I had just transferred the entire $500,000 insurance settlement from my car accident to my husband when I received a photo from him on my phone.

In the photo, a woman was lying in a hospital bed.

The caption read: “Honey, I used your settlement money to pay for my true love’s medical expenses. Her health is fragile, she needs extra care.”

Before I could react, his call came through, his voice ice-cold:

“The money isn’t enough. Why don’t you get hit by another car and bring in more?”

…

Daniel Smith’s impatient voice rang out:

“Emily Parker, didn’t you say you loved me? If you love me, you should love what I love—Chloe Miller is my life.”

“That half a million dollars was bought with my life!” I rasped. “It was meant for our future home!”

He sneered.

“Your life? Is your life more important than Chloe’s health?”

I froze. This man—the man I had loved for five years—had actually said such words.

“If you hadn’t been distracted while driving three years ago, Chloe wouldn’t have been so severely injured and left with lasting health issues! This is what you owe her!”

The line went dead with a sharp beep.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind in chaos.

Three years ago, that accident… Chloe had swerved to avoid a child and crashed into a guardrail. I was a witness. I had even called an ambulance for her. Yet Daniel thought it was me who had hit her?

A nurse entered, seeing my pale face, and sighed:

“Your husband was just here. He signed your discharge papers, said it would be easier to take care of you at home.”

Daniel took me home. He didn’t say a word in the car. I tried to explain the truth about the accident, but he only gave me a cold glance.

When we arrived, he pointed at the storage room.

“You’ll live here. The master bedroom is for Chloe to rest. You reek of medicine; don’t let the smell upset her.”

The storage room? In our marital home, I was to live in the storage room?

Through the crack in the door, I watched him dismantle the massage chair I had hesitated to buy for myself and carefully set it up beside Chloe’s bed.

He held a bowl of soup, feeding her spoon by spoon, so tenderly that my heart shattered.

I remembered the early days of our marriage, when I had a high fever. Daniel had held me all night, crying, saying I was his sky—that the sky could never fall.

Now, his sky was Chloe.

Late that night, pain in my ribs kept me awake. From the living room, I heard voices. I pressed my ear to the door.

“Don’t worry, she loves me. She’ll believe whatever I say,” Daniel whispered gently. “Once she gets her worker’s compensation, we’ll have more money again.”

The next morning, Daniel threw a document onto my chest.

“Sign it. The company added another $30,000 in worker’s comp. The recipient’s name is already mine.”

I stared at the paper, a suffocating sense of injustice rising in me.

“About that accident three years ago—I have witnesses who can prove it wasn’t me who hit Chloe.”

Daniel sneered.

“Evidence? Chloe says it was you. That’s enough. Do your witnesses matter more than her words?”

His eyes held no guilt, only the arrogance of entitlement. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms.

“Meow—”

My cat, Muffin, ran out from the balcony, meowing at Chloe.

Chloe instantly clutched her chest, coughing weakly. “Daniel, this cat…”

“Muffin!” Daniel grabbed the cat I had raised for five years and dragged him to the balcony, slamming the door shut.

“Daniel, what are you doing?” I rushed to open the door, but he shoved me aside.

“It’s just an animal. How dare it compete with Chloe for attention?” His glare was sharp. “If you don’t behave, I’ll throw it off the balcony.”

I stared at Muffin’s pitiful figure outside, my heart aching like it was being torn apart. That cat had been my companion through my loneliest years.

All day long, Daniel didn’t give Muffin a single drop of water.

When he went to care for Chloe, I secretly poured some into the bowl. Just as I set it down, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Emily, what are you doing?” Daniel stood in the doorway, face dark.

“Muffin was thirsty, I just gave him—”

Before I could finish, Daniel stormed forward and kicked the bowl over, water splashing across the floor. Muffin shrank into a corner in fright.

“I told you not to give it water!” He smashed the bowl right in front of me, shards scattering across the floor. “It’s just an animal. Why do you care so much?”

I crouched to pick up the pieces. A shard cut my hand, and beads of blood welled up.

The doorbell rang. I heard my mother’s voice outside:

“Daniel, I came to see Emily.”

He straightened his clothes, opened the door just a crack.

“Auntie, Emily’s resting. It’s not convenient for her to see visitors.”

“I made chicken soup to help her recover.” My mother’s voice trembled with worry.

“Too greasy. Chloe will feel nauseous.” Daniel took the thermos, turned around, and poured it straight down the sink.

I heard my mother choke up outside.

“Daniel, is Emily… is she being mistreated?”

My phone rang. It was my mother. I forced my voice to sound calm as I answered:

“Mom, I’m fine. Please go home.”

“Sweetheart, why is your voice so hoarse?”

“It’s nothing, just a little tired.”

Through the door, I watched Daniel’s cold back.

“Mom, don’t worry.”

After I hung up, I heard my mother’s quiet sobbing fade as her footsteps retreated.

