On the day of our third wedding anniversary, I received a devastating diagnosis: brain cancer.

While I lay alone in a sterile hospital bed, fighting back tears and grappling with the weight of my illness, Clyde Evans, my husband, was out with his first love. He had arranged an extravagant date, complete with a dazzling half-hour firework display that lit up the night sky.

The hashtags #EvansHeirClydeEvans and #CityFullOfFireworksForMadam shot to the top of trending lists. Everyone gushed over “Madam” and Clyde’s grand romantic gestures, painting a picture of a perfect love story.

But as the city admired his supposed devotion, I was writhing in pain, restrained by doctors who tried to keep me calm as the illness ravaged my body.

When I mustered the courage to tell Clyde about my condition, hoping for even a sliver of support, his response was cold and cutting. "Are you done causing a scene? If you’re going to die, just die already."

——

"Miss Maeve Watson, your condition is critical," the doctor had warned. "Please notify your family immediately and prepare for hospitalization."

Desperate, I sent Clyde a message, pleading with him to come to the hospital. His reply came immediately and without emotion. [Die sooner if you're going to. Stop bothering me.]

Only last night, I had been brimming with joy, carefully preparing all of Clyde’s favorite dishes, eagerly waiting for him to come home.

He said he had something to handle and wouldn’t be coming back.

Not long after, my phone buzzed with a notification: news about Clyde.

His “something” turned out to be a date with his first love, complete with a grand fireworks show.

I didn’t feel anger or betrayal. Instead, I was left dazed, as though the world had shifted out of focus.

Brain cancer. Late stage. The words felt foreign, almost laughable, like a bad punchline to an unfunny joke.

Shaking off the haze clouding my thoughts, I asked the doctor, “How long can I survive with just medication?”

His voice was calm but resolute. “Medication alone won’t suffice. Inpatient chemotherapy is your best option. We strongly recommend hospitalization.”

Without hesitation, I shook my head. “That won’t be necessary.”

His expression softened with concern. “Miss, please consider discussing this with your family before making a decision.”

Family? The word felt hollow. There was no one to lean on, no one who would lose sleep over my fate.

Ignoring his advice, I stepped out into the evening.

Kansas City’s winter nights didn’t wait for anyone, descending immediately into darkness. The cold wind cut through me like cold shards, chilling me to the bone and numbing my limbs.

I didn’t head home right away. Instead, I found a bench in the small square outside the hospital and sat down, letting the cold settle into my skin as the city lights flickered around me.

Time slipped away, second by second, like sand through my fingers and I could feel my life dwindling.

Three months.

The doctor’s words echoed relentlessly in my mind, a cruel refrain that refused to fade. Was this really how my story ended at just twenty-five?

My phone vibrated, pulling me from my grim thoughts—a message.

It was from my mother-in-law. Attached was a photo.

In the picture, Clyde was seated in an elegant restaurant, a wide smile lighting up his face as he sliced into a perfectly cooked steak. Beside him sat Milana Bennett, her adoring gaze fixed on him like he was the center of her universe.

I stared at the photo, my chest tightening. Just days ago, she had sent another image of Clyde and Milana watching fireworks together.

Her intentions couldn’t have been clearer if she’d spelled them out.

From the beginning, my mother-in-law had never hidden her disdain for me. My family was ordinary, far beneath the lofty standards she held for her son.

Three years ago, when Clyde announced our engagement, she had done everything in her power to stop the wedding.

Milana, on the other hand, was her ideal choice.

The only daughter of the Bennett Family, Milana was a picture-perfect match in her eyes. The Bennett Family might not have rivaled the wealth of the Evans Family.

Still, their multiple subsidiaries and business clout made them a force to be reckoned with in Kansas City. To my mother-in-law, Milana was the epitome of perfection and I was a mistake she longed to erase.

A few years ago, Clyde and Milana’s love story was the highlight of Kansas City’s elite circles. Their romance was the kind of tale that seemed destined for a picture-perfect engagement. But just when everyone expected wedding bells to ring, the couple shocked everyone by calling it quits.

Milana left the country soon after, vanishing without a word. The reason behind their sudden breakup became the hottest mystery in town.

