"I'm so sorry, Ruth! I didn't mean for this to happen. We just... couldn't help ourselves."

Diana's voice trembled with tears.

Her eyes glistened, fragile and helpless—like some delicate flower that might wilt at the slightest breeze.

Nothing like the woman who'd been writhing in that bed moments ago.

Martin pulled Diana behind him, shielding her, and shot me a look of pure contempt.

"You're scaring her!"

"Look at yourself right now. You're acting like a lunatic."

Maybe I was.

I'd already sent the photos and videos to our family group chat. Let everyone see their disgusting faces for what they really were.

But the moment I hit send, my phone rang. Mom and Dad.

"Ruth, have you lost your mind?"

"Delete those right now! If people see this, how is Diana supposed to show her face in public?"

They'd always favored Diana.

All because she'd been kidnapped off the street as a child. It took eighteen years before they finally found her and brought her home.

To make up for all those lost years, they spoiled her rotten. Indulged her every whim.

And they expected me to go along with it. Diana came first. Always.

Even our birthdays—mine was just one day after hers, so they made me celebrate early so we could share. But the cake only ever had one name on it.

Diana's.

Still, I never imagined they'd take her side in something like this.

"You need to divorce Martin."

My sister had been sleeping with my husband behind my back.

And instead of holding her accountable, my parents were demanding I give him up.

"Why should I?"

The question tore out of me.

Diana was the one who'd done this. Why was I the one being asked to hand over my husband?

Their favoritism had crossed every line.

It felt like a boulder was pressing down on my chest. I could barely breathe.

"Diana is your sister. An older sister is supposed to look out for her younger sister."

Mom's voice was sharp with impatience, annoyed that I'd even asked.

I looked at Martin. The man I'd once loved more than my own life.

He just stared back at me. Cold. Silent. Not a word of explanation.

Diana leaned into his arms, all soft and helpless.

"Please, Ruth. Martin doesn't love you anymore. We're the ones who truly care about each other. I'm begging you—just let us be together."

"So you do know he's your brother-in-law?"

"Do you have any shame at all?"

Rage boiled over. My hand connected with her face before I could think.

Diana stumbled sideways and crashed into the coffee table.

"Ahh—"

She cried out, clutching her stomach, her face twisted in pain.

"Diana!"

Martin's expression changed instantly.

"My stomach... it hurts so much..."

Diana's face went white. Her voice shook.

Martin scooped her up and rushed toward the hospital.

As he passed me, he looked at me like I'd committed some unforgivable crime.

But I knew what I saw. Diana had thrown herself into that table.

That was when I learned the truth.

Diana and Martin had been carrying on for who knows how long. She was already pregnant.

After hours of emergency treatment, the baby didn't survive.

"Are you satisfied now?"

Dad's face was purple with fury. His palm cracked across my cheek with everything he had.

My face burned. My ears rang.

But the pain in my body was nothing compared to what was tearing through my heart.

Everyone blamed me for Diana losing her baby. They tried to force me to kneel and apologize to her.

I refused.

My defiance came with consequences.

Martin and my parents pressured the hospital where I worked. They had my professional certification review revoked. The promotion I'd been about to receive vanished overnight.

Then they used it as leverage to force me to sign the divorce papers.

After that, the three people closest to me joined forces to have me sent to the county detention center.

"When you do something wrong, you have to face the consequences."

"When you finally understand what you did, we'll come get you."

I laughed bitterly to myself.

Get me? From where—home?

What home did I have left?

The moment I caught Martin and Diana together, my home ceased to exist.

Inside, I was targeted.

They fed me rotten scraps. Made me drink slop water.

And the beatings came without reason or warning.

While I was being tortured to the point where death seemed preferable, my husband and my parents were abroad with my sister, helping her "recover" from her emotional distress.

A month passed before they returned and heard I'd nearly died in there.

Eight hours of emergency treatment pulled me back from the edge.

By the time Martin and my parents arrived at the hospital, I'd already been moved to a recovery room.

But when they saw me lying in that bed—skin clinging to bone, barely recognizable as human—

Martin's first words were:

"Do you understand what you did wrong now?"

"Don't forget you still owe Diana an apology. Use this time while you're recovering to think about how you're going to make it up to her. Because of you, she's been so upset she nearly developed depression."

His voice was cold. Hard. Like I was a stranger who meant nothing to him.

They say the deepest grief comes when the heart finally dies.

If my heart died when Martin and my parents sent me to that place—

Then hearing those words killed whatever was left.

In that moment, I lost all desire to explain myself.

My voice came out flat, empty of feeling:

"I understand."

I was wrong.

