It had been five years since I left Arthur Sterling, and I finally stopped thinking about ending my life every day. I found a new love and gave birth to an adorable son. On my son's third birthday, an interview with Arthur suddenly went viral and topped the trending charts. In it, he said: "I will only ever have one wife, and that is Luna. She is also the mother of my only child." Going viral right alongside it was a ten-thousand-word, handwritten apology letter from the daughter who had once cried and screamed for me to stay away from her, calling me a "psycho." 1 I thought today was going to be a wonderfully happy day. It was my son Leo's third birthday. He held a little paper flower he made at daycare and insisted on giving it to me, saying, "Mommy works so hard." My boss had just given me a generous bonus, and my husband, Mark, had transferred his entire paycheck to me the second he received it. So, I bought a ton of groceries, planning to cook a massive feast to celebrate tonight. But as soon as I reached the entrance of our apartment complex, my upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Davis, blocked my path. She looked me up and down without hiding her curiosity. "Tsk tsk, Luna, I never would have guessed it! You used to be a rich man's wife!" I was stunned for a second, then laughed naturally. "Mrs. Davis, please don't joke like that. I've only ever had Mark." Mrs. Davis shot me another look. "Look at your phone. The whole internet knows your business now." The forecast said it was 95 degrees today, but standing there in the blinding sunlight, my entire body went ice cold. I pulled out my phone with trembling hands, unlocked it, and randomly opened a social media app. I didn't even have to search for it. The number one recommended video on the homepage was an interview clip with Arthur Sterling. It was from a press conference for the Sterling Group's newest project launch. The reporter asked about his personal life. In the video, Arthur froze for a moment, and a look of profound pain crossed his face. After a long pause, he looked directly into the camera for the first time. Enunciating every word, he delivered a perfectly executed performance of a deeply devoted man. "I will only ever have one wife, and that is Luna. She is also the mother of my only child." Arthur's eyes were filled with a depth of affection I had never seen before, and he used an intimate nickname he had never used for me before. "Luna, come home. I've been waiting for you." After watching the video, I felt absolutely no positive emotions. My stomach churned with nothing but pure nausea and disgust. I had no idea what had happened over the last five years to cause such a drastic change in his attitude. But even now, I clearly remembered the final phone call I made to Arthur right before I jumped off the bridge five years ago. At that time, his "true love," Chloe, had practically moved into his house. There was nothing left to say about our relationship. I just wanted to give him one last reminder to take good care of our daughter. But on the other end of the line, Arthur let out a cold, mocking scoff: "Luna, stop acting like you're leaving a dying wish. I've seen this exact trick a million times. "You don't need to worry about our daughter. But honestly, if you actually managed to die, she'd be much better off. "After all, having a mother who used to be some rich guy's kept woman, who used a pregnancy to force her way into marriage, is a lifelong humiliation for her. "If you really can wash that stain off her record, maybe she'll actually appreciate you for once." The wind was howling furiously on the sixty-foot-high bridge, but tragically, I heard every single word Arthur said. I wanted to cry, but the freezing wind stung my eyes so badly I couldn't open them. I opened my mouth several times, waiting until the frigid air filled my lungs and my heart turned completely to ice. Finally, I said: "Okay. I'll go die then." Arthur's voice remained completely flat. It was as if my entire existence wasn't worthy of causing even the slightest emotional ripple in him. "Then go die somewhere far away. Don't expect me to collect your corpse. "Don't forget, we never actually signed a marriage certificate. Legally, we have absolutely no relationship. "If you're just having another psychotic episode, don't bother coming back. You've already brought enough misery to our daughter." I hung up before he could finish whatever else he was going to say. I was carrying far too much pain, enough to drag me straight to the bottom of the river. I truly didn't want to hear another word. When I jumped off the bridge, it was the first time since I got together with Arthur that I felt completely relaxed. When the river water rushed up my nose, I didn't struggle at all. I had been thrashing in the swamp of the Sterling family for so long. I was just so tired. I faced death with absolute calm. It was my