After realizing what he had done, Ethan finally seemed to remember that I was still standing beside him.

He looked uncomfortable, scratching the back of his neck, and stammered an explanation:

“I—I did it out of instinct. I wasn’t thinking clearly... I didn’t know it would be her.”

I gave a cold laugh and stared straight at him.

“Then why did that little boy call you ‘Dad’?”

Before Ethan could open his mouth, Ruth quickly stepped in. Her voice trembled, eyes misted with tears.

“My Henry has never had a father figure in his life. He’s always craved a father’s love. When someone shows me a little kindness, he mistakenly calls them dad… I’m sorry, sister, I didn’t mean to upset you. If you’re angry, just hit me—hit me instead of blaming my Henry.”

She reached out and grabbed my hand, trying to guide it toward her face as if inviting a slap.

But before I could react, Ethan shoved me hard, and I fell to the ground.

“Stop it, Samantha!” he shouted. “She’s your sister! Why are you being so cruel to her? And why take it out on a child? Henry’s still young—he doesn’t know any better. But you? You should!”

I looked up at Henry, now hiding timidly behind Ethan. Seeing him shield that child like a father protecting his own, my chest tightened with pain.

I didn’t say another word. I simply stood up and walked away.

Ethan didn’t return until late that night.

He entered quietly, a guilty look on his face, and pulled me into his arms.

“Samantha, I’m sorry about earlier. I overreacted. Ruth… she’s had such a hard life. Her mother passed away, and her father doesn’t acknowledge her. She’s all alone, a widow with a child. I only helped her because she’s your sister.”

He buried his face on my shoulder, kissing my forehead in an attempt to win me back.

“Don’t be mad at me, okay? I know I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

I turned my head, avoiding his kiss, and said coldly,

“Tomorrow is Grace’s memorial. I have to prepare her offerings. I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”

His expression stiffened, as if something had just occurred to him. After a moment, he said awkwardly,

“About that… I might not be able to come with you. There’s a shareholders’ meeting at the company—very important. I’m doing this for you and the baby, to give you both a better life. I’m sure Grace would understand her dad.”

His eyes were filled with fake sincerity, but all I felt was overwhelming sadness.

I knew exactly where he would be tomorrow—not at a shareholders’ meeting, but at Henry’s birthday party.

I read the messages. I knew everything.

The day Grace died had been Henry’s birthday.

For the past three years, Ethan made sure to compensate Ruth for every day he spent with me.

Each year on Henry’s birthday, while pretending to grieve with me, he sent them extravagant gifts:

In the first year, he gave them a villa.

In the second, it was a set of royal jewelry—priceless and rare.

In the third, he handed over a commercial building in the heart of the city, registered under Henry’s name.

This year, he no longer wanted to miss the celebration.

I read his message to Ruth:

“I should’ve waited until the baby’s born to avoid making Samantha suspicious, but when I think of Henry waiting for me with such anticipation… my heart feels like it’s being torn apart.”

“I don’t want to miss any more of his childhood.”

The gift this year?

A notarized property deed.

All of Ethan’s assets and company shares were to be passed on to Henry in the future.

And now, after everything, he had the nerve to look at me with that same fake tenderness.

“If you don’t say anything, I’ll take it as your agreement,” he said softly.

“Wife, I know you’re the most understanding person. When I find time, I’ll go visit Grace too.”

“I’m her father—how could I ever bear to see her suffer?”

I turned away, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

That night, I called my lawyer and contacted the hospital.

I couldn’t carry this child any longer.

I believed, deep down, the baby would understand.

At dawn, Ethan got up and left, completely unaware of what I was about to do.

I took a taxi straight to the hospital. My pregnancy was already advanced, so I had no choice but to undergo induced labor.

The anesthesia was injected into my veins, yet I could still feel the cold metal forceps twisting and tugging inside my body.

Staring blankly at the harsh operating light above me, I tried to shut off my emotions—tried to go numb.

Still, tears continued to stream down my cheeks.

I couldn’t stop remembering how thrilled I had been when I first found out I was pregnant.

Back then, I truly believed I could leave the pain behind and start over.

I had prayed endlessly for Grace to come back to me in another life, so I could give her twice as much love, protect her twice as fiercely.

Ethan cried, too. He’d knelt beside me with trembling hands and whispered,

“Everything will be okay… We’ll be okay, Samantha. We’ve been through so much—there has to be light at the end.”

We even visited my mother’s grave together. He’d choked up, clinging to my hand as he vowed,

“I swear on my life—I won’t let Samantha get hurt again. This time, I’ll protect her and the baby with everything I’ve got.”

Back then, I believed him completely. I thought he was my second chance, my anchor in the storm.

After the procedure, I lay alone in a hospital bed all night, wrapped in silence and cold sheets.

By noon the next day, Ethan finally messaged me with a flimsy excuse.

“Sorry, baby. I drank too much at a company dinner and passed out at my parents’ place. I’ll come home soon.”

I didn’t respond. Seconds later, another message came in.

“Wife, you didn’t even call to check on me? Aren’t you worried? Are you still upset?”

