At dinner, my mother-in-law Martha claimed she was a time traveler from twenty years ago. We dismissed it as medication side effects—until she confronted Arthur: "Why are we living worse than twenty years back? I gave you my brother’s factory spot!" Arthur went silent. Later, Martha begged me to tail him on my scooter. We watched as a Rolls-Royce pulled up. A suited man stepped out: "Mr. Thorne, the luxury care suite is ready. No more pretending to be poor." Martha collapsed against me, sobbing. "Why do you look shocked too?" she gasped. Because in that Rolls sat my "humble delivery driver" husband. 1 Martha, in a daze, stumbled after the disappearing Rolls-Royce, her feet catching on an uneven paving stone. She went down hard. A young couple rushed to help her up, but she just stared at the empty street, refusing to move. "Lady, if you're trying to pull an insurance scam, you picked the wrong car," the girl said, half-joking. "That's a Rolls-Royce. And not just any Rolls—look at the plate, CV-0002." Martha looked at the girl's envious face, completely bewildered. "CV-0001 belongs to the famous Vivian Vance, the wife of the Thorne Industries chairman," the girl chattered on, full of celebrity gossip. "And CV-0002 belongs to the chairman himself, Arthur Thorne. Who knew the head of such a massive corporation was such a romantic? Totally whipped, I bet." The more the girl talked, the darker Martha's expression became. When she heard the name 'Vivian Vance', her eyes looked like they were about to burst from their sockets. "Arthur Thorne... After twenty years, you're still with that bitch." Sensing the shift in mood, the boyfriend gave his girlfriend a nudge, and they quickly made their escape. I was rooted to the spot, my limbs heavy as lead. My phone slipped from my numb fingers, its screen still glowing with a news headline:【INTERNATIONAL SUPERMODEL SHERYL STARR AND HEIR SANDY THORNE HIT THE CLUB FOR A WILD NIGHT OUT】. The man in the photo, his face splashed across the screen, was the same man I knew as my husband. My husband, whose supposed battle with leukemia had drained our life savings and plunged us into a mountain of debt. It wasn't just my father-in-law who was living a lie. It was my husband, Sandy, too. If I hadn't seen him with my own eyes, sitting in the back of that Rolls-Royce in a perfectly tailored suit, I would never have believed it. The husband I’d worked three jobs for, the man I’d pulled back from the brink of death’s door by feeding him rice porridge and pickles to save every penny... was the heir to the Thorne Industries empire. Martha had told me her story. Twenty years ago, she had used her family's connections to get Arthur, who could barely read, into college and land him a respectable job in the city. They had a beautiful son. An accident had thrown her forward in time, and she had expected to wake up to a comfortable, upper-middle-class life. Instead, she woke up to this. The shrill ring of my phone snapped us both out of our stupor. "Kendra, were you moonlighting again? I've got customer complaints up to my ears. If I didn't know you were supporting two cancer patients at home, I would have fired you on the spot. Hello? Are you there?" The voice on the other end was loud enough for Martha to hear every word. Her gaze sharpened, focusing on me. "Two cancer patients? Besides Sandy, who else...?" A horrifying thought seemed to dawn on her. She walked over to a nearby car and stared at her reflection in the side mirror. Sparse hair, a gaunt face, a frail frame paradoxically swollen by a bloated abdomen. "The doctors said you have late-stage stomach cancer," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "They said surgery might have helped, but you refused treatment. You wanted to save the money for Sandy's bone marrow transplant, so you hid it from him and Arthur." Martha stared at her reflection for a long, silent moment. Then, a chilling smile spread across her face. "Arthur Thorne," she whispered to the broken woman in the mirror. "What will you do when you find out that the woman who gave you everything is dying because your little charade kept her from getting treatment?" 2 Following a business news alert, Martha found the hotel where Arthur was holding a meeting that afternoon. Though her mind was sharp and young, her sixty-year-old body was frail. She was panting heavily by the time she reached the lobby. Before she could even ask for the location of the conference room, the front desk clerk was already pinching her nose and rolling her eyes. "Ma'am, we don't have any cans for you to collect here." She gestured subtly for security to remove the "eyesore." But Martha wasn't leaving. She screamed, "I want to see Arthur Thorne!" Her voice echoed in the opulent lobby. "The land he just sold belonged to my family! How dare he use that money to buy that whore Vivian Vance a private island!" "Where did this crazy person come from?" the clerk muttered, looking at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. I arrived just in time to see her in a standoff with two burly security guards. As I moved to intervene, a pair of familiar figures emerged from the elevator: Arthur and Sandy. "After this meeting, Vivian and I are stepping back to enjoy our