Only two months later, Clyde brought me into his family’s grand estate, casually announcing that we were already married. The news sent ripples through high society, each whisper louder than the last.

From the very beginning, my mother-in-law greeted me with thinly veiled hostility, her cold glares and biting remarks making her disdain clear. To her, I was nothing more than a schemer, a nobody who had dared to seduce her son and wreck his perfect love story with Milana.

She didn’t hide her disdain for me. Before the wedding, she threatened outright, “If you dare to marry into this family, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

True to her word, after I became part of the family, she seized every opportunity to make my life unbearable. Tasks that should have been assigned to the household staff were dumped on me without hesitation. Even when I was too weak to stand, confined to my bed, she showed no mercy. Scrubbing toilets, washing endless piles of clothes, cooking elaborate meals, nothing was off-limits.

It would be a lie to say I had no complaints. Still, for the sake of earning my mother-in-law’s approval, I swallowed every grievance, crushing each one deep into the corners of my heart.

Three long years. I endured, hoping my patience would soften her sharp edges.

Instead, my silence only gave her more opportunities to wound me.

As I stared at the photos of them, all smiles and affection, there was no surge of jealousy, no ache of heartbreak that used to twist my chest. I felt… nothing. Just a hollow, numbing void.

“Bullshit! I don’t have a terminal illness. All these restrictions, what’s the difference between this and dying?”

A voice suddenly snapped through my haze. A girl with a crutch hobbled over, muttering curses under her breath as she dropped onto the far end of the bench.

“Am I supposed to freak out just because tomorrow’s the end of the world? Hell no! If anything, I’m going to live it up. There’s no time to waste anymore. Go wild, or what’s the point?”

Her words rattled through my mind like a storm. A sharp pain shot through my head, then silence. And then, as quickly as it struck, clarity swept in, sharpening everything around me.

Right, I was almost dead. Why did I care about anything else?

Was I really going to let my life end like this—swallowing my pride and fading into nothingness?

No. I couldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t.

Gripping my phone, I typed a message to her, my fingers moving with an unfamiliar boldness.

I told her everything, that Clyde and Milana were having an affair and that she, proud as she was of her son’s infidelity, was no better. A shameless pair, the lot of them.

What a collection of lowlifes.

I was dying anyway. Why should I care about consequences?

Before I could second-guess myself, I hit send, then blocked her number. If she wanted to spew more venom, she’d have to find someone else. She wasn’t ruining another second of my life.

I decided right then to make a change. My first stop? The mall.

Standing outside a clothing store, I caught my reflection in the glass. The sight made me pause. My thin, pale face stared back at me, framed by dull, lifeless hair. The cheap black coat I wore only made me look more like a shadow of who I used to be.

Three years. In just three years, I had withered into someone I barely recognized, an old, defeated version of myself.

The realization hit me hard and before I could stop myself, I slapped my cheeks a few times, the sharp sting grounding me.

“Enough,” I whispered to my reflection.

Without hesitation, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was a high-end boutique, the kind that exuded luxury from every corner. As soon as I stepped in, the staff's eyes flicked over my shabby coat and pale face, their expressions dripping with disdain.

She trailed behind me, her presence suffocating. Just as I stopped in front of a stunning red dress, her loud, disdainful click of the tongue broke the silence.

“No money and yet here you are, gawking at clothes. Do you even realize how ridiculous you look?”

I froze. Slowly, I turned to face her, my eyes narrowing as fury coursed through me. “What did you just say? Your mouth reeks, did you just get back from dining on shit in the bathroom?”

Her face drained of color, her confidence crumbling. “How dare you speak to me like that?” she stammered.

“I should be asking you that. Did I ever say I couldn’t afford these clothes?”

Before she could respond, the sound of heels clicking against the floor interrupted us. A woman approached, elegantly dressed, perfectly poised and radiating an air of superiority. She looked to be in her thirties, her every movement exuding confidence and control.

“Didn’t the staff say something wrong? With your shabby appearance, how dare you even step into this store?”

“Excuse me, auntie, you’re quite amusing. I’ve heard of customers complaining about bad service, but this is the first time I’ve seen a store trying to chase away potential clients. By the way, is this your shop? Does the owner know they’re at risk of losing a major customer?”

