My husband drowned in a tragic accident. While sorting through his belongings, I found a copy of a property deed tucked inside a magazine. When I walked into that house, I was struck speechless. It was warmly and romantically decorated, with expensive furniture, beautiful rugs, and a crystal chandelier that still sparkled through a layer of dust. It was a world away from the cramped, dilapidated old house we lived in. The walls were covered with photos of him, his first love, and their twin children. On his desk was a hastily scrawled note: *Isabelle, since you passed away, every day has been a living hell. My duty to my mother is done, and the children are grown. I have nothing left to live for. I pray we will be reunited in the afterlife.* I stumbled out of the room. All I wanted to do was dig up his grave. But a wave of rage and grief washed over me. Blood rushed to my head, and I coughed up a mouthful of it before my vision went black and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the tenth year of my marriage. 1 When the police called to inform me they had found my husband Donovan’s body in Blackwood Reservoir, I was still at the office, working late to deal with last-minute changes from a client. I was over forty, my hormones were a mess, and it was past ten at night. I was slaving away like an old ox. My resentment was already at an all-time high. So when I heard the news, my first thought was that it was a scam. “Get lost,” I spat into the phone. “I hope all scammers die horrible deaths!” The officer on the other end didn't get angry. In a calm, professional voice, he recited his badge number and the precinct, explaining that a night fisherman had discovered my husband’s body and found his ID on him. He asked me to come to the scene as soon as possible to assist with the matter. Half-convinced, I hung up. As I drove to Blackwood Reservoir, I kept calling Donovan, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Forty minutes later, I arrived at the location the police had given me. The night was pitch-black. The sound of the reservoir's current and the calls of unseen animals were unnerving. I stumbled along the uneven ground, heading towards the only source of light. And there, I saw him. A man, stiff and straight, lying on the riverbank. He was wearing his usual white shirt and black trousers, now caked in mud. His shoes were gone, and his bare feet were covered in cuts. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. When I saw his face, I froze, as if struck by lightning. …It really was my husband, Donovan. 2 After a thorough investigation of the scene, an autopsy, and a review of the reservoir’s security footage, the police ruled out foul play. The medical examiner found alcohol in his system, and the official cause of death was accidental drowning while intoxicated. Our two children flew back from overseas as soon as they heard the news. I was so consumed by grief that my blood pressure spiked repeatedly, causing me to faint several times. I ended up in the ICU. My children handled all of their father's funeral arrangements. By the time I was discharged, Donovan was already buried. It was only when my children took me to his gravesite that I realized, with a jolt of horror, that they had buried him next to their biological mother, Isabelle. But they had been divorced for over twenty years… I looked at my children standing beside me, my mind blank. My daughter, Nora, spoke in a flat voice. “It’s what Dad wanted.” She pulled a document from her bag and handed it to me. “This is the will Dad wrote before he died. The lawyer gave it to my brother and me when we got back. You should read it too.” My hands trembled as I took it. Nora was right. Being buried with Isabelle was stipulated in Donovan’s will. Nora continued, “The last page is the asset distribution. The beneficiary for all of Dad’s life insurance policies is me and my brother. His stocks and mutual funds were purchased before he married you, so they’re considered his personal assets, and he left those to us as well.” “As for the old house…” Nora paused. “Dad left you your 50% share, but you’ll have to pay us the market value for his half. Of course, you could also sell the house and give us half of the proceeds.” My son, Noah, who had been silent until now, looked at me. His expression was tinged with guilt. “Mom,” he said, his lips barely moving, “Nora and I have our green cards now. Once everything is settled here, we won’t be coming back. Please take care of yourself.” I stared at the two children I had raised for twenty years, disbelief washing over me. I didn't even realize when the tears had started to fall. My throat ached, and my voice was a raw, broken whisper. “How… how could you do this to me?” I had been married to Donovan for twenty years. I became a stepmother to five-year-old twins, Noah and Nora. I loved my husband deeply, weathering every storm with him. I cared for his children with all my heart. I was a devoted daughter-in-law to his parents. And in the end… They had used me and bled me dry. 3 I stumbled back to our house, pushing the door open with what little strength I had left. Everything inside was just as it had been when Donovan was alive. We had lived in this house for nearly twenty years. I had bought it with the dowry my parents gave me in the second year of our marriage. It was a second-hand apartment, over thirty years old, rundown and cramped. It was less than 800 square feet, and for a long time, it had housed five of us, including my mother-in-law. For years, I had scrimped and saved for everything: to send Noah and Nora to study abroad, to pay for my mother-in-law’s monthly dialysis treatments for her chronic kidney failure. I kept telling myself that things would get better. Everything would be okay. Only now did I realize that I had been nothing more than a tool for their family. My gaze was empty, like a stagnant pool of water. I moved like a puppet on strings, gathering Donovan’s things, planning to throw them all out. As I was clearing out his closet, I found a magazine at the very bottom of a stack of clothes. Tucked inside was a