"Ms. Spencer, no matter what happened, no matter what you've endured, we hope you stay strong."

"We may never fully understand your pain, but remember, God didn’t take you because you deserve better. You need to face the hurt, not give up your life..."

The doctors and nurses lined up, giving me gentle hugs one after another.

Each warm embrace sent a faint spark of life into my numb heart.

If, at my breaking point, Lucas had given me even a single hug, I wouldn’t have ended up like this...

When we were dating, he did everything for me, treating me like a princess.

He was the one who vowed at our wedding that he would be my lifelong support:

"Adriana, I will cherish you forever. You only need to be yourself—leave everything else to me." The vow remains, but the man who made it has already changed.

During my entire hospitalization, Lucas never showed up.

No calls, no messages.

Only the monitor’s steady beeping kept me company.

I spent most of the time with my eyes closed, as if sleeping could turn everything into a forgotten dream.

But I was awakened by voices in the corridor.

"Women are all the same, yet their lives are so different."

"That woman yesterday—heard she just had a small blister on her heel, and her husband was terrified, even feeding her water himself."

Another lowered her voice:

"It’s true, comparison hurts. I thought my husband was good, but compared to hers, he's nothing. I really envy his wife..."

Images flickered in my mind—my mother’s tearful gaze, my father’s falling silhouette, the doctor apologizing for the miscarriage.

And then, the scene of Lucas holding Lydia Young, eyes red, saying, "With me, you’ll never need to be independent."

My chest filled with a cold, suffocating stillness.

Even tears refused to fall.

If they knew I was Lucas’s wife, would they still envy her?

The attending physician came to check on me, and seeing I still wouldn’t open my eyes, quietly shook his head.

He sighed to the nurse:

"Notify psychiatry to intervene."

This time, I didn’t reject counseling, nor did I refuse medication.

For three years after our marriage, Lucas had insisted we start trying for a baby, but perhaps because of the stress, I couldn’t get pregnant.

Even after being diagnosed with depression, and the doctor firmly telling me to take medication and wait until I recovered, I stubbornly fought against the emotions swallowing me.

Back then, I believed that if I just got pregnant, I could salvage the marriage that had suddenly fallen apart.

But after I broke down, struggled to heal myself, and tried everything to conceive, the child quietly slipped away.

As if even the child knew this crumbling marriage was no longer worth clinging to.

After taking antidepressants, the crushing weight inside me eased.

I stopped hiding in sleep and called a law firm:

"Help me draft a divorce agreement." On the day I was discharged, I took the signed agreement and proactively contacted Lucas.

Maybe because I hadn’t clung to him for half a month, he actually answered my video call right away.

Behind him were the floor-to-ceiling windows of a luxury hotel, the river view glowing outside.

He wore a bathrobe, droplets still sliding from his hair.

Seeing the hospital behind me, he lifted a brow, his voice dripping with disdain:

"Really committing to this act, aren’t you? Aren’t you afraid of catching all sorts of germs?"

He leaned back lazily on the sofa, and through the glass behind him, I could vaguely see a woman’s figure moving.

The nurse changing my dressing looked up, unable to hide her outrage:

“Sir, your wife is newly pregnant and—” Lucas suddenly straightened, his expression flipping instantly to intense, unwavering concern:

“Adriana, you’re pregnant? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice was urgent and sincere, even trembling:

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault! Stay there, I’ll cancel the most important project and rush to the hospital right now!”

His earnest tone made it seem as if the man who told me to die outside the emergency room had never existed.

I sneered inwardly and hung up immediately.

Less than thirty minutes later, the ward door opened softly.

But it wasn’t Lucas.

Lydia entered holding a huge bouquet of lilies and a luxury-brand gift bag, walking toward me with a gentle smile.

“Madam, Mr. Sterling was extremely worried when he heard you were pregnant, so he asked me to come take care of you.”

“These flowers and gifts were supposed to be a birthday present from him. Consider them a surprise for you; I don’t really like them anyway…”

She placed the bouquet and gift bag on the bedside table, then deliberately brushed her half-wet hair aside, revealing an unmistakable, intimate red mark on her neck.

I closed my eyes, trying to force away the unbearable images flooding my mind.

Lydia suddenly leaned in:

“Adriana, I didn’t expect that after taking birth control pills for so many years, you could still get pregnant…”

My eyes snapped open. Her malicious gaze was fixed on my lower abdomen:

“I just wonder if this child will live to be born… or even be normal…”

Understanding everything in an instant, I raised my hand and slapped her hard.

