The day I left the Frank family, Godfather Fabian drove through three border checkpoints trying to stop my car from reaching the airport. He didn't succeed. His texts came in like a barrage of gunfire: "What the hell are you doing? All because Nydia was joking around and your hand got broken?" "I've told you a hundred times—Nydia's father died saving my life. She grew up with me. I know she doesn't mean any harm. You're my wife. You're the Godmother of the Frank family. Can you please act like it?" "Michelle, stop throwing tantrums like a child. You have one hour. Get back here. Now." For days, every time I blocked a number, he'd find a new one to call from. Eventually I had no choice but to swap out my SIM card entirely, severing every last thread connecting me to the Godfather. Two years later, I returned to New York for a friend's birthday. I'd barely stepped out of the airport when I ran into a member of the Frank family. He asked me, "Godmother, it's been two years. Surely you've cooled off enough to come back and make up with the Godfather?" "After you left, he never looked at another woman. He's been waiting for you this whole time." … I listened to all of it and felt nothing. Because in the three years I was married to Fabian, I was sick for every single one of them. By the third year, a sudden neurological episode caused me to fall—my arm dislocated, my fingers shattered in multiple places. Forget my dream of becoming a pianist. I couldn't even feed myself. When I was at my most wretched, ravaged by pain and illness, Fabian did stay by my side day and night, taking care of me. That much was true. Then I heard that a brilliant surgeon was visiting New York, and for the first time in a long while, a spark of hope flickered in my chest. I wanted Fabian to take me, but he was swamped with work, so I went to the consultation alone. After reviewing the thick stack of medical records I'd brought, the surgeon looked puzzled. "Ms. Michelle, your reports indicate that your current inability to move your hand isn't caused by the fractures. Nor is it neurological." "Rather, it appears that prolonged use of psychiatric medication impaired your judgment, leading to the accidental fall. After the injury, you were administered a drug that suppresses recovery over an extended period, compounded by improper rehabilitation." His fingertip came to rest on the attending physician's signature at the top of the most recent file. The look he gave me was loaded with meaning. "I'd suggest you switch doctors. Better yet, switch hospitals entirely." I stared at the name of the attending physician—Nydia—and felt as though I'd been struck by lightning. She was Fabian's adopted sister. No blood relation. For three years, she had been treating me at my husband Fabian's request. My vision went black in waves. I stumbled out of the clinic, and my first instinct was to tell Fabian—Nydia was trying to destroy me. I went straight to the administrative building in the city center. I was about to go in when I heard an old lieutenant's voice just inside the door: "If the Godmother keeps taking the medication Nydia prescribed, she may never be able to pursue her dream again. She'll be half-crippled for life. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Fabian's voice followed, tinged with resignation: "Nydia probably saw me doing rehab with Michelle and got jealous again. The wrong medication—that's just her throwing a fit. If Michelle's hand ends up useless, I'll take care of her for the rest of her life. She's my Godmother. I can protect her." He paused, as if trying to justify himself: "Nydia's father died saving me. Back then, I promised I'd marry her when we grew up. But then I fell in love with Michelle at first sight and couldn't keep that promise. I already owe Nydia more than I can repay." "As long as it makes her feel better—whatever treatment plan she writes, I'll go along with it." Fabian's words were a blade, and they shredded my heart to pieces. All this time, I'd thought I was simply unlucky—injured the day before my performance, then taking medication for so long, doing rehabilitation for so long, only to get worse instead of better. I'd felt guilty for burdening Fabian. Felt bad for troubling Nydia. But it had all been their doing. Together. I slammed the door open. The moment my eyes met his, scorching tears spilled down my face. "Why?" Fabian flinched, then quickly regained his composure. "Michelle, knowing about this isn't going to help your recovery." "Besides, as long as I'm here, even if you end up disabled, you'll never be mistreated. I promise