Then another:

“I brought your favorite chestnut porridge. I queued for a long time to buy it. Can you forgive me now?”

My reply came without thinking:

“But I’m allergic to chestnuts.”

There was a long pause. Then came a flood of apologies.

My heart felt like it was shattering.

How could he forget?

The first time I had an allergic reaction, he stayed by my hospital bedside all night.

We were still young then. He had written down all my allergens in a notebook and memorized them by heart.

But now, he had brought me the one thing I couldn’t eat.

Because someone else loves chestnuts.

Last night, I saw a post on Ruth’s social media. The background was unmistakable—it was my biological father’s house.

In the photo, a man was playing with her son, laughing beside my father like part of the family.

She tried to blur the man’s face, but she couldn’t hide the distinctive watch on his wrist.

I recognized it instantly. It belonged to Ethan.

I also noticed the table was filled with roasted chestnuts.

The pain was so sharp that even my tears dried up.

How ironic that the people I loved the most had quietly turned against me.

I checked myself out of the hospital and left alone, ignoring the barrage of missed calls on my phone.

When I stepped through the front door, Ethan rushed forward and wrapped me in his arms, holding me tightly without a word.

His voice was hoarse, trembling with fake emotion:

“I was going crazy worrying about you. I thought something terrible happened. Samantha, don’t ever do that again. Please, you promised me you'd live well.”

After what felt like hours, he finally let go—just as Ruth appeared from the living room sofa.

The moment our eyes met, she stood up and walked toward me, speaking with gentle accusation:

“Brother-in-law was so worried about you. Please, sister, don’t be so impulsive next time, okay?

I know you’re going through psychological issues, but that doesn’t give you the right to torment the people who care about you.

Brother-in-law is so kind to you. You really need to cherish him.”

Looking at her fake concern and sanctimonious expression, I felt a wave of nausea.

“If you want him, you can have him.”

The moment the words left my mouth, her eyes welled with tears on cue.

“I’m only thinking about what’s best for you. If you don’t appreciate it, then I’ll just leave.”

At that moment, Ethan, who should have looked torn or sorrowful, suddenly dropped the act and turned serious—too serious.

“Ruth was so worried about you,” Ethan said coldly. “She even left her child behind just to help me look for you. She didn’t do anything wrong. If you're angry, take it out on me—not on her.”

Ruth burst into louder sobs, looking as if she’d been terribly wronged. Without another word, she ran out of the house like a wounded heroine.

Ethan’s eyes darkened.

“You owe her an apology,” he said icily. Then he turned on his heel and chased after her.

I stood there in silence, surrounded by the quiet of an empty home.

Every corner, every shelf, every wall was filled with memories—of laughter, promises, and a life I once believed in.

But now, all of it feels like a lie.

I quietly gathered my documents, packed a few belongings into a bag, and walked out of that house alone.

Later that day, I printed the divorce agreement and made arrangements for it to be delivered. Three days from now, it would be dropped at Ethan’s doorstep—alongside the abortion report.

That night, I returned to Grace’s grave.

Her photo on the tombstone still wore the same bright, innocent smile, like a little flower blooming against the cold.

I sat with her and poured my heart out, whispering all the words I’d never get to say again.

My tears fell onto the stone and bloomed into invisible flowers on the wet surface.

My final words to her were soft but firm.

“Mom will make sure you get justice. I promise.”

The next morning, while waiting at the airport for my flight, I overheard two women chatting beside me.

“Did you see the trending video last night?” one asked excitedly.

“999 drones lit up the entire city center, spelling out a confession. I heard the president of a big company did it to win back his wife! Gosh, I’m so jealous. When will someone do that for me?”

Her friend replied, “I know, right? I heard it was the heir of the Wells Group. Rich, handsome, and totally in love. His wife must’ve saved the universe in her past life—what luck!”

Curious, I opened the trending app.

There, in the top video, 999 drones floated in the night sky, forming one name: Ruth.

The lights morphed into swirling shapes, hearts, and glowing declarations of love. For hours, the city center glowed as bright as day.

I boarded the plane in silence. Just as I was about to switch off my phone, a text from Ethan came in.

“Have you thought things over? I’ll come pick you up later so you can apologize to Ruth. Everything will go back to how it was. Be good and don’t let me down again, okay?”

I replied without emotion:

“I need some time to think. In two days, I’ll come home and apologize to her myself. Can you ask her to be there?”

His reply was immediate and eager:

“Wife, I knew you were the most understanding.”

Two days later, a deliveryman knocked on the door of Ethan’s home.

He dropped off a sealed envelope with the divorce agreement and the abortion report—just as scheduled.

The house, however, was empty.

On the other side of the city, chaos erupted.

Ruth’s son had suffered a sudden relapse. He had fallen into a coma and urgently needed a matching kidney. The one he’d been waiting for—the baby I’d been carrying—was gone.

Ethan panicked. He tore through his contacts, tried everything to reach me, but I vanished.

He remembered our planned meeting too late and rushed home, only to find two sheets of paper and a USB drive lying quietly on the doorstep.