By the second year of our marriage, long-sleeved, high-collared pajamas had become my only outfit at home.

Because the moment I so much as changed into a camisole, my husband's adopted sister always managed to appear right in front of me.

"Wow, Lillian, so bold! Walking around the house in something that revealing—are you trying to make my brother a laughingstock?"

And my husband didn't just stay silent. He looked at me with undisguised disgust.

Once, I slipped in the bathroom and bruised my knee.

At dinner that night, Claire Finch covered her mouth with a coy little laugh and implied I'd been out doing God knows what with God knows who.

I swallowed it. I let it go. Every single time.

Until the night of the family dinner.

She stared at the mosquito bite on my neck, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"I mean, it's one thing that she can't give the family an heir. But running around attracting all that attention? I just wonder who left that little red mark on her."

The relatives' eyes ping-ponged between me and my husband, their contempt barely concealed.

Months of humiliation surged up inside me, and I couldn't hold it back anymore.

I grabbed the cup of tea in front of me and hurled it straight into her face.

But the next second, Daniel Sanchez slapped me across the face in front of everyone.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out his voice calling me shameless. My mind went blank.

That night, I threw the divorce papers on the table and never looked back.

……

I pressed my hand to my cheek, looking up in disbelief.

Claire was already hiding behind Daniel.

The smug little smile at the corner of her mouth flickered and vanished in an instant.

Then, just like that, her expression crumpled into the picture of wounded innocence, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Daniel turned to face the table full of relatives. His voice was ice.

"A family embarrassment. My apologies."

One sentence. That was all it took to pin every ounce of blame on me.

I became the ungrateful wife who'd ruined the family gathering.

I stared at this man I had loved for twenty years.

From childhood sweethearts to husband and wife—I had believed we would be each other's anchor for life.

But now, for the sake of an outsider, he hadn't left me a shred of dignity.

Absurd. Pathetic.

The relatives' scornful gazes bore into me. Claire's triumphant eyes didn't even bother to hide it anymore.

I couldn't stay another second.

I gripped the edge of the table and staggered to my feet, then turned and stumbled out of the dining hall.

In the foyer of the Sanchez estate, there was a massive floor-length mirror.

The woman staring back at me had tangled hair and one cheek swollen high and red. She looked wrecked.

I went back to the bedroom and locked the door.

On the nightstand, a jade pendant lay quietly.

It was a birthday gift from Daniel.

He'd said: "Lillian, when I'm not by your side, let this keep you safe for me."

Back in middle school, a group of girls in my class used to pick on me constantly.

They tore up my homework. They smeared glue on my chair.

One day I'd had enough and fought back.

The teacher didn't bother asking why. She only punished me—made me write a formal apology.

That afternoon, Daniel kicked open the back door of our classroom and walked straight up to the ringleader.

He was tall for his age, and his eyes were cold.

"Apologize."

The girl went white. "S-sorry," she stammered.

Daniel didn't even look at her. His gaze swept across the entire class.

"If anyone touches Lillian Henson again, an apology won't be enough."

"Remember—Lillian is mine. Try me."

Then he took my hand and walked me out of the classroom.

Those words still echoed in my ears. But the swollen face in the mirror reminded me that everything had changed.

A dull ache pressed against my chest.

The red cord of the pendant bit into my palm.

I had believed Daniel and I would walk through this life together, side by side, until the very end.

I was used to following him wherever he went. He played basketball; I handed him water.

He studied. I saved his seat.

At first, he always frowned and shooed me away.

"Lillian, can you stop following me around?"

Over time, his scolding softened into a resigned sigh. And eventually, it became habit.

After basketball practice, he'd hand me his half-finished bottle of water without a second thought.

When he went to the library, he'd leave a book on the seat beside him out of pure reflex.

He'd stay up late watching games, and still remember to bring me my favorite midnight snack.

On the day of our college graduation, I stood onstage delivering a speech as the valedictorian.

The audience was packed, but I spotted him instantly.

Daniel was standing right there, watching me with quiet focus, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—one he didn't even seem aware of.

In that moment, I knew what we had was already far more than a childhood friendship.

At our engagement dinner, both families sat together, beaming as they mapped out our future.

When relatives teased us, Daniel didn't say a word.

He just silently placed a piece of fish—every last bone carefully removed—into my bowl.

That single gesture made me feel safer than any "I love you" ever could.

I lowered my head, eating the fish in small bites, warmth spreading through my chest.

I was certain he was the man I would marry.

I believed our happiness was just beginning.

Then Claire Finch appeared.

Claire was the daughter of a family close to the Sanchezes. Ten years ago, her parents died in an accident, and the Sanchez family took her in.

The day she returned from abroad, I went to the airport to pick her up.

She was a pretty girl with a sweet face, calling me "sis" in the most affectionate, sugary voice.

I treated her with genuine warmth, as if she were my own little sister.

When she wanted a designer handbag, I had a friend bring one back from overseas for her.