you that." I could barely believe what I was hearing. My dream of playing piano—gone. My hand—useless. I could barely manage to eat on my own. From a golden girl to a broken woman, pitied and mocked by everyone around me. And he dismissed it all with a few easy words? I said nothing. I just turned around on instinct. I had no doubt—damn Fabian would sacrifice everything I had, my future, even my life, for his so-called "promise," his so-called guilt. But the moment I turned to leave, his man Jack stepped into my path. "Enough, Michelle. Everyone in the Frank family knows how important Nydia is to me. No matter what you say or do, they'll just think the medication's gotten to your head and you're talking nonsense." "Just cooperate, and our life together will stay as happy as it's always been. I'll even tell Nydia to ease up—it won't hurt as much anymore. Okay?" "Oh—and leave the examination report you're holding. That kind of thing could hurt Nydia's reputation." Jack stepped forward on cue to grab it. I fought back with everything I had. No matter how I begged, Fabian didn't move. He even gave Jack a look that said hurry up. When I wouldn't let go, Jack pried my fingers open one by one. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the room alongside my screams. Because of the drugs I'd been given, my bones hadn't healed the way a normal person's would. And my hand had only just begun to show the faintest signs of improvement. This kind of second injury would destroy it for good. But Fabian only cared about the report now in his hands. He fed it straight into the office shredder without hesitation. I lifted my head with what strength I had left and met Fabian's gaze—faintly disgusted, as if I were the one being unreasonable. My chest felt stuffed with cotton, swelling until I could barely breathe. Fabian sighed, then scooped me up gently into his arms. "Sweetheart, you understand, don't you?" "I just owe Nydia too much." He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head away. Before I could say another word, the surge of emotion and pain dragged me under, and I blacked out. My last conscious thought was drenched in despair: So this is what he calls love. --- That night, I spiked a fever and slipped into a coma. Half a day of emergency treatment. Another day in the ICU. When I finally opened my eyes, the doctor exhaled slowly and shook his head. "Godmother, your hand had just started to improve. After this… I'm afraid conventional treatment won't be enough anymore." I closed my eyes. All that remained inside me was a vast, dead silence. With the nurse's help, I dialed the number of Fabian's grandfather—the former Godfather, Keith. "Grandpa Keith." My voice was raw, but perfectly calm. "I accept your deal. I'll divorce Fabian and leave him. For good."
Old Godfather Keith was overjoyed. For the first time, there was a smile in his voice when he spoke to me: "Once you're gone, Fabian will settle down and come back to take over the family from me. He'll stop wasting his days poring over useless medical textbooks for your sake." "I'll have the dissolution agreement sent over right away. One month from now, as we agreed, I'll arrange for you to go to a rehabilitation center in Europe—and you'll receive one hundred million." It wasn't long before Keith's butler arrived and handed me a document. I signed without hesitation. The next day, Nydia had Fabian bring me to the operating room under the guise of an "experimental treatment." When I drifted back to consciousness, I saw Nydia's true face for the first time—stripped of its gentle mask. "What the hell did you do, you bitch! Fabian says he's going to keep his distance from me from now on!" I could only marvel at the absurdity. Three years of marriage, and now Fabian decided to put some distance between them. I was about to speak when I met Nydia's eyes—half-crazed, unhinged. She glared at me through gritted teeth, her gaze burning with a jealousy so fierce it frightened me. She turned around and rummaged through something on the table. When she turned back, one hand held a thick syringe filled with silver liquid and a scalpel; the other gripped a hammer. She looked deranged. "I'm going to teach you a lesson today, you worthless whore." I tried to run, only to realize I couldn't move. I was a fish on a cutting board. That's when it came back to me—when I'd first been brought in, still groggy, Nydia must have injected me with something. She walked toward me, smiling, step by step. First, she drove the thick needle into my arm again and again until blood ran freely. Then she took the