That evening at dinner, Chloe deliberately asked Daniel to peel shrimp for her.

“Daniel, I don’t have the strength in my hands.” She feigned weakness.

Without hesitation, Daniel put down his chopsticks and carefully peeled the shrimp using the sterling silver cutlery I had scrimped to buy him for our wedding. He had once said it was for special occasions only.

Now, the special occasion had arrived—but not for me.

“Emily, what are you staring at? Go wash the dishes.” Daniel didn’t even lift his head.

I silently carried the plates to the kitchen. The sound of water masked the voices in the living room, but I still heard them clearly.

“She won’t suspect anything, right?” Chloe’s voice was soft.

Daniel chuckled.

“Her? She’s just a fool blinded by love. We could kiss in front of her and she’d still think we were putting on a show.”

“That’s good. I was worried she might notice something.”

“Notice what? She didn’t even dare speak up when I poured out her mother’s soup. What could she possibly discover?”

My hands froze. The dish nearly slipped from my grasp.

After washing the dishes, I returned to the storage room and shut the door. The room was silent, only the sound of my heartbeat filling it. I pulled out my phone, hesitated for a long time, then pressed record.

From today on, I would keep a record of everything.

As my body slowly recovered, Daniel began pressing me to return to work.

“Chloe’s next round of treatment isn’t covered yet,” he said at the doorway, his tone entitled.

When I arrived at the office building, I immediately felt my coworkers’ strange stares—sympathy, disdain, something unspoken.

“Emily,” whispered Susan Johnson, pulling me aside. “While you were hospitalized, your husband came to the company.”

My heart skipped. “What did he come for?”

“He cried to everyone, saying you ran over his cousin Chloe, that she’s now gravely ill in bed, and he has to work himself to death to pay the debt.”

Susan looked at me closely.

“Emily, is it true?”

My face burned with shame. Daniel had come to my workplace and smeared me, making all my colleagues believe I was a hit-and-run criminal.

“No, Susan, it’s not true at all—”

“Enough, don’t bother explaining.” She patted my shoulder. “The boss wants to see you. Be careful.”

Anxious, I walked into Mrs. Thompson’s office. She sat behind her desk, face stern.

“Emily, sit.” She gestured to the chair. “The company already knows about your situation.”

“Mrs. Thompson, I can explain—”

“No need.” She cut me off, sliding an agreement across the desk. “Your actions have seriously damaged the company’s reputation. This is the decision.”

My hand trembled as I picked it up. The paper read: Your salary will be cut in half for the next three years as compensation to the company. If you refuse, you will be terminated immediately.

“Mrs. Thompson, this—”

“This was your husband’s suggestion.” Her eyes were cold. “He said you feel guilty and are willing to take responsibility. Sign it. The company is already being lenient.”

My hand shook as I gripped the pen. Daniel—he wanted to destroy even my job.

After signing, I dragged myself home. In the living room, Daniel sat beside Chloe’s bed, reading poetry aloud, his voice sickeningly tender.

“Daniel, your voice is so beautiful,” Chloe whispered with a weak smile.

I threw the agreement on the coffee table. “Satisfied now?”

Without even looking up, Daniel said, “Just sign it. Otherwise, if you lose your job, how will you support us?”

“Support us?” My voice trembled. “Daniel, we’re husband and wife!”

“So what?” He finally lifted his eyes, full of impatience. “You owe Chloe. You should repay her.”

Suddenly, Chloe coughed, pointing at the wedding photo on the coffee table.

“Daniel, that frame is so ugly. Just looking at it makes me uncomfortable.”

She deliberately knocked it to the ground. The glass shattered.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to.”

Feigning innocence, she added, “Daniel, replace it with one of my portraits. It’ll look much better.”

Daniel immediately nodded with a smile. “Of course. Your pictures are true art.”

He turned to me.

“Emily, clean up the glass. Don’t let Chloe cut her foot.”

I crouched down, picking up the shards piece by piece. That photo had been taken on our wedding trip. I was leaning on his shoulder, smiling sweetly, and he had said the happiest thing in his life was to have me in that frame.

Now, the photo was broken. So was our marriage.

“When will we get her parents’ old house?” Chloe asked Daniel in a low voice.

My hands paused, but I pretended to keep sweeping.

“Soon. I’ve already asked an attorney to start the property transfer. She’ll sign—she always does what I say.” Daniel’s voice carried smugness.

“That house is in a great neighborhood. Selling it would fetch a good price.”

“Sell it? No. I’ll keep it for you as your art studio. Once you become a famous painter, we’ll be rich.”

Expressionless, I finished cleaning and returned to the storage room. From under the bed, I pulled out a second phone I had secretly bought yesterday.

I dialed a number.

“Mr. Anderson, is everything ready?”

A familiar voice replied, “Emily, it’s all set. The replacement property deed is being processed, and I’ve gathered the evidence you asked for.”