The Woman I Helped Stole My Life

The poor student I had sponsored for years suddenly demanded that I divorce my husband and give him to her. She claimed to be a gambler—if she couldn’t win over Jude Langston, she would die.

Jude couldn’t bear to see her suffer. He tried to persuade me.

"You’re almost 30, and she’s only in her 20s. She still has a long future ahead of her. How can you be so heartless?"

And just like that, he turned around and secretly became her lover.

They whispered sweet words in front of everyone, flirted shamelessly before my eyes. Even my own daughter sided with them, accusing me of being selfish for refusing to divorce.

In the end, I let go. I signed the papers and walked away. That night, I drank with my new boyfriend at a bar, toasting to my newfound freedom.

But Jude wasn’t done with me. He stormed in with our daughter, pointing an accusing finger.

"You abandoned your husband and child!"

I sneered.

"You’re almost 40. My new boyfriend is in his 20s. I guess I just have a thing for young ones."

——

When I returned home, cake in hand, my daughter Cassy ran to the door. But instead of welcoming me, she looked behind me, searching.

"Where’s Aunt Adele? Where’s Dad?" Her face fell. "Why did you come back alone? You’re not welcome here!"

I rubbed my temples, exhaustion washing over me. I had just finished an overnight operation. I had no energy left to explain.

She was only eight, still a child. Normally obedient, but tonight, relentless. She hit and kicked me, her small fists fueled by anger.

"You’re bad! A stinky old woman! You stay with patients all day!" She sobbed, hiccupping through her fury. "I want Aunt Adele! I want Dad!"

Her little hands hurt more than I expected. I inhaled sharply, then wiped away her tears, forcing a gentle voice.

"Cassy, Mommy is saving lives in the hospital. Mommy is an angel in white, not a bad person."

But she only cried louder. I knew she was doing this on purpose. Whenever things didn’t go her way, she punished me like this.

Completely different from her father, who preferred silence.

"You’re lying! If you really save people, why don’t you just let Dad and Aunt Adele be together?" Her voice cracked. "Aunt Adele said she would die if she couldn’t have Dad!"

A memory surfaced. Just days ago, Adele Whitaker—the poor student I had supported for five years—stood before me, pleading.

She had looked at me with desperate eyes.

"I’m a conqueror," she had said. "If I can’t win over Jude, I’ll die. Please… let me have him."

I hadn’t believed her, but now, doubt crept in.

Because once upon a time, Jude had conquered me too.

Back in college, when he was the golden boy—every girl’s dream, the campus heartthrob. And I? Just a medical student buried in books and lab work.

Yet, rain or shine, he waited for me outside the lab every day, ready to walk me to dinner, to tell me stories, to make me laugh.

And today was my birthday. He had promised to pick me up.

But when I stepped out of the hospital, only the cold wind greeted me.

Cassy wouldn't stop crying, begging for her father. So I called him. Again and again.

On the fifth ring, he finally answered.

His voice was lazy, hoarse. "What’s wrong?"

Before I could speak, Cassy grabbed the phone, her voice turning sweet and hopeful.

"Dad! Were you with Aunt Adele today? Can you bring her home next time?"