Paul Whitman suffered a devastating cerebral hemorrhage after a tragic fall. His voice reached out to me, "Yvonne, please, call Scott home at once."

Scott Whitman, my husband, was the brightest star in the neurosurgical department at Zenith Hospital. His hands, skilled and precise, were the only hope to save Paul, his father, from the brink of death.

Yet, when I dialed his number, the scene that unfolded on the other end of the line was far from what I had expected. Scott was engaged in selecting a Valentine's present for his lover, Stella Green.

Scott's voice snapped through the phone, impatience etching every word.

"Yvonne Smith, stop this nonsense. If my father dies, I'll come back immediately!"

Amidst a burst of tinkling laughter, the line went dead, leaving me holding a silent phone and a broken heart.

The next moment, Paul's condition deteriorated rapidly due to anger, and he was wheeled into the operating room for emergency surgery.

When the death notice arrived, my world crumbled further. Meanwhile, Stella updated her social media with a photo of her slightly rounded belly.

The caption read, [I'm pregnant. Scott says I'll take charge of everything from now on!]

Indifference cloaked me as I typed a reply.

[Congratulations. May your baby come soon!]

Beneath it, I added, [Please tell him that I want to divorce him.]

After arranging the funeral, I found myself sitting in the hollow echo of the living room.

Before I could process the grief of losing Paul, Scott replied to my comment.

He habitually maintains his image in front of outsiders.

[There's a limit to jokes. You can't get pregnant, but you still insist on making a scene!]

I pondered, "What? I couldn't get pregnant?"

I burst into laughter.

His words were a mockery, a reminder of the secret I had carried for years. In fact, Scott was born to be infertile, which was detected in a check-up after our wedding. To protect his pride, I had buried the truth, shouldering the blame for our childless marriage.

Unexpectedly, after eight years of marriage, he had betrayed me.

What shocked me more was his callousness towards his own father's life, all for the sake of a fleeting romance and being the father of another man's child.

Fed up, I sent him the digital draft of our divorce agreement.

To my surprise, Scott, who had been absent for months, rushed back that day.

"Yvonne, you're making a mountain out of a molehill!

"Stella was pregnant with my child, but it was an accident. No one expected it!

"Be reasonable. Aren't you the one who can't have children? Just treat Stella as a baby-making machine to an end. It won't affect us."

As he changed into his casual clothes and sat beside me, his arms were wrapped around my waist.

"After so many years of marriage, you don't have to worry about me abandoning you.

"Give me a massage; I've been going non-stop these past few days. My back is killing me."

When Scott came closer, the scent of cheap perfume assaulted my senses, making me feel sick.

I pulled away, and my face paled as I fetched a glass of water.

He mistook my pallor for hypoglycemia, his brows arching in concern.

"Without me cooking for you, has your anorexia relapsed?"

He kept teasing me and lacked guilt for cheating on me as if cheating was as natural as breathing.

I rubbed my stiff face and responded indifferently.

"You've been busy taking care of Stella in bed these days, haven't you?

"Do you enjoy being betrayed so much?"

Scott frowned, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

"Yvonne, you're being endlessly jealous. First, you lied about an ancient remedy to make you pregnant. Now, you're accusing Stella of cheating on me. Do you think I have infinite patience?"

"So, this is why you blocked me for a week and ignored our family?

"Do you know you missed the most important person in your life?"

I couldn't bear the agony in my heart and shouted hysterically.

Grief and hatred surged in my heart, and I found myself whispering comfort to my own soul, insisting that I should not let such a jerk ignite my fury.

However, the one I lost was not only Scott's father but also a man who offered me fatherly love. Deep down, I took Paul as my father!

If Paul hadn't been determined to seek justice for me and Scott, how could Paul have stumbled and fallen?

"Yvonne, that's enough. Stella and I have been nothing but innocent, save for that sex once.

"She's ten years younger than you, and I just met with her. Isn't it normal to celebrate a festival together?

"You went off with a troupe of men on Valentine's Day, and did I complain? I merely spent Valentine's Day with a girl. What's the harm in that?"

I pulled out my phone, navigating to Stella's YouTube account, where the evidence of their four-year affair was laid bare.

The most recent video, posted on Valentine's Day, depicted Stella in a skimpy bikini, her arms wrapped around Scott in a hotel suite's swimming pool.

With each extremely pretty photo, anyone could tell what would happen next.

"What kind of festival needs bikinis?"

Scott's eyes darted to the screen, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he masked it with a facade of defiance.

"Just because of an accident, you're suspicious. You won't believe my sincere love for you no matter what I say."

His words were a mockery of sincerity.

How could he be worthy of talking to me about sincere love?

My contemptuous demeanor seemed to ignite a fire within Scott.

"What kind of good thing are you? You hid the fact that you were infertile before getting married!

"I have been devoted to you for so many years!

"What qualifications do you have to be dissatisfied?"

