My husband, Daniel Carter, was obsessive about time. He had to wake up at exactly 7:05, and breakfast had to begin at 7:15 sharp.

Even sex was limited to exactly thirty minutes. The second time was up, he pulled away and left.

That day, our daughter had a dangerously high fever, yet he still refused to leave.

Every second dragged by. I kept urging Daniel to hurry.

But he only ate his breakfast at his usual unhurried pace.

"My breakfast has to last a full ten minutes. Besides, children build stronger immune systems when they tough it out a little."

I touched my daughter's forehead, which was growing hotter by the minute, and urged him to give me the car keys so I could take her myself.

Daniel did not even look up. He slowly adjusted his tie and said, "Then I won't make it to the office by 7:50. Wait five more minutes. That's when I'm supposed to leave."

Just then, his phone rang. It was his assistant, Emily Morgan.

"Mr. Carter, I twisted my ankle. Could you come pick me up?"

His expression changed at once. He grabbed the car keys and rushed toward the door.

"I have something urgent to deal with. Call a cab yourselves."

The next day, he called and asked why we had not gone home yet.

I held my daughter's ashes in my arms, numb with grief.

"Our daughter can't go home anymore."

And neither could we.

......

Daniel's voice over the phone was sharp with displeasure.

"Grace Miller, what is that supposed to mean? Even if you're angry with me, you don't get to curse our child."

I clutched the cold urn, my fingertips turning ashen.

My throat hurt as if something had lodged inside it. I could not force out a single word.

The call ended with a flat series of beeps.

I dragged my legs downstairs. Fallen sycamore leaves covered the ground.

The key turned. With a soft click, the door opened.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was painfully bright.

Daniel sat squarely in the center of the sofa, with Emily beside him. Their heads were close together.

There was a smile on Daniel's lips, a tenderness I had not seen from him in half a year.

The moment he saw me walk in, that smile vanished. His brows drew together.

His gaze swept over the empty space behind me, and his face darkened.

"Where's Chloe?"

Then he seemed to think of something, and his expression eased a little.

"You sent her to her grandmother's again, didn't you? That's fine. My mother said a couple of days ago that she missed her anyway."

Daniel came over and reached for my hand. It was his way of backing down.

I stepped back and avoided him.

Emily stood up, guilt written across her face.

"Grace, this was all my fault. If I hadn't been so careless, Chloe's treatment wouldn't have been delayed. Please don't be angry with Mr. Carter. He works so hard, and since you're a full-time mother at home, you should be more understanding. Be the bigger person."

The words "bigger person" drove into my chest like an icicle.

My eyes burned red as the memory of yesterday came flooding back.

The moment Daniel learned that Emily had twisted her ankle, he forgot all about the departure time he normally guarded like sacred law. He left me and our daughter behind and sped away.

I was sweating with panic, but the ride-hailing app kept showing that I was still in line.

I held my burning-hot daughter in my arms. She forced out a smile and, impossibly, tried to comfort me.

"Mommy, it doesn't hurt. Tears, tears, fly away..."

I kept kneeling by the roadside, begging anyone kind enough to take us to the hospital.

At last, a young woman stopped her car.

But morning rush hour had locked the roads solid. Traffic barely moved an inch.

Chloe's breathing grew weaker and weaker.

After she whispered "Mommy" in my arms, she never made another sound.

By the time we finally reached the hospital, the doctors tried to save her, but in the end, they could only shake their heads with regret.

"Febrile seizure. We couldn't revive her."

I tugged the corners of my mouth into a smile. My laughter tasted like blood.

"No one is as generous as you, Daniel. Your own daughter's life mattered less than a tiny sprain on your assistant's ankle."

Daniel shoved me away, his face livid.

"Grace, what the hell are you talking about? Chloe was an accident. Stop dragging Emily into everything!"

I understood then that arguing was meaningless. The last ember in my heart went out.

"Let's get divorced."

The three words left my mouth so lightly, yet they struck the living room like a clap of thunder, leaving it dead silent.

Daniel froze for a moment. Then he let out a scornful laugh.

"Divorce? What tantrum are you throwing now? You've been stuck at home so long that it's clearly rotted your brain."

Emily tried to smooth things over.

"Mr. Carter, Grace is just angry right now. Please don't fight. Maybe I should leave now."

"No." Daniel stopped her and looked at me coldly.

"You want to make a scene? Fine. The guest room upstairs is empty. You can stay there from now on. Emily and I will be discussing work in the master bedroom all night. Don't disturb us."

After that, he stopped looking at me, as if I were invisible.

I turned and went upstairs, pulled out my suitcase, and began packing.

I did not own much.

After five years of marriage, everything I actually used fit into a single twenty-inch suitcase.

While clearing out the nightstand, my hand brushed against Chloe's sketchbook.

On the cover, she had drawn our family of three. Beneath it, she had written, "Daddy and Mommy will love Chloe forever."

I could not stop my tears from falling. They blurred the crayon colors.

When we first started the company, we had squeezed into a tiny rented apartment.

