Midnight had passed, and my husband was working late again. Seeing me sitting forlornly in the living room, he proactively handed me his phone. "Check it." "The passcode is your birthday." With that, he went straight into the bathroom to take a shower. I looked at the phone in front of me and gave a bitter half-smile. Even if I checked it a hundred times, what was the point? He had long since scrubbed it clean. Shortly after, Ethan came out of the shower and pulled me into a tight embrace. "Nothing there, right? I told you, you can trust me." I looked up, only to see a thin, faint scratch mark on the back of his neck. I gave a cynical, mocking smile. I didn't explode. I just calmly pushed him away. "Let's get a divorce, Ethan." I had had enough of living like this. The air went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, a crisp, shattering sound rang out. It was the sound of Ethan accidentally knocking over the vase next to him. That vase was the very first decoration we bought together at IKEA during our first year of marriage. From a cozy one-bedroom apartment to a spacious condo, and now to a luxurious mansion. We had treated it like a lucky charm, witnessing our stumbling journey all along the way. Now, the vase was shattered completely. Just like our seven-year marriage. It could never be repaired; we could never go back to how things were. I pulled my gaze away from the shattered pieces on the floor and looked back at Ethan. "I've already had a lawyer draft the divorce papers. Remember to sign them..." Before I could finish, Ethan abruptly cut me off. "My hand got cut by the vase, Emma." I paused, looking down. Only then did I realize that his hand had been sliced by a flying shard. Bright red blood was dripping onto the floor. "Emma, help me clean this up," Ethan said, his voice hoarse. He rarely showed weakness to me. But I also knew this was his usual tactic for seeking a truce. As long as I took the out he was offering and proactively helped bandage him up, we would be "back to normal." But this time, I just calmly looked away and said coldly: "It's just a small cut. Put some ointment on it and it'll be fine." I paused, steering back to the original topic. "Once you've dealt with that, remember to sign the divorce papers." Ethan's eyes suddenly darkened. "Emma, I'm literally bleeding. How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?!" Ethan sounded genuinely confused. In his eyes, it was as if cheating wasn't really a mistake. Especially since, after my hysterical crying and screaming, he had set up auto-delete for all those ambiguous text messages. He had even changed all his passcodes to my birthday. So he didn't understand why I was still "throwing a fit." I subconsciously rubbed the mottled scar on my wrist and stayed silent. Right then, his phone rang. It was that familiar ringtone, the one that had frequently sounded in the middle of the night for nearly a year. Ethan used to explain that it was an emergency line for his company, and I hadn't doubted him. Until his birthday. I was at Whole Foods, picking out his favorite fish, hesitating over whether to bake it or fry it. Then I looked up and saw him, right there with my own eyes, holding another woman close as they picked out snacks. In that moment, everything finally clicked. Ethan had been cheating on me for a long time. And that woman was his childhood friend he had mentioned in passing, Chloe. Perhaps because we had already confronted it and he had come clean, Ethan didn't bother making excuses this time. He answered the call right in front of me: "I'll be there right now. Wait for me." After hanging up, completely disregarding the cut on his hand, he hurriedly grabbed his car keys to leave. As he reached the entryway, he suddenly cast a deep, piercing look at me. His tone was filled with disappointment: "You never used to be like this, Emma." What was I like before? Offering him a burning, devoted heart, only to be wounded by him until I was covered in scars? Because I cared too much. Because I couldn't bear to let go of this ten-year relationship. Not to mention, back then, he had gotten me pregnant. So I endured the pain and chose to forgive him. He also promised to keep his distance. But what was the result? The scar on my wrist... wasn't that the ultimate proof of my stupidity? I rubbed that scar. It felt as if the festering wound was oozing pus again, hurting so much I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, a loud "BANG—" interrupted my thoughts. Ethan had slammed the door and left. I knew he was going to find Chloe again. I stared at the closed door and gave a faint, bitter smile. "Goodbye, Ethan." Half an hour later, Chloe posted an Instagram story visible only to me. "He said I'm the only one whose heart aches for him, and told me never to leave him." The accompanying photo showed the back of Ethan's head buried in her embrace, and their tightly interlocked fingers. Just tens of minutes ago, Ethan had said I could trust him. But the "trust" he spoke of probably meant trusting the pure "friendship" between him and Chloe. Trusting that when he missed my prenatal check-ups time after time for Chloe's minor inconveniences, it was just out of "loyalty" to a good friend. Trusting that the two of them spending an entire night naked in the same bed was just an innocent way of "catching up." Shortly after, just like many times before, Chloe completely deleted that post. As if what I had just seen was merely a hallucination born of my "paranoia." Then, she sent another message. "Hey girl, Ethan was just in a really bad mood tonight, so he came over for a drink. Please don't overthink it." "It really isn't worth it for an outsider like me to affect the relationship between you husband and wife." Don't overthink it? I looked at those words and couldn't help but sneer. I still remembered when I dragged my fever-ridden body to confront Ethan