husband, Mark—a math teacher who rarely exercised—who desperately jumped in and fought with everything he had to pull me out. From that day on, sunlight finally entered my life. So why couldn't Arthur just let me go? My daughter, Mia's, ten-thousand-word apology letter was sitting at number two on the trending list. When Mia was born, I gave her the nickname "Angel." I truly believed my daughter was a little angel sent to save me. But in the end, it was she who dragged me straight into hell. 2 My physical health was incredibly frail. I once almost died over a few pieces of meat. The first time I ever ate a proper serving of meat was when I was 20, the day Arthur brought me to the Sterling estate. The meat smelled incredible, but I only took two small pieces. Growing up, I only ever ate out of a tiny teacup; my stomach couldn't handle more than that. But those two pieces of meat were enough. Shortly after eating, I suffered agonizing abdominal pain and started vomiting blood. I was rushed to the hospital. The doctor said my body was so malnourished and frail it was like I had illnesses from a different century. Because of this, I never thought someone in my condition could ever get pregnant. That day, I was standing on the roof of an abandoned construction site, ready to jump. The name "Arthur Sterling" had become my living nightmare, and I despised myself. I felt like I didn't deserve to live. But just as I stepped one foot off the edge, an overwhelming wave of nausea hit me. I felt so sick I started throwing up violently, accidentally pressing my phone and answering a call from Arthur in the process. I failed to die. At the hospital, the doctor told me I was pregnant. The sudden promise of a continuing life instantly washed away my desire to die. I didn't have an umbrella to protect myself from the rain, but I wanted to provide a sunny sky for my child. Touching my stomach, I thought this baby would be my salvation. With a child, there would finally be someone in this world who loved me. I wouldn't be someone who deserved to die anymore. The pregnancy was brutal. Every single day was agonizing, torturous pain. My body was too weak. Several times, doctors advised me to terminate the pregnancy, but I refused. Of course, in Arthur's eyes, this just looked like I refused to give up the opportunity to use the baby to secure my position as his wife. But all I wanted was to forge a connection with this world again. First, it was my grandmother. After she passed away, I finally had someone again. To others, I probably looked completely insane. I was in constant, agonizing pain, dripping with cold sweat, my face pale as paper, my lips devoid of color. But whenever I touched my growing belly, I smiled. A genuine, heartfelt smile. I felt like all the suffering was worth it. After Mia was born and I was told she was completely healthy, I smiled for a long, long time. I felt like a victorious warrior. It was the first battle I had ever won in my life. I felt like I was amazing. The two critical condition notices issued during labor felt like distant memories. Newborn Mia was a very good baby. Watching her grow day by day, my mood improved significantly. When did it all change? It was when she learned to run and talk. She would call out for Grandpa, Grandma, and Daddy, but she stopped calling me Mommy. She always reached her little arms out and ran toward the Sterling family members, never toward me. Back then, I naively thought it was because I wasn't doing a good enough job, so I just tried to love her even more. But by the time she turned four, she had developed a strong sense of autonomy. The question she asked me the most was: "Are you really my mommy?" That tiny little girl even tried to find various "evidence" to prove I wasn't her mother. I would try to correct her. I even showed her photos of my pregnant belly, telling her that she used to live inside there. But Mia would snatch the photos and throw them on the floor. "Watermelon stripes. Disgusting. You're bad." I was painfully thin during my pregnancy, but Mia grew very well, causing my stomach to stretch rapidly. It left me with severe stretch marks, so ugly that even I couldn't bear to look at them sometimes. But hearing my own biological child call them ugly still broke my heart. Mia would intentionally stand next to me in front of a mirror and say, "I look like Daddy, not you. Looking like you is ugly." One time, she seemed to be in a particularly good mood, so I took the opportunity to get closer, hoping to bond with her. But she ran upstairs and quickly came back down with a photograph. "Daddy looks at this every day. This is my real mommy. You're a fake." The photo was of Arthur's childhood sweetheart, Chloe. Arthur was standing next to her, smiling warmly. It was a gentle look I had never once seen him direct at me. Mia's betrayal was the final straw that broke me. My mental health deteriorated rapidly. There were many times I was so delirious I couldn't distinguish hallucinations from reality. The final explosion happened when the whole family was watching TV, and Chloe appeared on screen. Mia excitedly jumped off the sofa and ran to the TV: "Grandpa, Grandma! It's Mommy! My mommy!" 