I finished the discharge paperwork and caught a cab home.

　　Standing at the door, I felt the world blur for a second.

　　Six years ago, for Stanley Vance, I'd agreed to a secret marriage without a second thought and moved into this little villa. Back then I was sweet on him, happy, my heart full of dreams about the future.

　　But six years had passed, and all of it was long gone.

　　I keyed in the passcode. Wrong password.

　　My hand froze halfway to pulling back.

　　I'd entered that string of numbers more times than I could count, could punch it in with my eyes shut, and now it told me I was wrong?

　　Refusing to believe it, I tried again. Wrong password, still.

　　While I stood there at a loss, the door opened from inside.

　　It was a delicate-looking girl. I'd seen her before, in the file I'd had pulled.

　　Samantha Pruitt. A freshman who'd just been admitted to Capital University.

　　The moment she saw me, the malice in her eyes was unhidden, even as her mouth curved into a sweet smile. "Hey, lady, who are you looking for?"

　　The year I married Stanley, I was only twenty too, soft and young like the girl in front of me.

　　It had only been six years since then.

　　I knew Samantha was trying to humiliate me on purpose. I couldn't be bothered to spar with her.

　　Just as I moved to step inside, Samantha suddenly grabbed my hand and leaned close to my ear, whispering fast. "What you gave birth to was a bastard. It didn't deserve to live."

　　Before it could even register, she yanked my hand hard.

　　By the time I came to my senses, Samantha was sprawled on the ground, clutching her belly, screaming in terror. "Stanley, my stomach hurts so much..."

　　Stanley arrived fast, and trailing behind him were several reporters hauling cameras.

　　He helped Samantha up, his eyes full of concern. "Are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital right now."

　　Samantha curled against his chest, pitiful, eyes red. "Miss, I judged you by your looks just now, and that was wrong of me. But you can't just shove me after I told you I was pregnant."

　　"Stanley, don't be angry. The baby and I should be fine. Maybe she was just in a bad mood..."

　　Stanley shot me a dark look, then had the butler send the reporters off, while he himself scooped Samantha up and drove away.

　　I watched the crowd scatter in front of me, my chest tight to bursting.

　　I'd known Stanley for eight years, been his for six. I knew that look of his too well.

　　This wasn't going to end here.

　　After the butler had seen the reporters off, I called out to stop him. "Uncle Logan, could I trouble you to pull the security footage for me?"

　　The butler nodded and agreed.

　　I turned and went upstairs. Looking at the crammed-full master bedroom, the memories came flooding back.

　　Back when I'd moved in, this place was bare. Stanley had his arm around my waist, his gaze doting. "From now on, treat this as your own home. Arrange it however you want."

　　I looked at that colorful wall of oil paintings, remembering how, because I loved to paint, Stanley had deliberately left one white wall for me to work on.

　　I lifted my eyes to the two frames above the headboard, remembering how, because I couldn't decide on a wedding gown, Stanley had taken me to shoot both the Western and traditional styles, then had them framed.

　　Back then he'd looked at me with stars in his eyes. "I can't give you a wedding ceremony, but every bit of the romance you deserve, I won't shortchange you on a single one."

　　I pulled myself back from the thought, took down the frames with a blank face, slid out the album inside, and tore it to pieces without hesitation.

　　I'd just thrown the shreds into the trash when there was a knock at the door, and Butler Logan's voice came from outside.

　　"Madam, I've found the footage you asked for."

　　"Send it to my phone."

　　Soon, I received the surveillance video. I forwarded it to Stanley right away and sent a message.

　　【This is the truth】

　　No matter how much Stanley believed Samantha, I didn't think he could keep playing blind in the face of the truth.

　　That afternoon I packed up three big bags of things and donated all of them to a charity, as a blessing for Sammy, hoping he could live happy and free in his next life.

　　All night Stanley didn't reply to the message, and he didn't come back.

　　The next morning I took my documents in to cancel the registration. The moment it went through, I caught the contempt and disgust in the staff's eyes.

　　Once I'd walked far enough, I faintly heard them gossiping. "Mistress." "Shameless homewrecker." "Serves her right her son's dead." Things like that.

　　I gripped my handbag tight and walked out the front door, and a rotten egg smashed against my head, the rancid stench hitting me square in the face.

