On the day the SAT results were released, my daughter got into both Harvard and Stanford, an incredible achievement.

That evening, our world came crashing down: my entire family tested positive for HIV. Desperate, I asked my husband, a physician, for antiretrovirals.

John Garcia handed me one dose and disappeared.

Holding the only vial of medication, I stood helpless by the hospital beds of my seven family members.

I called him, only to be met with impatience,

"I gave you the dose. What else do you want?"

Through tears, I told him one dose wasn't nearly enough for all of us.

John accused me of exaggerating and scoffed, "Emily, what kind of family is this, where everyone has such a disgraceful disease?"

His words stunned me, but before I could respond, his ex's voice came through the phone,

"John, you still love me, right? Finalize your divorce when we're back."

The line went dead directly.

The next time I saw him was two weeks later.

I was dragging a cart with six urns up to the cemetery, my face numb, my heart heavier.

John hadn't approved the medications until the time was too late.

We missed the crucial treatment window; my family succumbed to complications, starting with my grandparents and moving to my younger siblings and aunts.

I had always known about John's first love, but I couldn't believe he'd abandon us to celebrate her birthday overseas.

That night after he ended the call with me, my phone displayed a painful reminder—a post from John, showing a woman with a diamond ring.

The caption read bitterly, "True lovers never part."

I blocked John and started arranging the funerals.

After hours in the cemetery, dizziness overcame me as I tried to stand.

"Emily? What are you doing here?"

Having thought I misheard my name, I turned and saw the familiar face of John Garcia. He was back.

Annoyance was clear on his face as he asked, "Are you following me now?"

He referred to how I used to call his assistant when he came home late, checking on him.

Since our HIV diagnosis and his disappearance, I had pleaded for more medicine.

To him, my constant worry was just obsessive and invasive.

Not wanting to argue, I attempted to leave, but Jessica Hernandez, by his side, stopped me.

She looked at me with surprise and then a sly smirk, "You're Emily, right? John talks about you often."

Seeing Jessica, so similar to me yet different in demeanor and haircut, confirmed the rumors that went viral for the past sixteen years, which inevitably sank my heart. John had used me as a substitute for Jessica.

"Don’t get it wrong," she said. "My dog died during transport, and John, being the good guy he is, was helping me grieve here."

I replied coldly, "And how is that my concern?"

Despite my restraint, John acted as if I was attacking Jessica.

He stepped between us and said, "Emily, why are you always so confrontational?"

I used to defend myself, but now I had no energy left to fight.

Simply, I answered, "Yes. Are you killing me? If not, I'll leave."

As I began to walk away, John grabbed my wrist out of reflex. I pulled away sharply.

He looked confused, as if I was the one being unreasonable.

"Emily, why all the drama? Didn’t I give you the medication?"

My laughter was bitter, filled with pain, "The medication? The one dose I had to beg for on my knees? It wasn't enough for seven of us, John!"

"Is it really so hard to provide enough doses? Anyone can buy these drugs with money. Why can't we? Do you really despise me that much?"

My family tested positive at his hospital. I had tried everything and begged the nurses for more doses, but only John’s approval would suffice. I called him for it but he didn't let me finish and threw me one dose, then left the country.

Afterwards, no matter how many times I called, his phone was off.

Seven of us, just one dose.

That decision forced me to choose who might live.

All my pent-up anger, grief, and despair came pouring out.

Remembering my family’s tormented faces in the morgue overwhelmed me, and I broke down crying.

John had never seen me like this. For a moment, empathy flickered in his eyes.

He left Jessica to comfort me, but his initial words were far from soothing,

"Emily, I see Jessica as a sister. You shouldn’t trivialize your family's health."

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

He still believed I was using our family’s illness to manipulate him.

I was a shameless monster that would go all lengths in his mind...

"You're playing with my family’s lives," I said, my voice choked with emotion.

I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by despair, "John Garcia, it's over between us."

Nothing else mattered now; six of my family were gone.

John’s face showed a flicker of panic, but he quickly masked it with dismissiveness,

"Why are you being so irrational? Okay, I’ll drop the grudge. I'll tell my assistant to send the meds. Are you happy now?"

His voice was laced with sarcasm.

He pulled out his phone and hastily made a call to his assistant,

"James, get Emily the doses she needs—fast."