Her face flushed with anger. “Auntie? Who are you calling Auntie? And you? A major client? How dare you!”

The staff burst into laughter, failing miserably to stifle their amusement.

I turned to the nearest staff member, my voice calm but firm. “Call your manager.”

They ignored me, their laughter grating on my nerves.

I snapped, my voice rising. “Call your manager! Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf?”

The woman took a cautious step back, eyeing me warily. “Are you… sick or something? Why are you yelling like that?”

“Yeah, I’m sick. Terminally ill, in fact. So let me warn you, don’t mess with me!”

The manager arrived swiftly and after understanding the situation, he quickly reprimanded the staff and offered a sincere apology.

The staff, however, wore an expression of clear displeasure, unwilling to accept the reprimand.

“Pack up your most expensive clothes,” I said, pulling out the black card I always carried with me.

This card, Clyde had given it to me. While he had been frugal with his affections, his generosity with money knew no bounds.

The manager’s face lit up. “Of course, I’ll arrange that for you right away.”

But before he could move, the woman at the checkout muttered, “Who knows if the money on that card is even clean.”

Without hesitation, I grabbed the red dress she had been eyeing earlier. “This one,” I declared.

Ignoring her irritable glare, I turned to the manager. I continued, “Evans Group if I’m not mistaken, this store belongs to them, doesn’t it?”

Smiling, I added, “As the young madam of the Evans Family, surely I’m entitled to a little shopping privilege?”

I slid a photo from my wallet, showing the wedding photo of Clyde and me.

In Kansas City, who didn’t know the Evans Family?

The manager, the woman and the staff stood frozen, momentarily struck dumb.

“So, you’re the young madam of the Evans Family?” The manager’s tone shifted instantly, dripping with newfound respect.

The woman, her face drained of color, shot me a guilty look before hastily retreating.

Before she could vanish from sight, I subtly hinted to the manager, “If one employee’s poor service could tarnish the reputation of the entire brand, then…”

The manager didn’t miss a beat. “Rest assured, young madam, such staff will never show their faces here again.”

With my heavy shopping bags in hand, a rare sense of satisfaction washed over me.

When it came to wealth and power, no one compared to the Evans Family.

If I didn’t wield it wisely, what would be the point of such a prestigious name?

By the time I reached home, the clock had long passed midnight.

As I opened the door, I was met with the sudden sting of a slap to my face.

My mother-in-law angrily snatched the clothes I’d bought from the mall, hurling them onto the floor as if they were trash.

“Well, well, Maeve, not only did you stay out late tonight, but you also spent my son’s money so carelessly. Looks like you’ve picked up a few tricks!”

She swung her hand at me in anger, but I blocked it with ease. Her eyes widened in shock and she screeched, “Maeve, what are you doing?!”

I pushed her hand away, treating it like an unwanted object. “What? Didn’t do anything, did I?”

Before I could move, a sharp voice interrupted. “Maeve, how dare you strike Auntie? Clyde won’t forgive you for this!”

Milana stepped in front of my mother-in-law, shielding her as if I were a venomous snake poised to strike.

I touched the stinging red mark on my cheek, smirking. “So innocent, huh? You two were pretty fierce when it was your turn.”

My mother-in-law seethed. “What’s come over you today? What did that message mean? How dare you speak to elders like that?”

Milana didn’t hold back. “Maeve, you’ve crossed the line. As a woman, how can you say such things?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. “Let me ask you two what that really means. One of you sends a picture of her son dining with another woman to his wife and the other barges into someone’s home in the dead of night to play the role of detective.”

“Isn’t this what you call living without a family? Or is being a mistress really that delightful?”

“And as for elders, do you truly deserve that title?”

Both of their faces darkened in an instant and they were struck dumb, unable to respond.

“You...” Milana’s expression shifted suddenly and she looked as though she might burst into tears. “You’re going too far.”

Her voice quivered, almost like she expected sympathy.

Sure enough, it worked.

“Maeve, enough! Shut up!”

I turned my head and there he was, Clyde’s face a storm of fury.

He marched over, standing beside Milana and my mother-in-law, his voice a thunderclap, “What the hell are you doing? I didn’t go to the hospital, so why are you throwing a tantrum?”

“Apologize to them. Right now.”