On the way to the hospital, with my father suffering from a stroke, we were caught in a traffic jam. Suddenly, I spotted Spencer, my husband, working as a traffic cop. My mother was about to plead for his help, but I decisively swerved into a less congested side street.

In a previous time, Spencer had hesitated but eventually helped clear a path to the hospital. However, that night, his childhood friend Monica, upset about Spencer ignoring her calls, turned on the gas and took her own life. Spencer seemed indifferent to her tragic decision and even organized a Thanksgiving gathering for my father once he was discharged. Yet at that event, he poisoned the food.

"It's all because of you and your damn father! Why else would Monica have killed herself? You both caused her death, and now it's payback time!" he snarled, his words dripping with malice.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day my father's stroke first occurred. This time, Spencer received Monica's call and rushed to her immediately. But why does he still feel guilt now?

The cacophony of honking horns surrounded us during rush-hour traffic, as my father lay unconscious in my mother's arms, unresponsive. We were stranded at the intersection.

Outside the car window, Spencer's colleague Carlos stood in uniform, his face stern.

"Everyone's stuck here. If I clear the road just for you, people will say I'm playing favorites. Seriously, Katie, what are you trying to pull here?" he accused, his eyes cold.

My mother's anxiety was palpable; she was shouting desperately.

"There's a life hanging in the balance here! What kind of cops are you?!"

Half an hour ago, I relived this day again. This time, as I found myself stuck in traffic, I opted not to ask Spencer, who was directing traffic, for assistance. Instead, I weaved through the vehicles, turning onto a quieter side street. But before I could speed up, Carlos showed up, blocking my way.

"What life? I don't see anything. Your dad's just napping in the back seat. How could he have had a stroke?" he mocked.

"If you keep causing a scene and disrupting traffic, I'll have no choice but to take you down to the station and lock you up."

Carlos's mocking smile betrayed his disdain. Nearby drivers honked, upset at my attempt to break through.

"Can't you follow the rules?! Why should we wait while you don't?!"

"Exactly! She should've asked her cop husband to clear the road. Who does she think she is?!"

The chorus of voices was loud inside the car. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my back drenched in cold sweat, overwhelmed with despair. Would my father die here today?

My mother's cries were tinged with hopelessness, unable to understand why nobody believed her husband was at death's door.

"Katie, Spencer warned me about your antics. I have to say, you do put on quite a show," Carlos sneered.

"Spencer told me to let you wait for the traffic to ease today. Don't make a scene or cost him his job, alright?"

I tightened my grip on the wheel. Carlos was a capable officer, but he never treated me fairly. I hadn't understood his animosity before, but now it was clear. He believed I was holding Spencer back, preventing him from reaching his potential.

In his eyes, I was the conniving woman who had trapped Spencer in marriage. Because of me, Spencer never ended up with his childhood friend Monica. But there was no time for explanations; my father had been unconscious for too long, and every second mattered.

Suppressing the panic rising in my mind, I opened the car door and walked toward Carlos.

In my previous life, the feeling of despair was overwhelming. Back then, I swallowed my pride and pleaded with Spencer to help us find a way out. After much reluctance, he finally agreed.

That day, my father was rushed for emergency care, and our family could finally breathe a sigh of relief. But that night, Spencer's childhood friend, Monica, tried to end her life by turning on the gas, distraught because Spencer hadn't answered her calls. Later, Spencer learned that Monica was overwhelmed and sought his comfort.

Spencer clutched her ashes close to his chest for three solid days. Afterward, he seemed to return to his usual self. He visited my father after work, always bringing me a bouquet of flowers, his smiles even brighter than before. At the time, I thought he had finally moved on from the woman who should have never interfered with our marriage.

On the day my father left the hospital, Spencer organized a celebratory dinner for us. Little did we know that every dish on the table had been laced with poison. My father was the first to die. I fought desperately to escape, but Spencer grabbed my hair and dragged me down to the basement.

He forced me to look at Monica’s photo, framed on the wall. "If it weren't for you and your worthless father, Monica wouldn't have died!"

"Why did your dad have to get sick when Monica needed me the most? Why did he pressure me to help you?!"

The pain made me cry out, and I wanted to explain. My father genuinely cared for him and had asked an old friend to help his son-in-law secure a job. But my father had underlying health problems, and drinking too much when asking for favors led to a brain hemorrhage. Spencer was clearly about to be promoted.

I knelt beside Monica’s urn, summoning all my strength to explain. But Spencer, eyes red from crying, heard nothing. He stabbed me in the heart repeatedly.

"You Riley family always looked down on me; why couldn't you leave me alone? Leave me and Monica!"

"Monica's gone, and everyone must pay for it!"

I lay there, disgraced, gradually losing consciousness, only to be kicked aside by Spencer, who then stabbed himself in the heart.

"Monica, I won't let you be alone."

I realized then that he had never truly let go of her. Back then, when Monica was followed home from work, she called Spencer for help. He nearly beat the man to death because of a minor scratch on her face.

Spencer was close to a promotion at that time. Yet for Monica, he missed the chance. I was blinded by love, stubbornly trying to hold onto something never meant to be mine.

Suddenly, I realized the path behind me was completely blocked. Time was running out. I took a deep breath and knelt in front of Carlos.

"Carlos, I’m to blame. My dad is innocent; please help him get to the hospital," I pleaded, bowing my head repeatedly.

The drivers around us were stunned.

"My father is unconscious from a brain hemorrhage. This is life or death!"

"I'm begging you! Only you have the power to help!"

Under the watchful eyes and whispered speculation of the crowd, Carlos sneered.

"Spencer was right; people like you will do anything for attention."

The aching in my forehead was nothing compared to the hurt in my heart. I looked up, and Carlos spat at me, his face full of disdain.

Then he grabbed a megaphone from his car and shouted to the crowd.

"Don't be fooled by this woman! There’s no father with a brain hemorrhage; it's all lies!"

"Back when she wanted to be with my buddy, she used her father's influence to pressure him and threatened his childhood friend to break up, saying she’d ruin them if they didn’t split."

"Now she's making a scene just to stir up trouble. I think she's the real issue here—a meddling third party!"

The crowd gasped, looking at me with disgust.

"Ugh, hard to tell."

"Can't believe she’s conspiring with her dad to deceive everyone. Isn't she just wasting public resources?!"

My heart sank; I hadn’t anticipated Spencer, or rather Carlos, would go this far. From the moment Carlos blocked me, I suspected he might have been reborn too.

"Katie! Your dad can't hold on much longer!"

Mom screamed from inside the car while Dad convulsed in her arms.