I'd given everything I had. I genuinely couldn't keep going, and all I was asking was for the woman who was my wife, my son's mother, her parents' daughter, to shoulder even a fraction of her own responsibility.

How did that translate, in her eyes, into me not trying hard enough? Into me looking for an excuse to slack off?

I was about to respond when my in-laws' bedroom door opened.

They'd clearly heard every word between me and Wendy. The moment Mrs. Pruitt Sr. stepped out, she fixed me with a look of heavy disappointment：

“Otto, this really is your fault.”

“My daughter is a famous philanthropist. Forget being proud of her, you're actually trying to get your hands on her money?”

Frustration clamped down on my chest, but I kept my voice steady：

“Mom, Wendy's part of this family too. I'm just asking her to think about us a little while she donates. How is that getting my hands on her money?”

“And it's not even for me.”

“Dad's heart condition needs long-term medication. That imported prescription runs over six hundred dollars a box. Your insulin is almost out. If there's no money, I can't afford either of your medications.”

Mrs. Pruitt Sr. waved me off, irritation plain on her face：

“Enough, enough. We know our own bodies better than you do.”

“You're using us as an excuse because you're the one who can't hack it, aren't you? Afraid of a little hard work?”

Mr. Pruitt Sr. let out a cold scoff：

“Exactly. I've never met anyone as selfish as you.”

“The only reason Wendy became a household name in philanthropy is because she donates every last cent of her salary. You want her to keep some for groceries now? You're trying to destroy her reputation.”

“It took her years to earn the public's respect as Saint Wendy. You're her husband. If you can't follow her example, fine. But dragging her down over a few dollars?”

The three of them fed off each other's righteousness, taking turns tearing into me like I was the villain in their story.

Watching them stand there, united against me, something hit me like a blow to the skull. My head cleared in an instant.

After I married Wendy, she told me her parents' health was too fragile for them to live alone back home. She said she worried about them constantly.

So I moved Mr. and Mrs. Pruitt Sr. in with us. All those years, Wendy spent every waking hour on her donations, rushing off to charity galas and fundraising events the second she clocked out.

Meanwhile, on top of scrambling through my own workload, I carved out time to drive her parents to the hospital, get them registered, sit through their appointments, and pick up their prescriptions.

I used my lunch breaks for their hospital runs more times than I could count.

And every single time, Mrs. Pruitt Sr. would take my hand and say：

“Otto, Wendy only has eyes for her charity work. This family is lucky to have you.”

“Without you, your father-in-law and I, two old bags of bones, wouldn't know what to do with ourselves.”

Mr. Pruitt Sr. would nod, gratitude written all over his face：

“Good kid. You've given too much to this family. If Wendy ever treats you wrong, you come to us. We'll set her straight ourselves.”

Even Wendy used to say it：

“Honey, marrying a man as devoted and caring as you is the greatest blessing of my life.”

“I promise, one day I'll make it up to you. I'll love you properly for everything you've sacrificed.”

They sounded so sincere when they said it.

And I believed every word.

So for years, I gritted my teeth and carried it all alone, no matter how exhausting, no matter how grueling.

Because I thought they truly understood me, truly appreciated what I gave, truly needed my help.

I thought that once Wendy's charity work was stable, she'd turn around and see this family. She'd share the weight with me. She'd love me and make it up to me, just like she promised.

But today it finally hit me. I'd been wrong.

Dead wrong.

Every grateful word, every tender promise they'd made over the years, was nothing but a pretty lie designed to keep me compliant.

They had never intended to contribute a single thing to this household.

What they needed was a workhorse who never complained, never asked for anything in return.

As long as I kept my mouth shut about money, never said I was tired, never asked for help, I was their beloved son-in-law, their wonderful husband.

But the second I buckled under the weight and asked them to share even a fraction of the burden, suddenly I was the selfish one. The petty one. The one who just didn't get it.

In that moment, every sacrifice I'd made over the past few years felt like a joke.

While the bitterness was still eating through me, my son came running in from the balcony where he'd been playing with his building blocks and stopped right in front of me, his little face scrunched with disapproval：

“Daddy's bad! I hate Daddy!”

I looked down at that puffed-up angry little face, and something in my chest seized so hard I couldn't breathe.

This child. I had nearly died for this child.

Back then, Wendy's water broke without warning. I drove her to the hospital myself.

Halfway there, an out-of-control truck slammed head-on into us. The windshield shattered inward, and shards of glass punctured my organs.

But when I saw Wendy unconscious beside me, panic overrode everything. I bit down against the pain, pulled her out of the wreck, and carried her the rest of the way to the hospital on foot.

She delivered safely. Mother and son, both fine.

I spent three days and three nights in the ICU, bleeding out on a table, barely clinging to life.

And now this child, the one I'd traded my life for, was telling me I was bad. Telling me he hated me.

I took a slow breath and crouched down to his level：

“Xander, how am I a bad daddy?”