He ended the call before even waiting for a response, treating it like a mere formality.

He looked at me as though he had made a great sacrifice.

If only he had listened, he would have known they were already dead.

But he never really listened.

Overcome with rage, I slapped him.

"John Garcia, you're a monster."

I stormed down the mountain, fuming with rage.

I didn’t even want to see John Garcia’s face anymore.

But just ten minutes after I left, the cemetery's manager called. He said someone wanted to relocate my family's graves.

A sinking feeling hit me, and I ran back frantically.

The first thing I saw was a scene that made my blood run cold.

John Garcia was there, digging up my family's graves with a shovel!

The soil was strewn everywhere, and the white urns were glaring in the sunlight.

"What are you doing!" I shouted.

I pushed John to the ground, my hands shaking as I tried to cover the graves back up.

Caught off guard, John fell and when he regained his composure, he was livid,

"Emily, what's gotten into you!"

Jessica Hernandez brushed the dirt off John, her concern evident as she tried to calm him,

"Emily, you're going too far! This isn’t even your family's grave, why are you so upset? And you’ve hurt John."

"You stalked him before, and now you're attacking him. I don't know how John has put up with you all these years!"

"How do you know this isn't my family's grave?!" I screamed, grabbing a shovel and swinging it wildly at them.

"You killed my family and now you want to dig out their ashes. John Garcia and Jessica Hernandez, may lightning strike you down!"

John shielded Jessica behind him, his hand turning red where I hit him.

Bodyguards rushed from all directions and pinned me down.

My face was pressed into the cold earth, and tears blurred my vision.

I wanted nothing more than to tear them apart.

John looked at me with a mixture of hatred and discomfort, swallowing hard,

"Emily, I haven’t even started on your sick games yet, and you're already losing it!"

"If you just apologize to Jessica, I'll forget all this. I’ll even arrange a consultation with a top surgeon for Nancy’s heart transplant as soon as possible."

Nancy is our daughter, who has needed a heart transplant since she was a child.

Despite living with me for years, John knew exactly how to manipulate me by using my weakest points.

But these people were my family. Even if he threatened me with Nancy's life, it wouldn't work.

"No way!" I struggled violently.

John sneered, "Emily, don’t reject a friendly gesture only to accept a harsh penalty later. Kneel and apologize. Then, we can pretend none of this happened."

I refused to kneel.

Annoyed by my defiance, John’s tone grew even colder,

"Emily, apologize, final warning."

"John Garcia, you’re dreaming!" I retorted.

Seeing that I wasn’t moving, John’s eyes reddened and he signaled the bodyguard with a glance.

Pale and trembling, I was lifted by the bodyguard.

"John, you can’t do this to me... You killed my family, desecrated their graves, and now you want me to apologize to their killer!"

John ignored me and stubbornly repeated,

"Emily, kneel and apologize."

His voice shook slightly,

"Don’t you want Nancy to have a chance at a healthy life?"

At that moment, John seemed utterly foreign to me.

Maybe he was always manipulative, but he’d never had to use it on me before.

Now, he was forcing me into humiliating submission just for an apology.

Why? He didn't even love me.

I stood firm, refusing to apologize to my abuser.

What's the justice in forcing a victim to apologize to their abuser?

John’s face turned pale, his body shook slightly—he knew he was losing me.

But his pride wouldn’t let him admit his mistake.

"Do it," he ordered.

Following his command, I was forced to my knees, crushing the last shred of naive hope I had.

Suddenly, John's phone rang. He answered, and his breath caught.

His assistant hesitated on the line,

"...Mr. Garcia, Miss Davis’s family has passed away one after another from HPV complications, just a week after you left the country."

John’s grip tightened, "What did you say?!"

The assistant, trembling, added,

"But don’t worry, the only dose was used on Nancy, and she’s not in danger for now."

After hanging up, John barely dared to look at me, his voice hoarse,

"Emily, I...I really didn’t know."

The bodyguards released me, but I was too exhausted to move, lying on the ground defeated.

John squatted down and reached for my hand, but I slapped him hard.

He looked away, flinching, but still tried to touch my hand again.

"Emily, I will get them the best resting place... just calm down."

I was deaf to his pleas, silently arranging the ashes back into their urns.

