Martha's POV

The moment Randall and the others left, the silence in the villa was deafening.

It felt like the weight of everything was pressing down on me. I took a deep breath, tending to the wound on my forehead, and quickly posted an ad on my phone to find a private investigator.

Just then, I saw Paula’s post on social media. She shared a picture of herself leaning against a man, her head slightly tilted as she watched fireworks. Although his face was obscured, I recognized him immediately. It was Randall. Standing beside them were Delbert and his family.

The image radiated warmth and love.

If Randall weren’t my husband, and if I hadn’t raised Delbert and my grandson Ozzie I might’ve believed it, too. But as I stood there, watching, a wave of bitterness washed over me.

I snapped out of my thoughts when my phone buzzed. It was a message from a well-known private investigator in town. He was eager to take on my case, so I arranged to meet him the next day to discuss the details.

That night, Randall and the others never came back.

Strangely, despite everything that had happened, I slept more soundly than I had in a long time.

The next morning, I met the investigator at a local café.

As soon as I stepped inside, a young man waved to me from the corner. I guessed he was the investigator, and when I asked, I was right.

I told him about the situation—the car accident caused by Paula thirty-five years ago that killed my mom. I asked him to collect evidence against her so I could sue her for her part in my mom’s death.

He listened carefully and replied confidently, “Don’t worry, Ma'am. I’ll have all the evidence you need within seven days. The guilty will face justice.”

After our conversation, he left quickly, but I was about to follow when I heard a familiar voice.

“Martha, what a coincidence. You’re here too.”

I turned to see Paula standing behind me, her smile full of mockery.

Right behind her was Randall, the man who hadn’t come home last night. He was holding her bag and draping her coat over her shoulders, playing the part of the devoted husband.

But in the thirty-five years we’d been married, Randall had never once treated me like that.

I remembered a time when we went shopping for household goods, and I had too many things in my hands.

I asked him to carry my bag, and he scowled at me, saying, “I’m a man! How can I touch your things? People will think I’m weak.”

Another time, I was overwhelmed with things, tripped on the street, and fell. Not only did Randall refuse to help me up, but he also deliberately stayed far away.

When I confronted him, he looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “I’m the richest man in the world, and look at you—shabby and clumsy. If anyone knew we were married, they’d laugh at me.”

But now, with the woman he loved, all those 'rules' had gone out the window.

A sharp pain gripped my chest as the overwhelming weight of everything hit me. I just didn’t want to face them anymore.

I stood up to leave, but Paula grabbed my arm, pulling me back.

“Martha, I’m talking to you. Why are you pretending you can’t hear me? Do you really hate me that much?”

I looked at her, disgusted, and shoved her away. “At least you know I don’t like you. So get away from me.”

I turned to walk away, but in the next instant, Paula grabbed a coffee cup from the table and threw it all over herself.

The coffee spilled across her beige coat, creating a large stain.

She glared at me, angry and hurt.

“Martha, I know you don’t like me, but I’ve never done anything to hurt you. Why would you throw coffee on my clothes? This coat was a gift from my mom for my birthday!”

Paula was a master of drama, always playing the victim. It was no surprise. She was just like her mother—born of a mistress, raised to perform.

Randall, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding, walked right up to me and shoved me aside. His voice was cold and demanding, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“Martha, what the hell is wrong with you? Apologize to Paula. Right now.”

The force of his push slammed my lower back into the corner of the table. Pain shot through me, leaving me trembling.

I lifted my gaze, meeting his fiery eyes. He looked like he wanted to tear me apart if I refused.

Through clenched teeth, I asked, “Randall, who exactly is your wife?”

Sneering, Randall retorted, “Don’t try to play the wife card with me! I saw everything. You’re the one who threw the coffee at Paula. Don’t think just because she’s innocent and kind that you can bully her. Apologize right now!”

Randall’s voice was harsh, commanding. His words pierced through me.

I stared at the man I’d loved for thirty-five years, and my heart shattered.

Unable to hold back any longer, I grabbed another coffee cup from the table and threw it straight at his face.

“Looks like your eyesight’s failing you. Let me help you clean up. And this... this is what throwing is really like.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the café.

Once outside, I went straight to my lawyer's office.

The moment I stepped in, I demanded a divorce agreement.

I couldn’t bear to be married to Randall for even another second.

But then, his following words doused me like ice water.

"I’m sorry, Ma'am. According to the records, the man you called your husband divorced you thirty years ago... and he remarried. His current wife is Paula Stone."

Martha's POV

My lawyer's words hit me like a bolt from the blue, leaving me completely stunned.

I could hardly wrap my mind around what I had just heard.

My body was frozen in place as I turned to him for confirmation.

In disbelief, I stammered, "Is that true? Could there be some mistake?"

Sensing my breakdown, he gave me a sympathetic glance.

He turned his computer screen toward me, pointing to the section marked [Spouse].

There she was, clear as day—Paula.