　　Then came a barrage of rotten eggs and wilted vegetable leaves, a mob spitting vicious words, even telling me to drop dead.

　　Bewildered, I hurried into the car and left.

　　In the car I finally caught my breath. I opened my phone, and only then found there was a trending topic about me.

　　#Sam isn't the mistress, Cindy Stephens is#

　　I tapped the post open and read all of it.

　　It laid out how I'd shamelessly seduced Stanley, how I'd used dirty tricks to get pregnant, how I'd come crawling back to latch onto him six years later.

　　My whole body went rigid, my gaze locked on the account that posted it. It was the official account of Stanley's company.

　　For Samantha's sake, he'd actually used the main account to post.

　　It came back to me all at once, how when Stanley and I first got together, he said he couldn't go public with me yet, but couldn't hold up against my little tantrums, so he'd offered to come out with it on a secret account.

　　It was only after I gave birth that I found out the posts on his secret account were visible to me alone.

　　I should have seen it long ago. Stanley was never a good match for me.

　　It was my own stubbornness, my insistence that he was my fate, that not only got my Sammy killed, but left my Sammy's ashes with no peace.

　　All because the Vance family had a rule: any child who died before turning eighteen wasn't worthy of being laid in the Vance family cemetery.

　　And Sammy's ashes had been held in Stanley's hands all this time. I hadn't so much as laid eyes on them.

　　When I got home, I came face to face with Stanley. There was a softness in his voice.

　　"Cindy, don't take the talk online to heart. It's only temporary."

　　"Did you watch the video?" I cut straight to it.

　　His eyes flickered. He tried to change the subject. "Stop going after Sam from now on. She's a new artist my company signed. She's going to make me a fortune. Once she's earning, I can buy you anything you like."

　　"I asked you a question. The video I sent you, did you watch it?" My face was blank as I pressed him.

　　I already knew the answer in my heart, but I still wanted to hear him admit it with his own mouth.

　　"No." Stanley let out a helpless sigh. "It's already happened. There's no undoing it. Why do you have to keep clinging to it?"

　　By the end, a thread of resentment had crept into his voice.

　　My throat went bitter, as if a wad of wet cotton were jammed tight against it, and I couldn't force out a single sound.

　　In that moment my heart cramped with pain, and it felt like all the blood in my body had frozen solid.

　　Seeing me say nothing, Stanley assumed I'd taken it in. Relieved, he said, "There. Go apologize to Sam, and this whole thing blows over."

　　I dodged the hand he reached toward me and bit back my temper as I demanded, "Why was the villa's keypad code changed? Why won't you admit Sammy was your son? Why would you rather believe a stranger than believe me?"

　　"Stanley, we've known each other eight years. Don't you understand me at all by now?"

　　He met my questions with a flat gaze, his brow knitting faintly. "Cindy, stop making a scene."

　　"I don't know where you got these absurd conclusions, but you are not to touch Sam. Understand?"

　　"Stanley, can you live with yourself? I kept our marriage a secret for you, I went through everything to bring our child into the world for you, for you I—"

　　I hadn't finished when Stanley cut me off, his voice low. "Did I tell you to do any of that?"

　　His tone turned glacial. "Wasn't all of it your own choice? Did I force you to have the child? Did I force you to spend your life with me?"

　　"Cindy, don't act like I owe you something. Sam came into my life when I needed her most, and that was the moment I realized who it was I really loved. But I still have a conscience. I didn't divorce you."

　　"You should count yourself lucky, Cindy. Don't keep testing my patience. Be good and go apologize to Sam. Otherwise... I can't promise where your son's ashes might end up scattered."

　　It was as though a pair of merciless hands had torn my heart wide open. The violent pain left me unable to come back to myself for the longest time.

　　I didn't even notice when Stanley left.

　　By the time I came around, my body had gone numb, my limbs cold to the point that I couldn't move.

　　For Samantha, Stanley could actually stoop this low.

　　I gave a bitter, mocking laugh inside.

　　There was a time when some fool with no sense tried to harass me, and Stanley threw himself into a fight without a word. Afterward he pulled strings and had the man locked up.