He planted his little fists on his hips and pointed straight at me, righteous as a courtroom lawyer：

“All my friends at school and my teacher say Mommy's a really good person! You're stopping Mommy from being a good person, so you're the bad guy!”

“You're a bad daddy! I hate you! I never wanna see you again!”

He spun around and ran straight to Wendy, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face against her, refusing to look at me.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Wendy's eyes.

She straightened her back, looked down at me where I was still crouching, and spoke with undisguised triumph：

“See? Even our own son knows you're the one in the wrong.”

“You really need to take a hard look at yourself. All you ever talk about is money, money, money. It's embarrassing.”

Four against one. I didn't argue anymore. I just asked Wendy one last time：

“Are you sure you won't put even a dollar of your salary toward the household expenses?”

Mrs. Pruitt Sr.'s insulin had run out.

Mr. Pruitt Sr.'s heart medication was down to the last few pills.

Xander's tuition had been overdue for days.

And my bank account was completely drained.

This family needed money to survive.

Wendy's eyes filled with open disgust.

“After everything I just said, you're still fixated on my money?”

“Fine. Then let me kill that fantasy for good.”

She pulled out her phone right there in front of all of them, tapping through screens.

A few seconds later, she turned the display toward me.

Her voice was ice, delivered from on high：

“See this? I just linked my payroll account directly to the charity's fund. It's locked for three years. Non-reversible.”

“Every cent of my salary will auto-transfer to them every month from now on. So don't ever think about touching my paycheck again.”

Mrs. Pruitt Sr. was the first to clap：“Wendy, that's exactly right!”

“When you give, you give everything. No half measures, no safety nets. That's what a real saint does.”

Mr. Pruitt Sr. nodded along, beaming with pride as he gave a big thumbs-up：

“That's right. Dad supports you.”

He glanced at me, his words pointed：

“Unlike certain people, who act like they fell headfirst into a pile of money. All they ever think about is money, money, money. People like that have no vision. They'll never amount to anything.”

Xander clapped along, cheering：“Mommy's so great! Mommy's a good person!”

“I love Mommy the most!”

One big happy family. All smiles, all together.

And every pair of eyes that turned toward me looked at me like I was the villain who didn't belong.

Staring back at those contemptuous faces, I almost laughed.

All these years, Wendy hadn't contributed a single thing to this household.

Yet somehow she'd become the hero in everyone's eyes. The saint. The good person.

And me? I'd given everything I had, and I was the bad guy.

So why was I still fighting?

I nodded, my voice flat：

“You're right. Donations shouldn't be half-hearted. I hope she keeps it up.”

Seeing me finally come around, Wendy looked pleased：

“You've finally come to your senses.”

“What I'm doing is a noble thing. As my husband, you should be supporting me. If there's not enough money at home, then work harder. Pick up more overtime. And if that's still not enough, get a second job.”

Mr. and Mrs. Pruitt nodded right along：

“Exactly. Instead of pointing fingers, look at yourself first. Having a wife like Wendy is a privilege.”

“Stop being lazy and eyeing her money all the time.”

I smiled faintly, said nothing more, and quietly pulled out my phone.

Three days ago, Brent Lawrence had sent me a message：

“Otto, the company has a six-month closed training program at HQ.”

“Spots are extremely rare. Once you finish, you come back as a director. Salary multiplied several times over.”

“The higher-ups all agree you've been putting in incredible work these past few years. You're the perfect fit. Think it over?”

My reply at the time had been：

“Brent, my in-laws aren't in good health, my kid's still young, and the family can't function without me. I probably can't go.”

It wasn't that I didn't want to go. I just couldn't let go of this family.

The program was completely closed off. For six months, no going home, no phone, no contact with anyone outside.

Six months with no one earning money. Who would buy my father-in-law's medication? Who would take my mother-in-law to her checkups? Who would pay Xander's tuition? Who would cover the mortgage?

Brent had pushed back, telling me：

“Don't turn it down yet. This opportunity is the real deal. Give it some serious thought.”

Looking back now, I'd been a fool.

I'd nearly thrown away the chance of a lifetime for people who didn't even consider me family.

I took a deep breath and typed out a few words：

“Brent, I'm in. When do I leave?”

Brent replied almost instantly：

“That's what I've been waiting to hear!”

“You leave tomorrow. Just get your paperwork submitted tonight.”

I sent back a “Got it” and scrambled to get everything together, submitting it all within the hour.

Brent moved fast too, booking me a flight for the next morning.

The next day, I was awake before dawn.

Wendy and her parents were still asleep. I packed a bag, slipped out of the house, and caught a cab to the airport alone.

By the time the plane touched down, it was already afternoon.

The moment I powered on my phone, it exploded with missed calls and messages from Wendy：

“Otto, where are you?”

“My parents are out of medication. Get it to them now. They're in bad shape.”

“Also, the kindergarten just called. Xander's tuition is past the final deadline. If it's not paid today, he's getting expelled!”