with screenshots of Chloe's Instagram. He had explained it the exact same way. "Chloe and I grew up together. She went abroad for college and stayed there. Now she's finally back in the States. Can't I just catch up with an old friend?" "Emma, you're just sitting at home sick with too much time on your hands. That's why you're always overthinking things." Seeing that I was running a high fever, my face growing paler by the second, Ethan seemed to realize he had misspoken. He quickly pulled me into his arms, resting his forehead against mine. "Em, even for the sake of our child, you should trust me. Please don't overthink it, okay?" He gently wiped away my tears, his tone full of helpless affection. "Stop crying, Em. Alright, I promise you, I'll keep my distance from her." Seeing my tears flow even harder, Ethan deleted Chloe's contact info right in front of me. He even changed all his passcodes to my birthday. Ten years of history. Seven years of marriage. And our child was about to be born. At that time, I truly couldn't bear to let go. So I gritted my teeth, forgave him, and chose to trust him one more time. But what happened after? Less than a month later. Right when I unexpectedly went into premature labor, had just learned the baby had died in my womb, and needed to recover in the hospital the most... He decisively left the hospital, all because of Chloe's single text saying her "stomach hurt." I instantly broke down. Like a madwoman, I grabbed the fruit knife next to me, my voice hoarse as I asked him: "Ethan, are you sure you want to choose her? If you take one step out that door, we are completely finished!" Ethan's expression instantly turned nasty. He looked at me like I was insane. "Emma, stop acting out. I've hired private nurses to be here with you, and the doctor already said you're stable." "Chloe just got back to the States. She doesn't have anyone here, and she's always had health issues. I have to go. Don't make this difficult for me." After saying that, he never looked back, leaving me with only a resolute silhouette. The moment the hospital room door clicked shut, the knife in my hand also slipped from my grasp... It slashed my wrist, leaving that grotesque scar. The vibration of my phone pulled me back from those distant memories. It was a voice message from Ethan. He sounded drunk. "Em, please stop being mad at me. Let's have another baby, okay?" A baby? I subconsciously rubbed the scar on my hand. I thought the pain had already numbed. But hearing him mention a child again, my heart still ached in waves, almost drowning me. It took a long time before I finally managed to calm my emotions. I raised my hand, wiped away the last tear, and silently blocked both Ethan and Chloe's numbers. Then I made an overseas call: "Dad, I'll meet you at the airport in three days." For the next few days, Ethan didn't come home. I didn't bother asking when he'd be back. I just started packing my bags. But the imprint left by seven years of marriage was too deep. So many items had shadows of Ethan. The white scarf Ethan gave me on our first date. I had worn it for many years and could never bear to throw it away because he had spent months knitting it himself. There were many other "firsts" he gave me—things Ethan had poured his heart into, staying up late to make for me by hand. They were all carefully treasured in a safe. I couldn't bear to lose them. Later, as Ethan's career became more and more successful, his gifts became increasingly expensive. I continued to accept them with joy because they were all proof that Ethan had once loved me deeply. But later still... in our second year in the mansion, Chloe appeared. The vanity table slowly began to fill up with various luxury brand watches and jewelry. The closet gradually filled with the latest haute couture from every season. Some of these were worth hundreds of thousands, some even millions, but they were no longer given out of love. They just became Ethan's "apologies" and "compensation" for making me wait alone for countless nights... all for someone else. I looked at these items and coldly bypassed them. Then I only packed the things that truly belonged solely to me. On the day I finished packing everything, Ethan happened to come home. Seeing the suitcase in my hand, he frowned. "Where are you going this time?" He still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. After all, the old me had threatened to run away more than once. I didn't deny it. I just lowered my eyes and said, "Going to clear my head." Ethan didn't sense anything wrong. Instead, he pulled me into his arms. "Em, I've been waiting for a text from you all week." Waiting for my text? But I clearly remembered that in the past, whenever I texted asking him to come home... All I got in return was his dismissive impatience. He cupped my face with both hands, staring intently into my eyes. "As long as you said the word, I would have come right back. But you didn't." Ethan sounded aggrieved. As if during those days, the person keeping another woman company wasn't him. I didn't call out his lie. I just gave a faint smile. Ethan mistakenly thought my anger had passed. He leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth. "Em, I knew it. You're not like your dad." Not like my dad? The words Ethan blurted out stabbed into my heart without warning. The pain made it hard to breathe. He knew exactly how much trauma my mother's infidelity and domestic violence had caused my father and me. If my dad hadn't been resilient enough, brave enough... the person buried in the grave right now would be him! He wouldn't have escaped abroad to live the life he wanted. And now, Ethan casually dismissed everything my biological father had fought so hard to build. And the knife he used... was handed to him by the old me, the one who had loved him wholeheartedly. Meeting my red, swollen eyes, Ethan awkwardly tried to explain: "Sorry, Em. I meant... you don't have to struggle like your dad did. Just staying by my side is enough." "Is that right?" I suddenly smiled, looking straight into his eyes. Meeting my gaze, Ethan's heart inexplicably tightened. But he didn't dwell on it. He thought this meant I wanted to reconcile. He nodded repeatedly, his tone certain: "Of course. Em, you just need to trust me like you used to." I scoffed internally but didn't show it. Just then, my phone rang. I looked up at him and said calmly: "My ride is here. Ethan, you should get back to work." "Okay." Ethan still hadn't noticed anything unusual. He even considerately walked me to the door. Before getting into the car, I called out his name. "Hmm?" "Goodbye, Ethan," I said. Let this be my final farewell to Ethan, a farewell to my past. He ruffled my hair, smiling. "Alright, go have a good trip and relax. I'll work hard at home to make more money to take care of you." I still didn't say anything. I just took one last, quiet look at him and gave a small wave. As the car neared the airport, my phone started vibrating frantically. It was an unknown number. Thinking it was spam, I blocked it immediately. But as I exited the screen, I saw an anonymous text message. "Emma, your baby didn't die. Ethan lied to you." I stared at that line of text, my mind going completely blank. My baby didn't die? Ethan lied to me? I took several deep breaths before I finally regained my senses. With trembling hands, I tapped into the chat and typed word by word: "Who are you? What does this mean..." Before I finished typing, the other person sent a video. It looked like a secretly recorded video. In the video, Ethan and a small infant in his arms were being hugged by Chloe. Their backs were to the camera. Chloe spoke: "Ethie, are you sure? Are you really going to let me adopt you and Emma's baby?" The knuckles of the hand gripping my phone turned stark white. The next second, I heard Ethan's affirmative voice. "I promised you, so of course I won't go back on my word. Besides, my child is your child." "But..." Ethan cut her off, patting her shoulder. "I've arranged everything. Emma will never know. Don't worry. Plus, you have a weak constitution, it's hard for you to have kids." Ethan paused, his tone light: "But Emma is different. If she still wants a child, she and I can just have another one later." At the end of the video, Chloe shot a provocative look at the camera. It turned out, in his eyes, I was just a tool to provide him with eggs. It turned out, that drunken request to "have another baby" meant exactly this. I sat in the car, my whole body turning cold. My fingernails dug so hard into my flesh that it was the only way I could suppress the rage boiling inside me. With trembling hands, just as I was about to tap "save video..." The next second, the sender immediately unsent the video. My face turned as pale as paper. I frantically told the driver to turn around and head straight for Chloe's house. As soon as I arrived, Chloe was walking out of the front door of her villa. "Sister, what are you doing here so suddenly?" I gave a cold, cynical smile: "Chloe, where is my child?" Chloe kept up her act of complete ignorance. There was even a hint of surprise in her eyes. "Sister, what are you talking about?" "I know the baby died shortly after being born premature. You're grieving, but you can't just make up lies and slander me, right?" Seeing my face grow even paler, she suddenly leaned in close to my ear: "Sister, could it be that you developed postpartum depression after losing the baby and are having psychiatric hallucinations? I remember you used to always be paranoid about me and..." Before she could finish, I slapped her hard across the face. "You and Ethan, you two are absolute trash..." Just as my palm was an inch from Chloe's face, someone suddenly grabbed my wrists with brute force. Then, Ethan's cold, reprimanding voice came from above my head: "Emma, didn't you say you were going on a trip to relax? Why did you run over here to act crazy?" I struggled frantically like a madwoman, but I still couldn't overcome the bodyguard's strength. My wrist bones felt like they were going to be crushed, yet it was still less than a ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. I looked at Ethan with bloodshot eyes, my voice hoarse: "I know everything, Ethan." Ethan's pupils shrank for a fraction of a second, then returned to normal. I screamed at him hysterically: "Ethan, I'm begging you, give me my child back!" Seeing my bloodshot eyes, he pursed his lips, seeming like he wanted to say something. Chloe suddenly chimed in: "Ethie, is Sister having psychiatric hallucinations? I know she's heartbroken, but didn't the baby already pass away?" I snapped my head toward Chloe. Just as I opened my mouth to say something, I heard the coldest sentence I had ever heard in my life. "Take her to the psychiatric ward to get checked out. Acting crazy in public is a disgrace." I struggled desperately, screaming at their retreating backs. "I'm not crazy! You're the ones who are crazy..." The hospital examination results came out quickly. I was "diagnosed" with hysteria. Consequently, Ethan quickly arranged for me to be hospitalized for treatment and specifically assigned extra people to "watch" me. The doctors subjected me to electroconvulsive therapy, nearly torturing me into a real "lunatic." After the treatment ended, I had lost almost all my emotions. I lay numbly on the hospital bed. It wasn't until I heard a faint signal beep from the window that I slowly climbed out of bed and calmly walked over. Just in the split second I was preparing to jump, Ethan suddenly opened the door and walked in. And so, he saw my silhouette leaping from the eighteenth-floor window. Ethan's pupils contracted instantly. He rushed frantically toward the window, trying to grab me: "Em! No!"
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