The words tumbled out without thought, and though he appeared to regret them, his stern demeanor remained unyielding.

I closed my eyes, the sadness enveloping me like a shroud.

For years, I had shielded him to preserve his dignity so hard that I even coaxed him to join me in taking medicine, hoping to cure his infertility for us to conceive a child. And this was how he saw me.

"Scott, let's get divorced," I whispered.

He was oblivious to his father's passing, his return marked only by his anger over Stella.

There was no way forward for us, only a path littered with the debris of shattered love.

"Yvonne, you really put on a good show!"

He sneered, flipping through the divorce agreement with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

The more he read, the deeper the furrow in his brow grew.

"When did you prepare such a detailed agreement?"

I replied to him coldly.

"It's none of your business."

The truth was, if not for Paul's profound kindness, my marriage with Scott would have crumbled long ago.

The revulsion in my gaze was a sharp blade, lodging deep within Scott's chest.

His face contorted with rage as he slammed the divorce agreement onto the table and signed.

His knuckles turned white due to the force.

"Yvonne, don't you dare regret this. And don't you go running to my dad after, badmouthing me as if I've failed you..."

"Good!"

I longed to reveal the truth to him that the woman he believed had borne his child was merely playing him for a fool and that his father had died with the regret of having such an ungrateful son.

Scott was taken aback. He had expected my plea, but instead, he was met with my unwavering response.

Therefore, he had no way to vent his anger.

His eyes narrowed to scan me.

"Every man dream of being a father.

"Are you so determined to divorce me because you have regained your fertility? Are you pregnant?"

My heart skipped a beat. I wondered what would happen if Scott knew I could bear children.

After eight years of marriage, I was resigned to our childless fate due to his condition.

Just last week, the pregnancy test had revealed two lines, a stark contrast to the single line I had grown accustomed to. I had rushed to the hospital for confirmation.

Paul was overjoyed and had sought out Scott, hoping to mend our broken union and sever his ties with Stella.

But fate had dealt a cruel hand. The morning's rain had left the ground treacherously slick, and Paul had slipped outside the very hotel where Scott was entangled with his mistress.

By the time I reached the hospital, Paul was beyond saving.

However, Scott, lost in his own world with his lover, had ignored my frantic calls.

"Since you want a divorce, this child is just a burden meant to tie me down. Go to the hospital and abort it immediately!"

Scott's words were daggers, each one piercing deeper than the last.

My heart bled, torn asunder by his cruelty.

I stared at him with cold indifference. Little did I know why he dared to believe I would threaten him with my child.

"Don't worry. Even if I carry this child, I will terminate it. After all, Paul's final wish was that I not be entangled with you for the rest of my life."

Scott's rage boiled over, his hand sweeping a water cup onto the carpet.

"Shut up! My dad was good to you. How dare you use him as a shield and curse him like an ingrate!

"You dare to hurl insults so freely. It seems orphans are indeed uneducated!"

My heart ached. Despite my years of education and refinement, I found myself utterly unable to suppress the tempest of fury that raged within me.

I hit Scott with a resounding slap.

"I'm doing this for your father! What he regretted most was having a son like you!"

Scott's shock quickly morphed into a fierce glare.

I met his gaze unflinchingly.

I raised my hand once more to deliver him another stinging blow.

I had once been the premier female action actress at the Grand Theater.

Scott's swollen face was a testament to my strength.

His eyes burned red with a fury.

"Yvonne, after our eight-year marriage, do you truly believe I am a man of patience?"

I responded with a cool detachment.

"This final slap is on behalf of my parents," I declared.

At these words, his body trembled, and the anger that had contorted his features melted away into a sudden realization.

A torrential downpour had claimed the lives of my parents as they valiantly attempted to rescue Scott's family from the raging floodwaters.

Therefore, I had become an orphan, adopted by Paul as his own daughter.

"Scott, I owe you nothing," I stated plainly.

A flicker of panic and regret crossed his eyes.

"Yvonne, I shouldn't have spoken as I did just now..."

"I'll finalize the paperwork of our divorce tomorrow. After that, I'll pack up and leave," I cut him off, my tone leaving no room for argument.

He grasped my hand, desperation creeping into his voice. "If you move out, what about my dad?"

Paul had once promised that if my marriage with Scott reached its end, he would live out his days with me.

He cast aside any notion of a son named Scott.

The thought of this only fueled my disgust, and I yanked my hand free.

"I've already made arrangements for your father, so you needn't concern yourself," I replied.

Scott's countenance darkened.

"Have you been taking care of him? Did you say something to him that made him cut me off for so many days?"

Scott had lost his mother at a young age, so he had been raised by Paul, who loved him unconditionally.

However, Scott childishly forsook his aged father for the allure of forbidden love, indifferent to the world that crumbled around him.

How dare he blame his father for not catering to his needs?

It sickened me to the core, churning my stomach with disgust.