I blinked in disbelief.

All these years, I’d assumed they were secretly meeting, but I never imagined they had been married for thirty years.

Meanwhile, here I was, the one without a name, the real other woman.

Then what did my decades of sacrifice really mean? What had I been working toward?

It felt like a thousand tiny ants were gnawing at my heart, the sharp pain slicing through me as I struggled to hold myself together.

They were nothing but animals.

The only thing on my mind was to go home. I needed to pack everything and leave. This house and this life had all become a suffocating black hole.

I hurried back to the house.

The door creaked as I stepped inside, and immediately, I was hit by the sight of the living room in utter disarray.

Delbert and Jenna had invited their colleagues over for a party.

The whole downstairs was messy, filled with empty bottles and snack wrappers. The kitchen—cleaned only yesterday—was now cluttered with dirty dishes. Leftover food remained on the table, untouched, as no one had tidied up.

I could feel my blood boiling as I stared at the scene.

Delbert, sitting with his colleagues in front of the TV, glanced over and lazily commanded, “Mom, you're back? Clean up the house, will you? It’s a mess. We’re singing karaoke later, and you’ll need to grab some snacks for us.”

His tone was so inherently commanding that it made my fists tighten. I almost felt like slapping him right then and there. However, I restrained myself, ignoring him as I turned to go upstairs and pack.

I gathered everything I could—clothes, personal items, and the savings I had worked so hard to save over the years. I packed up every household item and gift I had bought for Randall, Delbert, and Ozzie, and threw them out with the rest of the trash.

If they didn’t see me as family, they didn’t deserve anything that belonged to me.

Just then, Randall came home. He stopped short at the sight, frowning.

“These are still useful,” he said. “Why did you throw them out?”

I met his gaze coldly. “No reason. If you need it, buy new ones.”

Randall seemed confused, not realizing I was no longer playing by his rules. He thought I was still going to buy the items. His face softened just a little.

“Well, you can pay for it yourself. I’m not helping anymore. Although I’m the one who provided for this house, saving money is a virtue.”

I didn’t answer him. I turned and walked toward the door to grab my suitcase.

But before I could leave, Randall stopped me again. “I’m taking Paula to a concert tonight. I won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. Could you pack my bags for me?”

His words hit me like a slap to the face, and I had to swallow the rising bitterness.

He continued, “Also, pack Paula’s. She’s never done this before. I’m not sure she can manage. I trust you more.”

His words were a dagger, each one twisting deeper. All these years of serving them, living as a silent servant to their needs, and here he was, asking me to pack her bags.

A bitter laugh tore from my throat. But even as I laughed, my eyes burned hot.

I stared straight into Randall’s eyes and said deliberately, “I’m too busy. If you care so much about her, go pack for her yourself.”

Without waiting for his response, I grabbed my suitcase, shoved past him, and walked out of the room.

That night, Paula posted on her social media again.

She shared two photos.

The first was of her holding hands with someone. I instantly recognized Randall in the photo, even though his face was slightly turned.

The second photo was a selfie of her, showing a sapphire necklace that shone under the lights.

When I saw the necklace, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. It was the same necklace my mom had given me before she died. I had never worn it, always keeping it safely tucked away.

A wave of dread washed over me. My heart skipped a beat as panic surged through me. I rushed out of bed, grabbed my suitcase, and opened the safe.

When I opened it, the sapphire necklace was gone.

The realization hit me hard, ‘Randall has stolen my necklace and given it to Paula!’

Fury ignited in every fiber of my being.

I slammed the safe shut, grabbed my things, and hailed a taxi straight to the concert venue.

When I arrived, I ignored the security guards' protests as I charged past them.

There, in the front row, sat Paula, smugly showing off the necklace, basking in the admiration of those around her.

My blood boiled, my head pounded.

Without thinking, I stormed toward her and slapped her across the face.

But in the very next moment, a hand sharply slapped my cheek.

It was Randall's hand.

Martha's POV

“Martha, if you’re crazy, go get treated. Don’t come here making a scene!”

Once dropping his usual calm demeanor, Randall stood in front of Paula, shielding her with his body as he angrily yelled at me.

Guests turned their heads, curiosity lighting their eyes.

Fingers pointed, whispers spread—an uninvited woman barging in and slapping someone in the middle of a concert?

To them, I must have looked unhinged.

They had no idea who I was to Randall.

After all, in the thirty-five years of our marriage, he’d never once brought me to an event like this. Not like he did with Paula.

They saw me as nothing more than a crazed, aging woman, someone they assumed had lost her mind, their eyes full of disdain.

I swallowed the humiliation, the buzzing sound in my ears growing louder.

With trembling hands, I pointed at the sapphire necklace hanging around Paula’s neck, demanding, “Randall, how dare you let her wear the necklace my mom gave me? How dare you? You know full well that Paula killed my mom. So why give her something that belonged to my mom? Why?”