Wrong to have been so blind, so foolish, to fall in love with a man as heartless as Martin Barnes.

Wrong to keep hoping my parents would love me, even when I knew they never had.

Martin kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror, starting to speak several times but stopping himself.

The car pulled up to the entrance of my neighborhood.

I opened the door and stepped out. "Thank you."

Just as I turned to leave, he finally called after me:

"Ruth!"

I stopped. Turned back. Waited.

"Why are you living in a place like this?"

"These past few years... have things been hard for you?"

His eyes swept over the surroundings as he spoke.

Dim streetlights. A rusted iron gate hanging crooked on its hinges.

Peeling walls. A building that looked ready to collapse.

His eyes reddened. His voice dropped low.

"Do you need me to help you—"

"No. I'm doing fine. But thank you for the offer."

I didn't understand.

The man who had been cruel enough to force me into divorce and send me to that place—why was he suddenly acting like he cared?

Martin didn't believe me. He'd already convinced himself I was putting on a brave front.

"Ruth, you don't have to lie to me. I can see it."

"I know you resent me. But even though we're divorced, we're still family."

A faint smile crossed my face, distant and detached.

"Mr. Barnes, you must be joking."

From the day I decided to leave, I stopped having family.

I would never forget.

During my time recovering in the hospital, I sank into a quiet despair.

After that first day, no one came to see me.

I only found out through my phone that the family was bustling with preparations for Diana and Martin's wedding.

Afraid I'd cause a scene, Mom and Dad gave strict orders to keep me under watch.

What they didn't expect was this:

On the wedding day, I didn't show up to make trouble.

Instead, I boarded a train heading to another city.

As the train pulled away, fireworks exploded across the Southport sky.

Congratulations to Martin and Diana on their wedding!

Southport and Sunvale were separated by thousands of miles.

I thought I'd never see any of them again.

But life has a way of surprising you.

"Ruth, do you really hate me that much? We—"

Martin's voice was strained, urgent.

Before he could finish, I cut him off, my expression calm.

"There is no 'we.' That ended seven years ago."

Did I hate him?

Right after the divorce, yes. I hated him.

Now, seven years later, everything had changed.

Martin, the Fox family—I'd let all of it go.

Martin's voice came out rough. "But that child..."

I knew he'd jump to conclusions after seeing Lorna.

"Lorna has nothing to do with you."

Martin and I did have a child once.

I'd planned to surprise him on our wedding anniversary.

Instead, he surprised me first—with something far worse.

That injury at the detention center.

It left an ugly scar across my palm.

The nerve damage nearly ended my career as a surgeon.

But worse than my hand was the wound to my abdomen—deep enough to expose bone.

Blood pooled on the floor that day. My baby was gone.

"That's impossible. You don't have to lie to me—she looks exactly like me..."

Martin refused to believe it. He'd convinced himself Lorna was his daughter.

I cut him off coldly. "Believe what you want. That child has nothing to do with you. So please, stop bothering us."

"I'm sorry. Back then... I failed you."

His voice was hoarse, his eyes unable to hide the pain.

Just as he was about to say more, a warm, gentle voice came from behind us.

"You're back? Why haven't you come upstairs?"

It was Phoebe Taylor. She'd come down to check on me when I didn't appear after getting out of the car.

Seeing Martin on the verge of breaking down, she looked confused. "And who's this?"

"A patient's family member. He was heading this way, so he gave me a ride."

"Thank you for bringing me home. I have work tomorrow, so I'd better head in."

I gave a slight nod, then turned to help Phoebe up the stairs.

"Why are you back so late again? I told you, I'm fine. You don't need to come check on me every day."

Phoebe's tone was gently scolding.

"I worry about you living alone. If only you'd agree to move in with me."

I leaned my head against her shoulder, letting myself be soft for a moment.

This version of me—warm, unguarded—

Martin hadn't seen her in years. Something dark flickered in his eyes.

Seven years ago, I fled Southport and ended up in this remote little town.

Phoebe took me in when I was broken and desperate.

She gave me something I'd almost forgotten—the warmth of family. She gave me a reason to keep going.

I don't know when Martin left.

Honestly, I didn't care.

All I know is that when I came downstairs the next morning, the spot where his car had been parked was littered with cigarette butts.

When I arrived at the hospital, Martin was there again—waiting for me, it seemed.

He held a small pharmacy bag. "Yesterday, I noticed you kept rubbing your palm. I had someone track down this ointment. It helps with the aching when the weather changes."

I didn't reach for it. "Thank you for the concern, but I thought I made myself clear yesterday."

I lifted my chin toward the space behind him.