scalpel and carved lines across my entire body. Finally, she picked up the hammer, aimed it at my hand—the swelling had only just gone down—and brought it crashing down. I didn't even have time to scream before the pain dragged me into darkness. When I woke again, my wounds had been neatly treated and both hands were back in casts. I spent three more days in the ICU. Fabian sat vigil at my bedside, guilt and heartache written all over his face. But before I could get a word out, he handed me a phone. "This is an apology video Nydia recorded." "What she did this time was admittedly a bit much. I've already talked to her about it—she knows she was wrong. She's still young, that's all. Too impulsive. You're her sister-in-law and the Godmother. Be the bigger person and forgive her, won't you?" Watching Nydia's radiant smile and smug eyes in the video, listening to a voice devoid of any real remorse, I felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head, chilling me to the bone. I lifted my gaze to Fabian, dazed. I wanted to raise my hands. I wanted him to see my wounds, to understand that Nydia's hollow "apology" meant nothing—nothing—compared to the agony wracking my entire body. But he couldn't read the devastation in my eyes. He assumed I was simply being difficult. His brow furrowed, his tone edged with irritation. "Michelle, can you grow up? Stop being unreasonable!" I looked up in disbelief. He knew perfectly well that Nydia had done this to me, and yet he still took her side, blamed me, and demanded I forgive her. I couldn't hold it back any longer. "You two conspired to torture me! Why should I forgive—" Fabian cut me off, his voice cold as steel. "Michelle! Making accusations like that is not how a Godmother behaves. Jack—enforce house rules." Jack hauled me upright, and his open palm struck my face. Then a second time. A third. As the fourth blow was about to land— Fabian raised his hand to stop it. He cradled my face gently in both hands, slipping back into his usual tenderness. "Michelle, I've told you before—you're the Godmother now. You can't keep acting out like this. Consider this a lesson. And an apology to Nydia." He pressed a soft kiss against my reddened, swollen cheek and sighed with what sounded like genuine weariness. "Let me go check on Nydia. The poor girl's probably still scared you're angry with her." I wanted to laugh—a cold, bitter laugh—but I couldn't even manage that. The twin torment of body and soul had stripped me of every last word. I watched Fabian hurry away, my eyes frozen over. Fabian, we're done. --- I spent another week in the ICU. After I was discharged, Nydia sent me a message: "Fabian's throwing me a birthday party. You're invited too!" "Make sure you come—I've got a surprise for you~" On the day of Nydia's birthday celebration, Fabian dressed me in a gown, clasped the family heirloom bracelet around my wrist, and personally trimmed my disheveled hair. An outsider watching would have been certain the Godfather adored his Godmother. But I had already seen the photos Nydia posted on Instagram: the gown she wore had been commissioned from a master tailor by Fabian over a year ago, and the jewels draping her body were worth at least ten times mine. Fabian bent down and lifted me into his arms. I flinched, struggling instinctively. He turned uncharacteristically forceful. In the struggle, the wedding ring slipped from my finger and went clattering down the stairs, pinging against each step. A passing maid didn't notice and stepped right on it. That ring—from the selection of the stone to every detail of its crafting—had been Fabian's doing. It was supposed to be proof of his love. Now it lay crushed beneath a careless foot. Fabian barely glanced at it, his voice impatient. "Hurry up. We can't keep Nydia waiting." So that was where I stood. The symbol of our marriage couldn't even compete with a few seconds of Nydia's patience. A bitter ache filled my chest, and I had no strength left to fight. We arrived at the banquet hall shortly after. Nydia's gaze fell on my plaster-bound hands, her eyes brimming with contempt. "Fabian, is Michelle's hand getting any better?" Her tone dripped with concern; the malice underneath didn't even try to hide. "Oh—I know this amazing dessert. Come with me to get some for Michelle." She latched onto Fabian's arm, cooing sweetly. Before I could open my mouth, Fabian was already setting me down with an indulgent smile, rushing off after Nydia without a backward glance. I stood there alone. Dozens of gazes landed on me—some startled, some mocking, some dripping with disdain.
