annoyed that he almost crushed his phone into pieces.

He knew that Bruce was likely busy at another hospital at that time, tenderly comforting his frightened mistress.

Two hours felt like forever.

The emergency room doors remained firmly shut, and Bruce's call came through.

Martin took a deep breath and picked it up.

On the other end, Bruce's voice came through, weary and slightly impatient. "Martin? What's going on? "I was just with Rosalyn at the hospital, getting her wounds treated. My phone was muted, and I didn't check it. You'd better have something big."

Before Martin could speak, Bruce continued on his own. "Luckily, Rosalyn is fine, just a little scrape on her forehead."

His casual tone fueled Martin's anger even further.

Without waiting for Martin to question him, Bruce asked, "How's Vera? When I left, she was lying on the floor. Was she playing up again? The carpet was thick enough. She just fell on her own. Her baby must be fine, right? Her constitution might be weak, but she shouldn't be so delicate. She just had a shot to protect the pregnancy a few days ago. It shouldn't be easy for something to go wrong with the baby. When she wakes up, tell her not to use the baby to threaten me. I don't have that much patience. I'll go back as soon as I'm done here with Rosalyn."

Martin listened to Bruce's incessant shirking of responsibility, and his hand holding the phone trembled violently. "Bruce, you deserve what's coming to you. The doctor was just here. The baby... is gone."

The other end fell into a stunned silence.

After a few seconds, Bruce's breathing became erratic. He asked with a trembling voice, "Martin, what the hell are you talking about? That brat just pushed her a little... How could the baby be gone? You're lying. You're deliberately lying to me to help her."

His voice had completely changed in tone.

Martin's voice was icy cold. "It was your precious son who pushed her down. You wanted to shield that shameless mistress and killed your own baby. Bruce, she will never forgive you!"

Martin abruptly ended the call.

In the other hospital's corridor, Bruce's phone slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor.

He stood there, shocked.

Martin's words reverberated in his mind. "You killed your own baby."

He finally realized he had shattered the most precious thing.

"Ah—" Bruce let out a pained scream and dashed out of the hospital. He headed toward the hospital where Vera was.

He stumbled repeatedly and fell and got back up, haunted by the scene when I was lying in a pool of blood, writhing in agony.

He was wrong.

He was terribly wrong.