"You don't deserve to mention Paul!"

My grip tightened on the phone, my mind swirling with questions.

Why had he blocked my calls? Did he not realize that Paul yearned to hear his voice one last time before departing this world?

Even if his surgical prowess couldn't save Paul, a mere answer to the phone would have eased Paul's passage.

Yet, Scott remained in denial, refusing to accept the grim reality of his father's death, much like he refused to acknowledge the betrayal of Stella.

The sharp pain in my abdomen reminded me that I couldn't afford to linger in this toxic exchange any longer.

"I'll see you at 8 o'clock tomorrow for our divorce," I declared.

"You've even checked the time? Are you that eager?"

Scott sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I couldn't fathom his behavior. The divorce agreement was signed, yet he seemed to cling to some misplaced hope.

"When I think about never having to see you again, I really don't want to wait even a second longer."

I confessed calmly.

Scott's anger flared once more.

"Yvonne, you're so arrogant now, but you'll regret it later!"

I didn't respond, and my eyes were fixed on the time displayed on my phone.

It was still early enough to make it to the hospital for a check-up.

Without another word, I turned and walked out the door, but Scott lunged forward, grabbing my bag in a desperate attempt to stop me.

During the struggle, a hospital certificate slipped from my bag and fluttered to the ground.

I quickly retrieved it.

But Scott's curiosity was piqued.

"Let me see what you're hiding!"

"It's nothing serious," I replied.

Scott's skepticism grew. He swiftly reached out and seized the document from my grasp.

His eyes scanned the pregnancy test report, the words "biochemical pregnancy" and "spontaneous abortion" leaping out at him.

His expression morphed from disbelief to a pained realization.

"Yvonne, have you regained your fertility?

"It's alright. We can try again. My father would be overjoyed to know you can bear children."

My emotions surged, and I lashed out at him, my voice cracking with anguish.

"Do you have any idea that Paul risked his life trying to salvage our marriage?

"He collapsed right in front of your hotel, unable to rise. I discovered it through his health tracker and frantically called you, yet all you cared about was Stella!"

Exhausted, I slid down the wall, my strength spent.

"You make it sound like it's true. Wasn't it just because I neglected you on Valentine's Day? You're still concocting tales about me!"

His callousness was suffocating, a relentless tide that threatened to engulf me.

No matter what was said, he remained entrenched in his own reality, impervious to the truth.

The ache in my lower back intensified, a sharp reminder of my need for medical attention.

"Move aside. I need to get to the hospital for a check-up," I demanded, my voice icy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scott noticed a fresh bloodstain on my pants, and a flicker of concern crossed his features.

"Is your old injury flaring up again? Let me take you there," he suggested.

I answered him indifferently.

"It's none of your concern."

Ignoring my protest, he hurried downstairs and positioned his car to block my path.

"Get in. It's crucial to tend to your wounds. If you hadn't shielded me, you wouldn't have..."

His words were cut short by the shrill ring of his phone.

"Scott, my stomach feels uneasy. I fear something might be wrong with our baby. Can you come and fetch me?"

Scott frowned.

"Stella, don't panic. I'll be there shortly."

Ending the call, he turned to me with an apologetic expression.

"Yvonne, I'm sorry, but I can't forsake Stella and the child she carries..."

I waved him off, urging him to leave without delay.

Without a moment's hesitation, he revved the engine and sped away, leaving me standing alone.

I laughed bitterly to myself.

I just harbored a fleeting hope that he might recall the bond of our youth, which dashed against the rocks of reality.

As expected, in his heart, Stella reigned supreme.

From the innocent beginnings of our childhood affection to the clandestine adoration of our youth, Scott and I had been the epitome of a campus romance.

From a naive girl to a poised stage performer, I had always chased the same man.

On our wedding day eight years ago, he had pledged, "Yvonne, you are the joy of my youth and the love I hold dearest for life."

I had cherished those words.

I clung to them even as our marriage frayed. Although he continued to neglect his familial duties, I harbored no resentment, tending to his father and managing the household in his stead.

During a trip we took after Scott's Ph.D. graduation, our car careened out of control and slammed into a tree.

The impact was directed at his side, and instinctively, I lunged to shield him.

He emerged unscathed while I was left with debilitating injuries to my waist and arms, forever barring me from the stage I adored.

Kneeling by my bedside, Scott pleaded with tears.

He held my hands and vowed to care for me for all our days.

I had believed that a lifetime, once promised, would indeed last a lifetime.

Yet, the passage of time eroded the freshness of first love.

The vows spoken in the throes of passion were as fragile as bubbles in the sunlight.

"Ms. Smith, please proceed to the first floor to collect your medication."

The doctor's voice pulled me back from my reverie.

Emerging from the hospital, I went to the lakeside park, hoping to find a moment of peace amidst the chaos of my life.

Fate, however, had other plans. As I approached the riverbank, I bumped into Scott and Stella.