lives," Arthur was saying. "You need to step up, son. Handle things." "Don't worry, Dad," Sandy replied, a smug grin on his face. "I learned from the best. Kendra, just like Mom, is so hung up on a man being faithful. They don't get it. For men like us, from families like ours, how could one woman ever be enough?" A blade of ice twisted in my gut. My nails had dug so deep into my palms that they'd drawn blood. "Sandy," Arthur added, his tone more serious, "the empire comes first. Remember, I started with nothing. It was your mother who saved me. And Kendra... even though her family is ordinary, she stuck by you when you told her you had leukemia. She worked herself to the bone to pay off our 'debts'. You won't find that kind of loyalty in any of the blue-blooded women in our circle." As the two impeccably dressed men walked past me, Sandy pinched his nose and quickened his pace. He whispered something to the front desk clerk, who immediately grabbed a can of air freshener and began spraying the path I had just walked, a look of profound apology on her face. At that moment, the guards manhandled a protesting Martha out of the hotel and shoved her onto the hot pavement. Just then, a black SUV pulled up. "Sandy!" Supermodel Sheryl Starr, teetering on stilettos, stepped out. She carefully stepped over Martha's head to reach Sandy, linking her arm through his possessively. "How can a five-star hotel let in delivery drivers and homeless people?" Sheryl whined, her voice carrying across the lobby. "I almost twisted my ankle trying to avoid her." Arthur frowned slightly, but the expression vanished as quickly as it appeared. Sandy, however, stroked Sheryl's nose dotingly. "As long as my baby wasn't hurt." He shot a look at the security guards. They understood immediately, forming a human wall and using a velvet rope to cordon me and Martha off from the entrance. "Sandy, you ungrateful wolf! You'd kick out your own mother!" Martha shrieked, her voice raw with anguish. But her cries were lost, muffled by the thick, soundproof glass of the hotel lobby. The 100-degree sun beat down on us. Martha was drenched in sweat, her lips a deathly white. Suddenly, she coughed, spewing a mouthful of white foam mixed with blood. I scrambled to support her slumping body with one hand while frantically dialing Sandy's number with the other. He rejected every call. Through the glass, I could see my husband. My husband, the son Martha had cherished for over twenty years. He was sitting on a plush leather sofa, his suit jacket off, the muscles of his abdomen visible through his silk shirt as he wrapped his arm around the scantily clad supermodel. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I broke through the confusion and charged into the conference room. When Sandy saw me, his eyes darted away. He quickly dropped his hand from Sheryl's waist. "Kendra, what are you doing here? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm just shooting a scene." "Oh? A scene?" I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Since when are you famous enough for international supermodel Sheryl Starr to be your co-star in an intimate scene? Or is she just so in love she's willing to be the other woman?" Sandy's face went rigid. The others in the room, sensing the impending explosion, quickly and quietly filed out. "Sister," Sheryl said, her earlier disdain replaced by a saccharine smile. "It must be so hot outside. Here, have some iced tea." She held out a glass, and the massive diamond on her ring finger and the jade bangle on her wrist flashed, searing my eyes. "Oh, this old thing?" she said, noticing my stare. "I found it in Sandy's room. I said I liked it, so he gave it to me. Later, I heard it was a family heirloom your mother gave you before she died. The one you sold to 'help' him. I suppose I should return it to its rightful owner." Sandy stood there, silent, unable to meet my gaze. When he had told me he was giving up on his treatment because he was out of money, I had tearfully pawned the only thing my mother had left me. And now, it was on her wrist. As Sheryl handed it to me, she "accidentally" let it slip. It hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, shattering into a dozen pieces. Rage, white-hot and blinding, flooded my veins. I swung my hand and slapped her, hard. Sandy leaped in front of Sheryl, grabbing my arm and shoving me to the ground. Shards of the broken bangle dug deep into my palm, but I felt nothing. No pain. Just a vast, cold emptiness. "Kendra, what the hell is wrong with you? It's just a stupid bracelet!" he snarled. "Don't you know Sheryl's a model? What if you hurt her face? How is she supposed to work?" With that, he shot me a look of pure disgust and led a whimpering Sheryl out of the room. My heart felt like a cavern, ripped open by a jagged knife. I couldn't breathe. 