yellowed piece of paper: a copy of a property deed. The owner was Donovan. I went to the address on the deed. After verifying my ID, a locksmith opened the door for me. The moment I stepped inside, I was utterly stunned. This was clearly Donovan and Isabelle’s love nest. The walls were adorned with countless photos of them and their children. The house was decorated in a warm, romantic style. Expensive furniture, luxurious rugs, a crystal chandelier that still sparkled through a layer of dust. It was a world away from the cramped, dilapidated old house we lived in. I forced my feet to move, opening the door to the master bedroom. The room was enormous, with a walk-in closet, a vanity, a king-sized bed, and a spacious, sunlit bay window. The clothes in the closet were meticulously organized and looked expensive. Next door was Donovan’s study. The sight before me was like a dagger to the heart. The walls here were a timeline of their family’s happiness, from the children’s elementary school years to their college days. They had traveled the world together, visiting all the places I had dreamed of but never dared to spend money on. I collapsed into the chair at his desk. An open piece of paper lay on the desk. On it was a single line of writing: *Isabelle, since you passed away from your illness two years ago, every day has been a living hell. My duty to my mother is done, and the children are grown. I have nothing left to live for. I pray we will be reunited in the afterlife.* … It wasn't an accidental drowning. It was a suicide. To be with her. I ripped the note to shreds, a raw scream tearing from my throat. 4 I don’t know how long I sat there. I finally pushed myself up, my knees weak. I stumbled out of the house. At that moment, all I wanted was to go to the cemetery and dig up Donovan’s grave. But the overwhelming grief and rage crashed through me. I felt a surge of heat, and a spray of blood erupted from my lips. My vision went black, and I fell backward. 5 When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting at a banquet table laden with food, surrounded by a cacophony of noise. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, all washed over me like a tidal wave. It took me a moment to remember where I was. This was the celebration dinner after Noah and Nora’s middle school exams. They had both been accepted into the city’s top high school. Not only was their tuition waived for three years, but they had each received a six-thousand-dollar scholarship. Donovan was currently leading the two of them from table to table, accepting toasts and congratulations. Everyone was praising him, saying that as a university professor, he had naturally raised two brilliant children. Sitting next to my mother-in-law, Isabelle watched the three of them with a proud smile, as if she were the guest of honor. I picked up my glass of red wine and downed it in one go. The cool, slightly tart liquid sliding down my throat was a sharp reminder that this was not a dream. As I was still trying to process everything, a sharp, sour voice cut through the noise. “Audrey, you really are a lucky one. Your reputation was in tatters, yet you still managed to marry a great man like Donovan. You don’t have a uterus, so you never had to go through the pain of childbirth, and you still got a pair of perfect children out of it. I’m so jealous.” I followed the voice and saw Brenda, a colleague of Donovan’s who had been two years behind him in university. She was also a philosophy professor at the same university. Her voice was loud, and many people had heard her. Isabelle raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips as she looked over, clearly anticipating a show. Brenda clicked her tongue. “Honestly, how did you get so lucky? I heard that ten years ago, your father was willing to throw in a free house and still couldn’t marry you off. Who would have thought Donovan would have such bad taste? He had so many women chasing him, and he chose you. There’s just no justice in the world.” I looked at her face, slightly twisted with jealousy, and found it both pathetic and laughable. I knew she’d had a crush on Donovan for years, only to be beaten to the punch by her supposed best friend, Isabelle. By the time she found out, Isabelle was already two months pregnant. They never spoke again. Later, Brenda married someone else out of spite. Not long after her wedding, Isabelle suddenly divorced Donovan, abandoned her children, and fled the country. 6 Brenda had never quite gotten over the fact that she hadn't married Donovan. That’s why she was always targeting me, constantly picking at my old wounds. In the past, I had been ashamed of what had happened to me, so I would always lower my head and endure her taunts. She had said the exact same things in my past life, and I had swallowed my anger. It was my children’s celebration, with their teachers and classmates present, as well as Donovan’s colleagues. I didn’t want to make a scene. But now, none of that mattered. I slammed my chopsticks down on the table with a loud *crack*. “You’re right, I am lucky!” I shot back, my voice ringing through the room. “Are you jealous that I married Donovan? How about I give you my spot? I’ll grant your wish of pining after him for a decade. Then maybe you’ll stop buzzing around me, constantly trying to imply that I’m not good enough for him.” Brenda’s face went pale. She shot a panicked look towards her husband. “Audrey, are you crazy? What are you talking about?” I sneered. “Am I? What about all those flirty texts you send him? The way your eyes follow him around like a lovesick puppy? Do you think I’m blind? You always bring up my assault, just to try and humiliate me.” “Yes, I was assaulted! And yes, I was beaten so badly they had to remove my uterus! But even with all that, it was Donovan who came begging to marry me. If you’ve got a problem with it, take it up with him!” Everyone turned to stare at me. Brenda’s husband was glaring at her, his eyes dark and stormy. Donovan rushed over, his face a mask of fury. He shot a venomous look at Brenda, then grabbed my arm, hissing, “What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea what day this is? Why are you bringing up all this old baggage in front of our friends and family?” I yanked my arm out of his grip. “What did I say? She’s the one who starts it every single time. Are you blind?” Brenda’s husband strode over to their table. He pulled his wife to her feet and then forced a strained smile at Donovan and me. “Professor, Audrey, I’m so sorry. I just got an urgent call from work. We have to go. We’ll come by and apologize properly another time.” With that, he dragged Brenda out of the banquet hall, his face like a thundercloud. 