　　I remembered how, covered in bruises, he'd said, "You're mine. No one gets to touch you. Now that you're with me, I will never let you be wronged."

　　But every bit of bitterness and grief I carried now had come from Stanley himself.

　　For the sake of Sammy's ashes, I still chose to go to the hospital. Before that, I took a shower and changed into clean clothes.

　　When I arrived, I took the VIP entrance and didn't run into anyone irrational.

　　The moment I pushed the door open, I saw Stanley feeding Samantha rabbit-shaped apple slices with his own hand.

　　My expression froze for a beat. Then, after a moment, I let it go.

　　So Stanley's tenderness could be handed to anyone, anytime.

　　His love really was cheap.

　　"You're here?" Stanley glanced at me, set down the dainty fruit plate, and picked up the plastic container beside it to hand to me. "Saved these for you."

　　I gave it a careless glance. Inside were nothing but scattered, irregular chunks of pulp, obviously the scraps left over from carving his rabbit-shaped apple slices.

　　I still remembered how, after Stanley first stumbled across one of those videos, he'd thrown himself into trying it, nicking his fingers three times before he finally produced a single perfect little apple rabbit.

　　Back then I'd teased him, laughing, "You're getting this good at it. Which little sweetheart are you trying to win over?"

　　He'd pulled me close, doting all over me, flicked the tip of my nose, and said, "Who else would I bother for, except my own little tyrant? I'll never make these for anyone else as long as I live. If I do, may I get hit by a car the second I step out the door."

　　Pity. Promises only hold while love does.

　　I didn't know exactly when Stanley's heart had turned, but I'd traced it back: Samantha first appeared on his radar two years ago.

　　Seeing that I didn't take the container, Stanley frowned.

　　On the hospital bed, Samantha lay pale and fragile, her voice soft and pitiful. "Miss Stephens, do you find dear Stanley beneath you? He didn't make you a rabbit, sure, but he set some aside just for you."

　　"If you throw his kindness back at him like this, you'll break his heart. And then that child's ashes, I'm afraid, might just..."

　　I didn't miss the malice glittering at the bottom of her eyes.

　　She was provoking me on purpose. Threatening me.

　　Stanley set the things down hard. "Sam, watch what you say."

　　He looked at me, his gaze calm, as though looking at a stranger passing on the street.

　　"Since you came to apologize, don't just stand there."

　　I clenched my fists so tight my nails bit into my palms, and I didn't even feel it.

　　No physical pain could touch even a fraction of what my heart was going through.

　　Watching Stanley flaunt his favoritism so openly, my chest twisted in agony.

　　"So as long as I apologize sincerely enough, you'll give me my child's ashes?"

　　I couldn't be sure my father would actually get those ashes, and I didn't dare gamble on either side's conscience.

　　Stanley's face darkened, displeased. "What are you questioning? You think I'd lie to you? Sam is kind and generous. All she's asking is an apology."

　　"Fine." I nodded.

　　I bowed ninety degrees toward Samantha and said, every word landing hard, "I'm sorry, Samantha. I shouldn't have pushed you, and I shouldn't have refused to repent and apologize."

　　I held the bow for a full three minutes before I straightened up and asked Stanley, "Is that enough?"

　　Stanley's expression shifted slightly. He stopped putting on airs. "I'll have the ashes sent back this afternoon."

　　Even with his word, I still couldn't rest easy, and pressed him. "Stanley. Remember what you said."

　　Stanley waved an impatient hand. "I won't forget."

　　After leaving the hospital, I went back to the villa and picked up where I'd left off, clearing things out. Over the years I'd bought plenty of furniture, decorations, and the like.

　　I packed all of it up to sell.

　　Every piece had been paid for with my own money, back before I got pregnant.

　　Later, after the baby came, Stanley couldn't bear to see me keep working, and since the child needed someone there, he talked it over with me. "Stay home and raise our son. I'll go out and earn the money to take care of you both."

　　He called it talking it over, but the truth was Stanley never left me any room to maneuver.

　　Once I'd dealt with everything and was about to lie down on the bed for a moment, Stanley barged in, bodyguards trailing behind him.

　　Before I could get a word out, Stanley spoke first. "Cindy Stephens, I actually thought you'd truly repented. I never imagined you'd be vicious enough to want Sam dead!"