"Look—the Godmother really is out of favor." "I heard from a few people in the Frank family that Nydia seems more like the Godmother than Michelle does." "Obviously. You could tell just from Fabian's attitude earlier." "I mean, who'd want a cripple for a wife?" Malice came at me from every direction. I stood there trembling, my face burning. This kind of humiliation—I'd already endured it once, three years ago at my own wedding. Back then, Nydia deliberately hid my wedding dress, and I had to walk down the aisle in a plain white sundress. And through three years of illness, through every mortifying moment, I'd survived. Now, hearing these whispers, all I felt was numb. Not far away, Nydia was tugging Fabian along as she unwrapped birthday presents. I silently clenched my fists. The man who had sworn to protect me countless times had abandoned me long ago… The banquet was lavish and extravagant—less like a birthday party and more like a celebration fit for a Godfather and Godmother. With a grand wave of his hand, Fabian presented Nydia with three gifts: A nomination for a prestigious medical award. A private hospital with her installed as director. And a totem ring—the symbol of the family's matriarch. The ring he'd told me he would place on my finger himself once I recovered. Now firmly on Nydia's hand. I couldn't suppress a bitter, self-mocking curl of my lips—but I hadn't meant to provoke Nydia. She couldn't make a scene in front of everyone, so she waited until the intermission and cornered me as I came out of the restroom. "What are you smiling at! All you have is a marriage certificate! I'm telling you—Fabian will marry me sooner or later and cut you off for good!" I remained perfectly calm. "I think so too." But my composure only enraged her further. Her brow knotted, her face flushed red in an instant, and she lunged at me like a madwoman, trying to shove me down the stairs. I took a wary step back, but she grabbed my arm viciously. The stabbing pain in my arm made me struggle on instinct. In the middle of the scuffle, Fabian happened to appear. Nydia's eyes filled with tears instantly. She cried out, "Michelle, I'm sorry—please don't push me!" Then she gritted her teeth and threw herself down the staircase. Pathetic acting. A clumsy frame job. But Fabian—clever as he was—believed it. "Nydia!" Shock and fury twisted his face. He flew down the stairs without a single glance at me—half my body already dangling over the railing, pulled outward by her momentum. "Fabian…" Helpless. Desperate. My voice echoed through the stairwell. No one answered. Minutes later, my strength gave out, and I fell from the third floor. I don't know how long I was unconscious this time. When I finally opened my eyes again, there was no one at my bedside. Three days later, Fabian finally came to see me. He walked in and immediately launched into accusations: "Nydia just wanted to enjoy her birthday and share the happiness with you. Not only did you refuse her kindness, you deliberately pushed her down the stairs and made her bleed. That was completely out of line!" Out of line? The only thing out of line was marrying him in the first place. I turned my face away. I didn't want to speak to him anymore. Perhaps the sight of me—wretched, wrapped head to toe in bandages—finally stirred something in him. Fabian sighed and sat down beside me. "I neglected you a little, and you got so jealous you pushed her down the stairs. That's not how a Godmother carries herself… Nydia's being gracious about it and doesn't blame you. Once you're feeling better, go apologize to her." "I won't." The words came out before I could think. Fabian's expression shifted. A flash of anger crossed his eyes. It settled into reproach: "You're practically her elder. A young girl throws a tantrum—you rest for a few days, let your body heal on its own, and it's no big deal." Rest for a few days and it's no big deal? I'd fallen from the third floor. Multiple compound fractures throughout my body. My arms devastated yet again. I could barely eat, could barely move—and he dismissed it with a single offhand sentence. I had no doubt that even if I'd died right in front of him that day, his only concern would have been that my blood had ruined Nydia's birthday party. A man who had long since stopped loving me—no amount of suffering on my part could earn even a scrap of his attention. I didn't want to waste my energy anymore. I swallowed the cold laugh rising to my lips. "Fine. I'll go later. Now get out—I need to rest." But Fabian didn't stand. After a moment's hesitation, he tightened his grip on my hand and spoke gently: "Michelle, there's something I need your consent for…" "Nydia wants me to give her a child. To carry on the bloodline." I froze for a moment, then spoke: "Whatever's between you and her—you don't need my permission." As if my refusal would have stopped him anyway. Fabian, thinking I'd misunderstood, patiently explained: "Don't worry, I won't let you be wronged. The technology is very advanced now. Artificial insemination will allow Nydia to conceive without any issue." I felt dizzy, disoriented. The man before me had transformed into someone I no longer recognized. "Fine." My voice was flat. A person who has truly given up doesn't have emotional ups and downs anymore. "That's my girl." Fabian nodded with satisfaction. "Now this is more like it. At least Nydia’s all-night effort preparing your new treatment plan wasn’t wasted on you.” He clapped his hands, and Nydia walked in. When I saw the medical equipment she wheeled in behind her, my eyes went wide with horror. I shrank back instinctively—but Fabian caught me.
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