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.”