3 Her proud, joyful smile was like a sharp knife plunging directly through my heart. Arthur's parents smiled and praised Mia, not saying a single word to correct her. Years of accumulated grief and injustice made me snap. I lunged from the sofa and grabbed Mia's arm. "Look closely! I am your mother! How many times do I have to tell you?! I am your mother! "That is a fact that will never change! "It doesn't matter if you're unhappy, or if you don't like it. I AM YOUR MOTHER!" My outburst terrified Mia, and she started crying, struggling fiercely to get away. Arthur's parents yanked Mia out of my grasp. I was shoved backward, and the small of my back crashed directly into the sharp corner of the coffee table. Tears of pure physiological pain immediately sprang to my eyes. Mia wailed loudly, but she didn't forget to kick me, causing me to repeatedly slam against the sharp corner. "Waaaah! I don't want to be with this psycho! I want Mommy Chloe!" The crying disturbed Arthur, who was in his study. He stormed out and, without asking what happened, immediately interrogated me: "Luna, what kind of crazy fit are you throwing this time?!" His mother sneered, "Who knows how she treats Mia when we aren't around? What kind of child hates their own biological mother? "She must have some malicious intentions and treats the child poorly." Then she turned to me: "I used to feel guilty that our family never gave you a proper title. But looking at you now, we did the right thing. "You simply don't deserve to be Mia's mother." The crying Mia in her arms suddenly stopped. The childish voice that followed was, to me, the final trumpet call of death. "Grandma, if she dies, can Chloe be my mommy then?" So, my departure was exactly what Mia wanted most. Why would she come looking for me now? The person I loved most hurt me the deepest. I jumped into the river seeking death, but I wasn't afraid of the water. For the first year after I was rescued, what I feared most was little girls. Especially little girls calling out for their mommy. To me, they were more terrifying than vengeful ghosts. Why couldn't we just leave each other alone now? It wasn't that I hadn't carefully read Mia's letter. But in my heart, I had long ceased to be her mother, and she was no longer my daughter. Yet, a few lines in the middle still stung my eyes. [Mommy, when I was little, you used to get jealous because I loved other people. I'm sorry. Please come back. I promise I'll only love you from now on, okay? I've prepared so many gifts for you for every holiday and birthday. Mommy, I miss you. I love you.] I remembered one Mother's Day, Mia drew a picture and said it was a Mother's Day gift. When she ran toward me holding the drawing, I was so flustered and excited that I immediately started looking for wet wipes to clean my hands, accidentally dropping my phone on the floor. But Mia ran right past me and gave the drawing to our cook, Maria. I remained frozen in a half-crouched position, my arms open, waiting for a hug that never came. Like an absolute joke. At the very end of the ten-thousand-word handwritten letter was a family portrait. Arthur sat on the sofa, his expression serious, even cold. I sat next to him, holding baby Mia in my arms. My eyes were red, and I was forcing a stiff, unnatural smile for the camera. This was our only family photo. We had been together for years. We had no marriage certificate, no wedding, not even a single photo together. I had to beg him for this picture. I just wanted something to show my grandmother when I visited her grave, so she would know I was doing well and not worry about me. But Arthur just mocked me. "Luna, in my eyes, your only identity is Mia's biological mother. Nothing else. "Don't even try it. I won't fall for your manipulative schemes again. "And I will never, ever have any real relationship with a woman like you." I just wanted one single photo, but I received nearly thirty minutes of vicious mockery instead. The heartbreak, the humiliation, the sheer helplessness made my eyes involuntarily turn red. Just as I was about to take the baby and go upstairs, Arthur spoke again, agreeing to the photo in a tone that sounded like he was tossing scraps to a beggar. I saw comments from netizens saying Arthur looked like the perfect, strict, disciplined father. And that I must have been so overwhelmed with emotion from becoming a new mother and having such a doting husband that my eyes turned red, even though I was clearly so happy. So many netizens commented that they wished they could trade places with me. But that past is a wound on my soul that will never, ever heal. I looked at the bold words written beneath the photo: Wife/Mommy, come home. How incredibly ironic. They were using the photo I had to grovel and beg for, to beg me to come back. 4 I sat blankly against the wall, feeling like I was about to disconnect from this world all over again. The blinding sun beat down on me. Beads of sweat rolled down my hair and across my face, eventually splashing onto the ground and forming a small puddle. But I remained motionless. The freezing chill radiating from my heart froze me from the inside out, locking my entire body in ice. Cold and stiff. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. As I struggled to lift my head, the person crouched down in front of me. The next second, a cool, soothing sensation touched my forehead. Mark was using a wet wipe to gently clean the sweat from my face. He pulled out a small, portable fan, turned it on, and placed it in my hands. With one hand, he pulled me up, and with the other, he picked up the scattered groceries. "Did you get heatstroke? It's really hot today. Let's go, let's head home early. Our son already turned the AC on. "When we get back, the three of us will crush that giant tub of ice cream." My consciousness slowly returned. I opened my mouth, my voice dry and raspy. "Hubby, the internet..." For the very first time, Mark interrupted me. He turned around, smiled brightly, and said: "You mean those two trying to extort us? It's no big deal. As long as the three of us live our lives happily, nothing else matters." I had never hidden my past from Mark. But after he found out, he treated me even better. When we first got together, Mark was a bit of a dense, quiet guy. He didn't talk much, had a terrible internet connection, and when he wasn't solving math equations, he was prepping lesson plans. But later, just to make me smile, he started reading jokes online, clumsily trying to learn how to be funny. I gripped Mark's hand tighter, desperately trying to find a sense of security. Mark slowed his pace and squeezed my hand even tighter. "Don't be afraid. I've got you." My nose stung. Mark immediately started teasing me. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let me tell you, our family is rich, okay? We don't need you crying pearls of sorrow!" When we opened the door to our apartment, a blast of cool air washed over us, carrying the scent of flowers and buttercream frosting. Our son, Leo, holding a massive bouquet of flowers, practically tumbled over his own feet running toward me and threw himself into my arms. "Mommy, you work so hard! This is for you!" I immediately looked over at the shelf where his piggy bank usually sat. Sure enough, it was gone. Mark whispered in my ear: "He took his piggy bank to the flower shop and demanded to buy the absolute biggest bouquet they had. But it was too heavy for him to carry, so he had to settle for this one." Leo pulled me over, insisting I cut the cake. I placed the first slice in front of him, but he pushed it back to me. "For Mommy! Mommy worked so hard to give birth to me. Today is all about Mommy!" Mark waved his hand in front of my face, and a beautiful gold necklace dropped from his palm. "Here! I have a gift too! Thank you for all your hard work, wifey. "You're the reason our family is so complete and happy." Looking at the big and little guys standing in front of me, my heart felt like it was soaking in warm syrup. Sweet and comforting. I felt like I was the center of their universe. Every holiday, this father-son duo perfectly coordinated their efforts, finding every excuse in the book to tell me I was the hero of the family. Like during the Spring Festival, which they turned into my annual "Awards Ceremony." On Father's Day, Mark would still buy me a gift, insisting it was because I gave him the opportunity to be a father. On Valentine's Day, he thanked the heavens for letting us meet. Even on his own birthday, he would always say that I was the greatest gift he had ever received. He and Leo were always telling me how wonderful I was, but the truth was, they were the ones who truly saved me. Just as the tears were about to fall, a chubby little hand smeared with frosting touched the corner of my eye. "Mommy, smile! If you're happy, I'll give you all my reward stickers from now on!" Mark pulled out a tiny, clear jar. "I'll give you little gold beans. We don't want your pearls of sorrow." I sniffled. "Okay, okay, I'm fine now! Come on, let's eat cake first!" Just as I was serving cake to my boys, a loud knock echoed from the front door. Mark went to open it. After the sound of the door opening, there was a long, heavy silence from the entryway. I turned around, the plate of cake in my hand nearly slipping from my grasp. Arthur was standing in the doorway. Beside him, Mia violently shoved past Mark, sprinted into the apartment, and threw herself directly into my arms. "Mommy, I missed you so much!"
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