Back then, he had been just as obsessive about time, but he would break his rules for me.

He would leave work half an hour early and go several blocks out of his way just to buy my favorite cinnamon rolls.

He would postpone an entire day of meetings just to spend a holiday with Chloe.

Everything changed the day Emily arrived.

She memorized every one of his timing habits.

At exactly 8:05, she would place warm water on his office desk.

She always reminded him of meetings five minutes in advance, and she always refilled his coffee thirty seconds before he finished it.

His tenderness no longer belonged to Chloe and me.

I placed the sketchbook into my suitcase.

In the second half of the night, the bedroom door opened. Daniel walked in, carrying the scent of cedarwood cologne.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his voice low and gentle.

"I'm sorry, Grace. I was wrong today. There's nothing between Emily and me."

Hearing that tenderness again after so long, I fell into a brief daze, as if I had been pulled back to the days when we were newly married and madly in love.

"Stop making a fuss, okay? Tomorrow at 7:30, I'll go pick Chloe up. We'll live properly from now on."

At the sound of Chloe's name, my whole body stiffened, and I snapped back to myself.

I pried his hands away and looked at him without expression.

"Chloe can't come back. She's dead. And we can't go back either. I've drafted the divorce agreement. Sign it, and we're done."

Daniel's face turned deathly pale. He stared at me in disbelief.

"Grace, are you insane? You're still cursing our child!"

Looking at his stubborn refusal to accept the truth, I felt only exhaustion. I did not want to argue anymore, so I pointed at the door.

"Get out."

He slammed the door and left.

Not long after, laughter and conversation drifted from the room next door. His and Emily's voices were deliberately loud.

I leaned against the headboard and did not sleep all night.

Early the next morning, I took the divorce agreement to Carter Group.

Daniel and I had founded this company together.

Back then, I had sold my parents' house and scraped together two million dollars in startup capital.

After the company got on track, he said it was more important for me to stay home and take care of Chloe, and that he would handle the business. I agreed.

From then on, I became the full-time mother people claimed did nothing but enjoy an easy life. I rarely came to the company anymore.

The two young women at the front desk looked me up and down.

I had not slept all night. My hair was messy, and my clothes were wrinkled.

Disdain appeared on their faces.

"Stop right there. Who are you here to see? Do you have an appointment?"

My voice was hoarse. "I'm here to see Daniel."

"Mr. Carter's name isn't something you get to throw around. Look at you. Get out before we call security."

I frowned. "I'm Grace, Daniel's wife."

The two receptionists exchanged a look, then burst into laughter.

"Grace? Never heard of her. Since when does Mr. Carter have a wife? He and Ms. Morgan are the real couple. Everyone in the company knows that."

"Exactly," the other receptionist chimed in.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and Emily stepped out.

She was wearing a custom-tailored skirt suit, with the watch Daniel had given her on her wrist.

When she saw me, she put on a look of surprise. "Grace? Come in, quickly."

She turned to the front desk and said, "This is Mr. Carter's wife. Don't stop her again."

The two receptionists went deathly ashen and lowered their heads, not daring to speak.

Once we entered the elevator, the smile on Emily's face disappeared, replaced by mockery.

"Grace, how long has it been since you last came to the company? Even the front desk clerk doesn't recognize you anymore. Mr. Carter has it hard. Don't you know how valuable his time is? You should be more considerate of him. Women should learn to be generous. I don't mind sharing him between the three of us. From now on, you can handle the meals at home on schedule, and I'll assist him at the company. How does that sound?"

I leaned against the elevator wall, closed my eyes, and ignored her.

When the elevator reached the top floor, Emily pushed open the door to the president's office.

"Mr. Carter, Grace is here."

Daniel sat behind his desk. Without lifting his head, he stared at his watch and said, "What are you doing here? I have a departmental meeting in three minutes. Make it quick."

I said nothing. My gaze swept across the office.

There was not a single trace of Chloe or me here.

The clock on the wall had been a gift from Emily, accurate down to the millisecond.

In the company photo on the bookshelf, Daniel and Emily stood together, smiling brightly.

Even his thermos matched Emily's.

My gaze fell to the lower right corner of the desk.

A hardcover notebook had been wedged there as padding. Its corners were worn down. It was Chloe's sketchbook.

I strode over and snatched it up. Coffee stains marked the cover, and deep creases cut across it.

I gripped the sketchbook so tightly that my knuckles turned ashen.

"Daniel, this is how you treat Chloe's things?"

He raised his head, looking impatient, and glanced at his watch.

"Isn't it just some old notebook? Emily bumped into the corner of the desk yesterday and damaged it. I just needed something to prop it up."

Emily tugged at his arm.

"This is all my fault, Grace. I'm sorry. I didn't know it belonged to Chloe. I'll make it up to you, okay?"

I let out a cold laugh.

"How exactly are you going to make it up to me? Chloe is being buried tomorrow morning at ten. Can you give her back to me?"

Daniel slammed his hand on the desk, sending documents scattering across the floor.