My voice cracked with anger and sorrow.

For a brief moment, I saw a flicker of guilt in Randall’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by disbelief as he looked at me like I was crazy.

“Stop accusing people without proof. The person who killed your mother is already in jail, and it has nothing to do with Paula. If you keep spouting nonsense, I’ll sue you for slander!”

Paula, pretending to be the innocent victim, acted shocked and began comforting me with fake sympathy, her voice sweetly condescending.

“Martha, I know losing your mother is painful, but how can you slander me like this? I’ve never hurt anyone.”

She began to cry, dramatically wiping her eyes as if the weight of my accusations had deeply wounded her.

The guests around us maintained their perfect act, their piercing glares and whispered insults slicing through the air. To them, I wasn’t a grieving daughter but a lunatic attacking a defenseless woman.

But I couldn’t care less.

Fury bubbled up inside me, and without thinking, I lunged at Paula, trying to yank the necklace off her neck.

Before my hand could even reach her, Randall kicked me to the ground.

I hit the corner of a table hard, and a hot, wet sensation spread across my skull.

"She's bleeding!" someone screamed, but no one moved to help me.

Randall stood over me, his gaze a mix of disdain and warning.

“Martha, don’t think just because you’re my wife, you can do whatever you want. Yes, the necklace is yours, but Paula just thought it was pretty and wanted to wear it for a few days. She’ll give it back soon, but you came in here making wild accusations. This can’t just be brushed aside.”

“I’ve decided to give the necklace to Paula as compensation,” he continued, his voice cold. “And you’ll apologize to her.”

Blood trickled down my neck. My vision swam. Rage and sorrow twisted inside me until I could barely breathe.

“Randall," I roared hoarsely, "where is your conscience?”

But he only leaned down, voice like ice, he said, “You’ve got three seconds. Are you going to apologize or not? Three, two, one...”

Barely a second passed after 'one' when Paula stepped forward, blocking Randall.

With an expression of fake understanding, she said, “It’s alright, Randall. If Martha doesn’t want me touching her things, I’ll return the necklace. I wouldn’t want her to think I’m a thief.”

She removed the necklace and, with a mocking smile, handed it to me.

A flicker of hope surged in my chest.

I reached out eagerly, but just as my fingers brushed the necklace, she let it fall from her hands.

The sapphire necklace hit the floor, shattering into pieces.

I froze, unable to react for a moment.

Paula gasped, covering her mouth in exaggerated surprise. “Martha, why didn’t you catch it? Now look, it’s broken!”

Her eyes were full of subtle provocation, cutting deeper than anything else could.

I couldn’t hold my anger in any longer.

With a strangled cry, I lunged and grabbed her throat.

“Paula, you’ve gone too far!”

But Randall kicked me away again.

This time, my head struck a chair. Blood immediately stained the chair, and my vision blurred. Everything around me faded as I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed.

Randall was standing beside me, his eyes bloodshot, clearly having stayed the night.

Upon seeing me awake, his eyes showed a little less worry, but his voice was icy as he said, “Martha, when will you ever learn to compromise? You ruined the concert last night, and now Paula is full of guilt because of you.”

Then, he reached for something on the side table.

“I’ve already had your mother’s necklace repaired. Once you’re discharged, you’ll go and apologize to Paula. Otherwise, I’ll never speak to you again.”

I ignored him, my focus only on the necklace.

Randall quickly handed it to me.

The 'repair' was merely a quick fix—carelessly applied glue, making the necklace look distorted. However, I felt some relief, knowing my mom’s gift wasn’t lost and was still in my hands.

Randall seemed to want to say something else, but his phone rang.

It was Paula.

For the next few days, Randall was completely absent, his attention solely on Paula.

I saw his face every day in her social media posts, smiling and living life as if nothing had changed.

On the fifth day, I was finally discharged from the hospital.

As soon as I walked out, my phone rang.

It was Randall.

“After you’re out of the hospital, go straight to Paula’s house. I’ve prepared a gift for you to bring as part of your apology.”

Delbert and Jenna also reached out to me, urging me not to ignore the situation and to apologize to Paula as soon as possible.

Even Ozzie contacted me through his smartwatch, calling me shameless for trying to steal from his Auntie Paula.

I didn’t reply to any of them, except for the private investigator who had contacted me earlier.

“I’ve found the evidence you asked for, and I’ve consulted a lawyer. He said that if you send this evidence to the police, Paula will definitely be sentenced to death.”

I thanked him, paid him, and immediately sent the evidence to the authorities.

At the same time, my assistant contacted me, informing me that all my investments and resources in the Ottinger Group had been successfully withdrawn.

My passport and visa were already arranged.

With everything in place, I headed to the airport with the flight ticket I had purchased the night before for Montclair.

As the plane soared into the sky and the landscape shrank beneath me, a sense of freedom washed over me.

It was alive and free.

‘Randall, Paula, the gift I've prepared for you… it’s on its way.’