When she hit a wall at work, I stayed up late with her revising her proposals.

I thought our relationship would always be like that.

Until that night.

I'd just gotten out of the shower and was wearing a silk camisole nightgown, heading to the living room for a glass of water.

Claire happened to step out of her room. The moment she saw me, she clapped her hands over her eyes in exaggerated shock.

"Kathryn Lambert, look at how gorgeous my sister-in-law's figure is! Too bad my brother's always away on business trips. Must get a little lonely all by herself."

My face turned scarlet in an instant.

I stood frozen, burning with shame and anger, not knowing what to do with my hands.

It was the most ordinary nightgown anyone could wear at home.

But from her mouth, it became proof that I was desperate and starving for attention.

When Claire saw my expression change, she rushed over and looped her arm through mine, her face the picture of innocence.

"Sis, don't be mad! I was just joking around."

"I was only worried someone outside the family might see and start gossiping. I'm looking out for you, really."

Daniel happened to walk out of his study at that moment. He caught the tail end of her words and frowned.

"You're in your own home. Don't talk nonsense."

That was the first time—and the last—he ever said a word to Claire on my behalf.

Claire's eyes immediately reddened, and she bit her lip, the portrait of wounded innocence.

"Danny, I… I was just worried about her…"

Daniel looked at her like that and said nothing more. His silence was its own kind of answer.

After that night, the silk camisoles in my closet were gradually buried at the bottom of a storage box.

Long sleeves and high necklines became the only things I wore at home.

I thought giving ground would buy me peace.

I was wrong.

One day, I slipped in the bathroom and slammed my knee against the edge of the tub, leaving a large, ugly bruise.

The skin was mottled purple and blue—alarming to look at.

The next morning at the breakfast table, Claire's eyes landed on the bruise on my knee the second she sat down.

She didn't ask if I was okay. Instead, she clapped a hand over her mouth in mock surprise.

Then she turned to Daniel, her voice sugary sweet.

"Danny, look at her knees. Since when did things get this wild?"

The glass of milk in my hand froze midway to my lips.

Daniel had been away on business for days. At her words, he glanced up at me.

His eyes were full of disgust.

Two words, cold as ice.

"Just eat."

My chest tightened. I tried to explain.

"I slipped in the bathroom yesterday."

"Enough." Daniel cut me off, irritation dripping from every syllable. "Nobody wants to hear it."

Claire immediately stepped in, playing the innocent peacemaker.

"Danny, don't be so harsh. She just had an accident, that's all. Right, Lillian?"

She winked at me. Her eyes glittered with triumph.

Daniel slammed his chopsticks down with a sharp crack, stood, and walked out of the dining room.

All he left behind was his retreating back.

I stared at the plate of breakfast he hadn't touched. Suddenly, I didn't want to explain anything anymore.

The warmth drained from my heart, degree by degree.

After that, Claire's remarks grew bolder.

In front of relatives and family friends, she'd say things in that half-joking tone of hers.

"Lillian's wonderful, really. It's just... two years of marriage and still no baby."

"Makes you wonder if her attention's been somewhere else entirely."

I'd stay up late making hangover soup for Daniel when he came home from late-night events. Claire always managed to beat me to it, taking the bowl right out of my hands and carrying it to him with a radiant smile.

"You're not feeling well, Lillian. Leave the caretaking to me."

At first, Daniel said nothing.

Then he started looking at me with impatience, as if everything I did was unnecessary.

Eventually, he stopped looking at me at all.

One evening, Daniel lost his temper over a project proposal, shouting at whoever was on the other end of the phone. After he hung up, he sank into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I was about to go pour him a glass of water.

Claire was already there, a warm glass of milk in hand, settling onto the cushion beside him.

"Danny, have you noticed the way she looks at you? There's nothing genuine in those eyes. Cold. Empty."

"I'm not like that. I actually care about you."

Daniel was quiet for a moment.

Then I watched him lift his hand and, as naturally as breathing, pat Claire on the head.

His voice was low.

"I know."

In that moment, I understood with perfect clarity. It was over.

He believed every word Claire said.

Claire turned around and flashed me a victorious smile.

Nausea churned through my stomach.

For the first time, I felt physically sick.

Family dinners at the Sanchez estate were always Claire's stage.

This time, she set her sights on a red mosquito bite on my neck.

In front of every relative at the table, she pointed at my throat, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"Oh my, Lillian, what's that on your neck? So red. Sounds like someone had quite the night."

My hand flew to my neck on instinct.

Daniel's expression darkened the second he heard her. He looked at me the way someone looks at something filthy.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest.

Claire saw his reaction and pressed harder.

"Well, I suppose after two years of marriage without managing to produce an heir, a girl's got to find some way to keep a man's attention."

"The real question is... who left that pretty little mark?"

The moment her words landed, the entire table went silent.

Every pair of eyes turned toward me, scrutinizing, probing, picking me apart.