"Grace! Enough! You're so jealous you've lost your mind. You keep cursing Chloe again and again! I'm telling you, if anything happens to Chloe, I will never let you off!"

I placed the divorce agreement on the desk.

"Save it. Sign. I hold 49% of the shares in the company. Pay me out in cash, and I won't ask for anything else."

Daniel picked up the agreement, glanced over it, and scoffed.

"Shares? What shares? Six months ago, at exactly three o'clock in the afternoon on March fifteenth, you signed the share transfer agreement. You transferred everything to me."

I froze.

Six months ago, he had brought a stack of documents home and told me they were just part of the company's routine procedures, asking me to sign them.

I had signed without even looking.

So he had set the trap long ago.

I looked at him, feeling cold all the way through.

"You planned this from the beginning, didn't you?"

He said calmly, "I was the one who built this company into what it is. It was always supposed to be mine. I transferred twenty thousand dollars to you on the fifteenth of every month, right on time. I've been more than fair."

I said nothing more. I picked up the sketchbook, turned around, and left.

I found a lawyer and handed over all the evidence after organizing it.

Then I went home, took my luggage, and erased every trace of myself from that place.

Just as I left the residential complex, my lawyer called.

"Ms. Miller, something happened. Ms. Morgan was in a car accident. Mr. Carter insists you did it for revenge and says he's going to sue you. He told you to wait for it."

I hung up and stood by the roadside, feeling that the whole thing was beyond absurd.

I had just returned to the law firm when Daniel stormed in.

He was clutching a medical report in his hand, his face livid and his eyes shot through with blood.

The second he saw me, he raised his hand and swung it at my face.

I tilted my head and dodged it.

"Grace! When did you become this vicious? You actually hired someone to run her over!"

My face remained expressionless.

"I didn't do it."

"Then who did? I know you've never been able to stand her!"

When he saw the divorce agreement in my hand, his anger burned even hotter.

"So this is your game. You're threatening me with divorce because you're so sure I won't sign? Then I'll do exactly what you don't want."

He snatched the agreement from me, signed his name with a few sharp strokes, and clenched it in his hand.

"You want a divorce? Fine. I'll give you one. You want your shares cashed out too? That can be arranged."

He pointed at me, his eyes cruel and vicious.

"Emily had three ribs broken in that crash. Go downstairs to the parking lot, stand in the same spot, and let my men hit you once at forty miles an hour."

He thought I would regret it. He thought I would soften right away and say I had only asked for a divorce in a fit of anger.

But I only bent down, picked up the agreement, and brushed the dust from it.

"Fine. I agree. As long as it makes us even, I'll accept anything."

Daniel froze.

"What did you say?"

"I said I agree."

His face twisted with rage.

"Good. This is your choice. Don't regret it."

He took out his phone and gave the bodyguards a cold order.

"Bring the car downstairs."

After hanging up, he grabbed me and dragged me downstairs.

One of the lawyers tried to stop him, but Daniel shoved him aside.

When we reached the open area downstairs, he pointed at the skid marks on the ground.

"Stand right there."

I folded the divorce agreement carefully and tucked it into the pocket closest to my body.

Step by step, I walked to the skid marks and stood there with my back to the direction the car would come from.

I heard Daniel's icy voice as he instructed the bodyguards.

"Make sure you break three of her ribs. Don't hold back. I'll take responsibility."

Afternoon sunlight spilled through the glass ceiling, and the smell of gasoline hung in the air.

The roar of an engine sounded in the distance, drawing closer and closer.

I did not look back. I did not close my eyes.

I thought of Chloe saying she wanted strawberry cake.

I thought of the picture she had drawn of our family of three, with a warm yellow sun above us.

Then came a deafening crash.

I was struck hard and thrown through the air before slamming heavily onto the concrete.

That speed was far beyond forty miles an hour.

A piercing pain shot through my left leg, and the sharp crack of bone breaking exploded in my ears.

My ribs felt as if they had been crushed. Every breath carried the taste of blood.

I lay on the ground, my vision darkening as blood spilled from the corner of my mouth.

Through the blur, I saw Daniel hurry toward me, his expression tense. He seemed about to help me up, his hand already lifted halfway.

Just then, the special ringtone on his phone rang.

He immediately withdrew his hand and answered the call. In an instant, his face softened.

"Emily, what's wrong? Does your wound hurt? Okay, I'll be right there."

After hanging up, he did not spare me another glance. He turned, ran to his car, and sped away.

The sound of the tires faded into the distance until it disappeared completely.

I lay on the cold concrete and pulled out the divorce agreement, now stained red with blood, gripping it tightly in my hand.

My consciousness began to blur, and my vision grew darker and darker.

In a daze, I saw a tiny figure running toward me, wearing a white princess dress, her hair tied into two little pigtails.

She opened her small arms, smiling so brightly that her eyes curved like crescent moons.

"Mommy, hug me."

I reached out, wanting to hold her, but my hand grew heavier and heavier.

At last, everything went black, and I lost consciousness completely.