John moved to help, but I snapped at him,

"Get out, John Garcia, you are not welcome here!"

John pulled back, disappointed. Jessica tugged at his arm,

"John, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t know this was her family’s resting place."

"She never told us; obviously, she did it on purpose..."

"Shut up!" John cut Jessica off sharply.

As he spoke, police officers approached him.

Several police officers looked at Jessica Hernandez and me, their eyes wide with shock.

"Who is Jessica Hernandez?" one of them asked.

John Garcia instinctively stepped forward, shielding Jessica slightly.

"What's this about?" he inquired.

The officer frowned, "Southern Pharmaceuticals is under investigation for using substandard syringes, which may have caused widespread infections. We need her to come with us for questioning."

John's face went pale. After a moment, he managed to say,

"Wait, please. I need a moment to speak with Jessica."

As he said this, he walked straight towards me.

I was stunned, staring at him in disbelief.

John pursed his lips and couldn’t meet my eyes.

"You want me to be arrested instead of Jessica?"

I glared at John, wishing my gaze could slice through him to see if he had any heart at all.

His voice was reluctant but resolute,"Don’t worry, you’re pregnant. They’ll release you on medical parole within 72 hours."

"...I'll make it right when I get out—whether it's securing a proper burial site for your family or arranging the heart surgery for Nancy."

"The child is yours! Nancy is your daughter too! John Garcia, have you no conscience?!"

I was on the verge of a breakdown, wanting nothing more than to strike the man in front of me.

But I had to think of our child. John may be selfish and careless, but I could not be.

My entire family was gone. Nancy was my only remaining relative. I couldn’t let her suffer all these years and lose everything at the last minute.

The admission results were out; she was accepted into Harvard, and she deserved a bright future.

John watched my internal struggle, my face ghostly pale, until I finally gave in. He seemed relieved.

Then he said softly, "Emily, just this once. Jessica is not well and could go into shock if this gets out."

"Please, I’m begging you to help her. Help me."

John actually used the word "beg."

Ridiculous.

My entire family, my daughter, my unborn child—none of them mattered as much to him as Jessica.

"Let's get a divorce."

I closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face, feeling like I was tearing out a part of my soul.

It had not been easy for John and me to get married. Initially, my family was against it, saying John was using me as a stand-in.

After all, John’s affair with Jessica was well-known. He once sped to the airport to catch her, crashed a Ferrari, and nearly died.

But I refused to believe the rumors.

I thought that like plants, with enough care and nourishment, even the most barren land could bloom beautifully.

I had clung to this belief for over a decade.

But now, I realized how wrong I was. John wasn’t barren land; he was a swamp, swallowing everything whole!

John panicked,

"Emily, there’s no need for us to talk about divorce."

I looked at him,

"There’s no more talking about taking the blame either."

"You’re threatening me?" John couldn’t believe it.

I laughed bitterly.

One dose of medicine for seven people.

Should I take the blame or secure my daughter’s future?

John had always forced me to make impossible choices. Wasn’t it fair to let him make one?

John hesitated for a few seconds, a struggle evident in his eyes, before he finally said,

"Okay, I agree."

I followed the police to the station.

John’s assistant came with me, handling all the arrangements and ensuring my safety.

It turned out that Jessica’s company, Southern Pharmaceuticals, was suspected of using defective syringes, causing several infections.

This news had exploded on the internet. John was using me to buy time.

I was placed in a detention room, expected to stay there for three days.

But I was released the next day due to a miscarriage.

A woman in the cell tripped me, causing the fall.

James tried to reach him numerous times at the hospital, but all calls went unanswered.

James looked at me, worn and hopeless, and said cautiously,

"Mr. Garcia must be busy, Madam, please don't worry."

I turned away and closed my eyes,

"Leave. Don’t bother telling him about the child. He doesn’t deserve to know."

I left the hospital and returned home.

As I was packing my bags, John Garcia returned.

He looked exhausted, underlined by dark circles—clearly from running around for Jessica Hernandez.

Upon seeing me pack, his fatigue instantly morphed into anger，

"What are you doing?"

I shook off his hand, secured my suitcase, and turned away.

John blocked my path, his anger boiling over，

"What’s gotten into you! Didn't you get out of there unharmed? Why are you still leaving?"