7 The noisy banquet hall fell into an awkward silence. The people around me were looking at me with a mixture of pity, curiosity, and disdain. Isabelle, who had been enjoying the show, stood up. She moved to Donovan’s side and smiled at me, her eyes filled with a taunting, mocking light. But her voice was soft and gentle, almost a purr. “Audrey, while no one says anything about your past, you don’t have to parade it around in public, do you? You’re Donovan’s wife now. When you bring up these things, how do you think it makes him look? “And even if you don’t care about Donovan, Noah and Nora still call you ‘Mom.’ How are they supposed to face their classmates now?” I followed her gaze to where Noah and Nora were standing. Noah’s hands were clenched into fists, his eyes blazing with fury. Nora’s eyes were filled with tears, and she was glaring at me with a look of pure hatred. I remembered them at the cemetery, waving Donovan’s will in my face, demanding I sell the house and give them their share. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Their biological mother isn’t dead. What right do I have to be their mom? “When she finally kicks the bucket, then we’ll talk.” “You…” Isabelle was speechless, her fair cheeks flushing with anger. Her watery eyes pleaded with Donovan for help. A flicker of something vicious crossed Donovan’s face. He grabbed my arm again, his grip so tight I thought my bones would snap. He lowered his voice, his words a furious whisper. “Audrey, that’s enough. Don’t make this any more embarrassing than it already is. If you want to throw a tantrum, do it at home.” 8 I looked up into the eyes of the man before me, and a tidal wave of hatred washed over me. Our friends, seeing the tension, quickly stepped in to mediate. “Professor, come on, we need to ask you for some parenting advice. My son is failing half his classes. How do you get your kids to listen to you…?” Soon, the banquet hall was filled with noise again. I sat back down, watching everything with cold, detached eyes. A tight knot of pain was lodged in my chest. I poured another glass of wine and drank it down. I knew the best thing to do was to divorce Donovan, to get away from this family of ghouls and start my own life. But they had stolen my life from me. How could I just let go of all this hatred? 9 The party ended, and the guests slowly trickled out. Soon, only Donovan’s family of four, and me, remained. My mother-in-law’s coarse voice broke the silence. “Audrey, you may not have any shame, but we do. Are you trying to make sure everyone in the city knows about your sordid past? “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? With your reputation, and the fact that you can’t even have children, I wouldn’t have approved of you even if it was your first marriage. “Someone like you, damaged goods, you’re not worthy of our Donovan.” “Mom!” Donovan cut her off sharply. “I told you not to bring that up again. Why are you starting now?” I looked at my mother-in-law, who was healthy and full of vigor. At this point, she hadn’t been diagnosed with chronic kidney failure yet. She didn’t need to kiss up to me, to beg me to pay for her treatments and drive her to the hospital for dialysis every week. In my last life, after her diagnosis, I took care of her for nearly eight years. Every Saturday, without fail, I would take her to her appointments. I would cook her special meals, low in protein, salt, and potassium. She had died peacefully in the hospital two months before Donovan’s suicide. The line in his note, “My duty to my mother is done,” was a duty I had fulfilled for him. I let out a cold laugh. “If I hadn't lost my uterus, do you really think I would have even looked at Donovan? “And do you think your son is some kind of prize? His professorship was a sham. If my father hadn’t pulled every string he had to get him a recommendation from a leading expert, he’d still be a struggling lecturer. “Don’t you dare act all high and mighty after getting everything you wanted on a silver platter.” The moment the words left my mouth, the air in the room seemed to freeze. My mother-in-law was clearly not expecting me to fight back. Her face turned a mottled shade of purple, and she started to tremble with rage. 10 Donovan, standing beside her, had been hit where it hurt. He roared, “What is wrong with you today? Brenda said a few words, and you have to go nuclear?” Nora’s voice, shrill and accusing, joined in. “Today was supposed to be a celebration for me and my brother! Why did you have to bring up all that disgusting stuff about you being assaulted? How am I supposed to face my friends now? Why do you always have to ruin everything?” I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage that was about to erupt. “You’re right! I’m on a warpath today. What are you going to do about it?” Then I turned to Nora. “Why should I care whether you can hold your head up at school? I’ve never complained that you’re short and ugly with a pig’s nose, have I? You’re the one who embarrasses me in front of my colleagues!” Nora, it was true, was not a pretty girl. Though she and Noah were twins, he had inherited his mother’s delicate features, while Nora was the spitting image of her grandmother. Nora froze, then completely lost it. She let out a loud wail and ran out of the banquet hall, crying her eyes out. I had no desire to waste any more words on them. I grabbed my bag and walked out.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394587", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel