On the week before Valentine's Day, I want to buy my husband, Grayson Strickland, who works as a university professor, an electronic toothbrush as a gift. That's when I see a review with over ten thousand likes on a particular online store.

"I recommend buying from this store! This store's electronic toothbrush is super durable! I've never had to charge this toothbrush for half a year!"

Three days later, an additional response is made to that comment.

"I'm sorry for misleading everyone. It turns out that my husband has been charging this toothbrush this whole time. It's my fault for being such a doofus! I even pestered him for a long time before I finally found out that he has done a lot for me!

"I never have to add toilet rolls to the bathroom. All I thought is that the same toilet roll is extremely thick. The membership that I have on the TV app is often paid for and extended, and yet I thought there was a bug in the app software somehow. Some time ago, the peeling dry skin on my lips miraculously healed. It turns out he was the one who kept applying lip balm onto my lip at night.

"He's a university professor, you see. In the past, I often blamed him for not knowing what being romantic was like. But now, I finally realize that those who love you will have a way of showing you how it's done."

The rest of the comment section is filled with wailing complaints. They all complain that Valentine's Day isn't even here, and yet they are already sick of the lovey-dovey atmosphere.

Amid the Internet users' constant requests, the poster finally uploads the handsome side profile of her husband.

Feeling rather envious, I tap on the photo, only for my smile to freeze on my face. That photo actually features Grayson!

As I stare at my mother-in-law, who has been paralyzed in bed for the past six years, I recall the fact that Grayson lives on the university campus all around the year. That's when uneasiness begins plaguing me.

As expected, when I bring my marriage certificate to the County Clerk’s office and ask about it, the clerk points at the stamp and says, "Your marriage certificate is fake. Mr. Grayson Strickland's spouse is another woman named Callista Whitman."

My fingers go slack subconsciously, causing the fake marriage certificate to fall to the floor.

A chuckle of despair escapes my lips. Everyone knows that Callista is Grayson's student. She's his most prized student as well as the person who knows him the best.

As for me… I'm just a free caretaker whom he has "hired".

Holding the fake marriage certificate in hand, I stumbled home in a daze. The familiar stench of urine and feces hit my nose the moment I stepped inside.

It was time to change the adult diaper for my mother-in-law, Kathy Sinclair, who had been paralyzed and bedridden for the past six years.

Without flinching, I wiped her body clean, took out the trash, and opened that online store page again.

I stared at that familiar side profile for a long time before slowly raising my head. I looked around the clean, well-organized house, and a laugh suddenly escaped me. And as I laughed, tears began streaming down my face.

Six years. I'd silently held this family together for six whole years.

Because of me, my husband, Grayson Strickland, was free to stay far away from his sick mother's bedside, free of any worries, and live his refined and admired life as Prof. Strickland.

What I never expected, however, was that while he claimed he was too busy to give me a wedding, he'd already become another woman's perfect husband behind my back.

And that woman was Callista Whitman—the same woman who had once sweetly called me "Mrs. Strickland".

A mocking smile tugged at my lips.

I was just about to leave a comment—"Knowingly being the mistress? Guess your happiness can only be shared online"—when that photo and all the comments were suddenly deleted.

Right after that, a message from Grayson came in, cold and commanding.

"Some students are coming over for dinner tonight. Make sure Mom is cleaned up and cook a few nice dishes.

"Especially your braised pork ribs. Make extra. I want to take some to go."

Braised pork ribs.

If I remembered correctly, the last time Callista came over, she'd clung to my arm and sweetly said that it was her favorite dish. I had been flattered and enthusiastically urged her to eat more.

Thinking back now, it was utterly laughable. I hadn't even realized that the mistress had sauntered right into my home.

Yet, six years ago, Grayson and I had been the perfect couple in everyone's eyes.

I was the most sought-after assistant lecturer in the Literature Department, and he was the aloof, principled professor from the College of Arts.

And yet, this almost untouchable—almost otherworldly—man had pursued me for a full four years.

After we got together, he took care of me with meticulous attention. I never had to top up my phone plan; there were always more than enough sanitary products around, and my phone was always fully charged whenever I left the house. It was that kind of happiness.

So when exactly did it all start to change?

It was when he wanted to share 12th-century poetry with me, but I was busy scrambling to book a specialist appointment for Kathy.

It was when he asked me to prepare the easel for him to paint, but I was frowning as I changed Kathy's diaper.

It was when he gazed at the bright moon on winter nights and wanted to go for a walk, but I was already fast asleep, my hands cracked from the cold.

"Dahlia Prescott, you don't understand me at all," Grayson had once said to me, his eyes full of deep disappointment.

I didn't take it to heart back then. I was only thinking about finding a sturdy, affordable wheelchair so Kathy could attend our wedding.

But now, I finally understood what he meant.

He blamed me for losing the sense of romance we had when we were dating, but he had completely forgotten that I had resigned from my assistant lecturer position—just as I was about to be promoted to a professor—so that I could carry the heavy burden for him.

The clock on the wall had long been broken. Only the hands kept ticking stubbornly in place. Listening to that relentless ticking, I suddenly felt exhausted.

I'd given almost everything I had for the past six years.

From a once radiant, brilliant, and talented woman, I'd worn myself down into a haggard, exhausted housewife. And yet, he'd never once seen me as his wife.

If that was the case… then I didn't want this so-called home anymore.

I ignored Grayson's text and went back to the bedroom to pack.

To better take care of Kathy, I had long since moved out of the main bedroom and into the study next to her room.

Looking around, there was barely anything in the room that actually belonged to me.

Boxes of adult diapers, packs of herbal supplements, and nursing pads—all for Kathy—were stacked everywhere. Grayson's paintings, classical poetry collections, and writing desk were all neatly arranged.

As for me, I had nothing more than a shabby wardrobe and a small vanity.

The clothes were all outdated in style, and the few skincare products I had left had expired without me noticing.

Looking at the woman in the mirror—only 30 years old, yet sallow-faced and gaunt—I felt a sudden stab of pain in my heart.

I had actually turned myself into this pathetic person for Grayson.

Thinking of Paul Fulton, my former professor and mentor, who had been so regretful when I resigned, I felt even more ashamed. For the first time in six years, I dialed his number.

It rang only once before it was picked up.

"Dahlia Prescott… You finally decided to call this old man, huh?"

I felt both ashamed and guilty.

"I'm sorry, Prof. Fulton. I let you down before, and I was just too embarrassed to reach out. But now, I'd like to—"

"I've told you before—you can come back anytime. I'll handle the paperwork for you right now. You can come back to work in three days."

"Thank you, Prof. Fulton."

After hanging up, my rough, calloused hands holding the phone wouldn't stop trembling. Tears spilled uncontrollably from my eyes.

Thank goodness, I could still turn back.

Holding on to the last bit of warmth in my heart, I made a list of Kathy's daily necessities.

But just as I was about to leave with my suitcase in hand, Grayson opened the door and walked in with his students.

The foul stench in the air made everyone instinctively cover their noses.

"What is that smell? It's awful."

"Is there a sewage truck outside? Did someone forget to close the windows?"

The moment Grayson saw Kathy's door wide open, he immediately understood what was happening, and his face first darkened, then flushed red. Striding into my room, he started scolding me in a low voice.

"Dahlia, didn't I tell you to get Mom cleaned up? How are we supposed to eat with that smell? Hurry up and change her."

I looked up at him, expressionless.

"Why should I?"

The irritation on his face froze. He stared at me—someone who usually didn't even dare to raise my voice—and asked in disbelief, "What did you just say?"

"I said, why should I? Let's get one thing straight. That's your mother, not mine."

"Dahlia Prescott, have you lost your mind—"

But before he could finish, I pulled out the fake marriage certificate and threw it onto the floor.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I looked straight at him.

"Yes, I must've lost my mind. That's why I happily married you back then. But today, I finally see you for who you really are. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other."

The old suitcase rattled loudly across the floor, completely different from six years ago, when I had entered this house full of hope.

Grayson was also no longer the happy, smiling young man who hugged me and said, "Welcome home". Now, he looked at me with resentment as he called out to stop me.

"I just didn't have the time to hold a wedding with you, that's all. Must you make a scene like this in front of my students?"

The entire room fell silent.

I turned around in disbelief. Even now, he still had the nerve to blame me?

Before Grayson could say anything, Callista stepped in to defend him, looking aggrieved on his behalf.

"Mrs. Strickland, Prof. Strickland is indeed very busy. If you wanted a wedding, couldn't you just talk it over properly? Why force him like this?"

The other students all sided with Grayson as well.

"Exactly. A wedding is just a formality. Why be so old-fashioned about it?"

"Prof. Strickland is swamped with classes every day. He must be exhausted. But her? She has no ambition, chooses to be a stay-at-home wife, lives off his money, and does nothing else. And still, she can't even take proper care of her mother-in-law."

"What could she possibly even do without Prof. Strickland?"

In an instant, all the female students were criticizing me. It was as if they were the face of the modern, independent woman, while I was nothing but a parasite clinging to a man, deserving of judgment.

But none of them knew the truth.

Every bite of food, every drop of oil, every piece of paper in this house came from me scrimping and saving.

Even Kathy's medical fees came from me working part-time grading papers online.

Meanwhile, every penny of Grayson's salary went into taking his students out to enjoy their lives… and into the little love nest he shared with Callista.

My fingers gripping the suitcase handle gradually turned pale. Thinking of everything I'd given over the years, I couldn't help but let out a cold, mocking smile.

"You're right. Prof. Strickland does have a reputation for being refined and elegant. And yet, he's still not above messing around with his student."

Then, I turned to Grayson. "You're just as filthy as the feces and urine from your mother. From today onward, I'm done dealing with either of you."

I turned and started to leave, dragging my suitcase behind me, but several students suddenly blocked my way.

"What do you mean by that? We were just speaking the truth, and now you're slandering people like that? We're just here to learn from Prof. Strickland. How can you make it sound so dirty?"

I slowly turned my head, my gaze landing coldly on Grayson. I must've looked like a completely different person. It was like the proud, brilliant woman I once was had finally returned.

Grayson's breathing hitched. When he glanced down at the marriage certificate I had thrown earlier, a flicker of unease crossed his face.

But then he thought back on how meek and hardworking I'd been for the past six years, enduring everything without complaint, and he reassured himself that my words just now were only a fluke. In reality, I couldn't possibly leave him.

So, he pulled out 200 dollars from his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

"A wedding is just inviting others for a meal. If you really want one, go rent a wedding dress and wear it.

"I'm taking the students to the Silent Bridge by the lake to enjoy the winter scenery. I hope that by the time we get back, dinner will be ready and everything will be back to normal."

With his slender, uncalloused fingers, he pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up, then grandly led the group out.

The very moment the door slammed shut behind them, the sound of shattering glass came from Kathy's room.

I instinctively rushed in.

Blood was rapidly dripping from her thin, withered wrist, pooling on the floor beneath her. I hurriedly called for an ambulance.

Amid the piercing wail of sirens, Kathy pleaded weakly, "Lia, you're a good kid. Grayson just lost his way for a moment. I won't burden you anymore… Please, don't blame him, okay?"

A loud buzz exploded in my head, and a sharp ringing filled my ears. I swallowed the "Mom" that almost escaped my lips and asked, my voice trembling, "So you've known all along? He secretly told you before he and Callista got married?"