She covered her swelling cheek, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Her voice rose in wounded grievance:

“Madam, I know you hate that Mr. Sterling wants you to be independent, but he’s doing it for your own good!”

“He doesn’t want people to be independent because he doesn’t care—he loves you so much that he’s strict with you! He wants you to grow, to be stronger!”

She stepped closer, tears trembling in her eyes:

“You’re going to be a mother now, please be more mature, okay? You don’t know how much pressure Mr. Sterling faces every day to earn money and support the family…”

Her voice broke, as if she were the one suffering:

“He really has it hard. Please stop putting pressure on him, okay?”

“Get out,” I cut her off coldly.

Lydia suddenly lunged forward and seized my injured wrist.

I instinctively pulled back, but she twisted the motion, shoving herself away with my hand and letting out a dramatic scream as she fell backward, crashing into the bedside table.

A loud bang echoed.

The lilies scattered across the floor, petals and stems in disarray.

She sat on the ground, looking up at me with watery eyes.

“Madam, I came to care for you out of kindness. Why did you hit me?” At that moment, the ward door burst open.

Lucas saw the pitiful Lydia on the floor, and his expression turned pitch-black.

He hurried over and helped her up, his voice panicked, more nervous than I had ever heard:

“Lydia? Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

He checked her anxiously from head to toe, as if she were some delicate treasure.

He gently stroked her swollen cheek, then turned to glare at me, his eyes filled with raw disappointment and fury:

“Adriana! I’m so disappointed in you!”

His voice shook with anger:

“Secretary Young came to help you out of kindness, and you actually raised a hand against her? When did you become so vicious? Do you really think that just because you’re pregnant with my child, you can do whatever you want?”

I opened my mouth to explain: “She did it to me…”

“Enough!” Lucas snapped, his gaze icy and unfamiliar, thick with disdain:

“I don’t want to hear your excuses! I thought you were just not independent enough, but I never imagined you’d be this jealous and spiteful!”

“Apologize to Secretary Young. If you don’t, forget about keeping my child!”

He immediately took out his phone to schedule an abortion.

He knew how desperately I had wanted this pregnancy, yet he used the child to threaten me.

I handed him the blood-stained miscarriage report and whispered,

“Lucas, don’t bother. The baby is gone.”

He took the report, disbelief flashing across his face before it twisted into rage:

“Adriana, haven’t you caused enough trouble? I bet you were never pregnant at all—just using this miscarriage to guilt-trip me, right?”

Whatever he believed no longer mattered.

I took out the prepared divorce agreement from under my pillow and handed it to him.

“Sign it. Let’s end this peacefully.” The crisp white paper reflected his suddenly drained expression.

He let go of Lydia, snatched the agreement, and his pupils tightened sharply as he read the terms.

“When did you find out about all this?”

Those overseas accounts he assumed I didn’t know about, the assets he secretly transferred, the things he thought would stay hidden forever—

All neatly listed, line by line.

Looking at him, I suddenly felt it was all absurd.

For three years, he treated me like a parasitic vine, convinced I survived only by clinging to him, always on guard.

But he never realized he was the vine wrapped around me.

“Adriana!”

He tore the agreement apart, his voice warped by fury. “You’ve been plotting against me from the start! Pretending all these years!”

“You think someone like you deserves a divorce? You want a piece of what I built? Without me, you’re nothing! You can’t survive!”

I watched his theatrics in silence, a soft, sorrowful laugh escaping:

“Staying with you is the only way I truly can’t live.”

From that moment, he saw my dependence as a burden.

From that moment, he treated my love like a joke.

From that moment, he expected me to face life and death alone.

I had already become nothing.

He stormed out, borrowed an A4 sheet from a nurse, wrote a divorce agreement by hand, and slammed it onto the bed.

“You want a divorce? Fine! Sign this, and you leave with nothing.” Lydia was so thrilled she nearly stumbled. Leaning into him, she murmured, “Mr. Sterling, don’t be angry… Madam must be acting on impulse…” Her eyes glowed with triumphant delight as she clutched her head, pretending to feel faint.

Lucas pulled her close, his gaze slicing into me:

“Adriana, I’m giving you one last chance. Apologize to Lydia, and I’ll pretend none of this happened.”

“No need. If you won’t agree to a mutual divorce, then see you in court. My lawyer will contact you.”