3 By the time Arthur arrived at the hospital, Martha was awake. The moment she saw him, she ripped the IV from her arm, scrambled off the bed, and launched herself at him, her fists pounding against his chest. "Arthur Thorne! You really were with that bitch! I saw it all!" Arthur clutched his stinging cheek, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something that looked unnervingly like relief. "Martha, we're not young anymore. Just focus on getting better. We can live out our days peacefully. That's what's important." In the two years I'd been married to Sandy, Arthur had always been the picture of a refined gentleman, unfailingly polite to family and strangers alike. I'd never seen him lose his temper, not even now, with a red handprint blooming on his face. Even the patient in the next bed was looking at Martha like she was being unreasonable. Martha's eyes were bloodshot. She glared at Arthur, then lunged again, but Sandy stepped between them. "Mom! You've seen who Dad is now! He's the chairman of a major corporation! He spent years playing along with your little games. Look at yourself! You can't even dance with him. Now look at Aunt Vivian! Her skin, her figure... she looks like she's thirty. She goes on trips with us. You never even let me go to summer camp as a kid. In the end, it was Aunt Vivian who took me!" Martha's face turned ashen. Her lips trembled, and she pointed a shaking finger at Sandy, speechless. "Sandy, you ungrateful brat! I got cancer scrimping and saving for your 'illness', and you're taking their side?" "Cancer?" Sandy scoffed. "You're still using that old trick? Haven't you learned anything new in twenty years?" Both Arthur and Sandy's faces were grim. Sandy shot a quick, accusatory glance in my direction. "Honestly, Mom, just calm down," he continued, his tone patronizing. "Aunt Vivian helped find this place for you. It's a luxury care facility. A million a year. We could never have earned that in a lifetime before. Just relax and enjoy your retirement. Dad and I will visit often." "Get out! Both of you, get out!" Martha shrieked, grabbing a water glass and hurling it at Sandy. Arthur and Sandy exchanged a look, shook their heads, and left the room. Martha lay on the bed, silent and still. "Honey," the woman in the next bed said to me as I walked in. She was peeling lychees for the man lying in her bed. "Your mother-in-law acts like a twenty-year-old, still expecting fairy-tale love." Martha's eyes filled with tears as she watched the couple, perhaps remembering a time when she had cared for Arthur with the same devotion. Suddenly, a machine by her bed let out a piercing shriek. A doctor rushed in, saw the reading on Martha's blood oxygen monitor, and immediately shoved her into the emergency room. "Her abdomen is completely filled with fluid," the doctor said gravely when he came out to find the next of kin. "The family needs to prepare for the worst." 4 I must have called a hundred times. Finally, a sharp, feminine voice echoed down the hallway. "Wow, a total amateur with better acting skills than a professional. Is it money you want? Is a thousand dollars enough?" Sheryl Starr sauntered over, a wave of perfect curls bouncing on her shoulders. She held a wad of cash and shoved it into my hands. "My future father-in-law already told me about your little mother-daughter-in-law act. Consider this your salary for today's performance." "Sheryl! Sandy's mother is in critical condition! She could die at any moment!" I yelled. Sheryl just smirked, tapped her phone, and raised an eyebrow. "Even better. Sandy's real mother should have always been Aunt Vivian. You and that old hag can crawl back to whatever hole you came from." A cheerful, middle-aged woman's laugh crackled from the phone. 【Sheryl, dear, I knew I was right about you. When you and Sandy get married, I'll give you all the limited-edition bags and jewelry Arthur gave me.】 "Thank you, Aunt Vivian," Sheryl cooed, her face stretched into a smile so wide it looked painful. She rolled her eyes as she hung up, then immediately picked up another phone. "Aunt Vivian and I have Sandy's and Arthur's phones. Don't even think about reaching them today." With a flick of her hair, she strode away from the ER doors. I tried calling them again. This time, all I got was the cold, robotic voice of the voicemail service. "We did everything we could," the doctor said, shaking his head. "The patient's abdominal cavity was full of fluid. If she had come to the hospital sooner to have it drained, she might have had a few more days." I looked at Martha, lying still on the bed. Her face was dark and weathered, her skin like parchment from years of collecting scrap under the brutal sun to make ends meet. A chilling thought crept into my mind. If Martha hadn't time-traveled, in twenty years, would that be me lying on that bed? Before she passed, Martha gave me her last will and testament: her ashes were to be scattered to the wind, never to be given to Arthur Thorne or his son. After handling her affairs, I left a signed divorce agreement on the dining table and walked out of that house for good. A few days later, my phone exploded with calls. 【Kendra, what is the meaning of this? You insisted on marrying me when we had nothing, and now that you know my family is wealthy, you want a divorce? Is this another one of your games? You'd better show your face right now.】 I blocked Sandy's number, only to receive a message from Arthur demanding to know where Martha was. 【268 Longsea Road.】 I replied. 【Why is she working at a funeral home? What a morbid place.】
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