Four years after my father died, my husband transferred $400,000 into my account out of nowhere.

He watched my face and gave a resigned little smile.

"Money-grubber. That four hundred grand was your dad's surgery fund. I'm returning it today."

He saw my confusion.

He sighed.

"There's something I lied to you about. The surgery money wasn't stolen by phone scammers."

"Bess was diagnosed with liver cirrhosis at the same time. I gave her the money for a liver transplant."

I went completely still.

Bess Hughes—his former student. The one he'd been emotionally unfaithful with.

He sighed again.

"Dad was old. Even if the surgery worked, he didn't have long. But Bess is young, she's a graduate researcher, the kind of talent this country needs. Using his life to save hers—that's building good karma for him."

Everything inside me went cold.

The bank card in my hand was ice-cold, but it burned like the blood that had sprayed from my father's mouth that day.

……

A sharp crack.

My vision went red and I slapped Jarvis across the face.

"Do you hear yourself? You think a human life can be measured by its value? That was my father. He was YOUR father too!"

"He was the only one who stood up for you when you were trapped in that academic scandal! The only one who fought to clear your name!"

"And you gave his surgery money to the student who accused you of sexual harassment? Jarvis, do you even have a heart?"

A flicker of impatience cut through his guilt.

"Yes, but she was desperate back then. Nowhere to turn, people whispering in her ear. She didn't do it on purpose."

"Can you stop dragging up the past every single day? I've always been grateful for what Dad did for me, but honestly, even without his help, it was only a matter of time before I was cleared. Stop bringing it up over and over, okay? Keep pushing it and sympathy turns into disgust."

My legs went soft. I stared at him in disbelief.

Sympathy… into disgust?

My father had spent his entire career never bowing to anyone. A proud, principled old professor. And to save Jarvis, he'd pulled every string he could find, drunk himself sick at banquet after banquet, landed in the hospital twice.

Everything that once made Jarvis sick with guilt and regret now rolled off him like it was nothing.

He saw the color drain from my face and softened his tone.

"Okay, I shouldn't have said that. But honey, what's done is done. I only told you because I didn't want that on my conscience anymore, didn't want to feel guilty facing you every day. Dad's gone. Let's just move on."

But he was the one who'd knelt at my father's grave and sworn to God he would never betray his teaching, never waste his help and mentorship, that he would love me and take care of me for the rest of his life.

Then he'd taken my father's last chance at survival and spent it saving the woman he cheated with.

I was about to speak when his phone rang.

Bess.

"Professor Swanson, there's a problem with the experiment. Can you come look at it? Please?"

"Sure. Hang tight, I'm on my way."

He forgot I was standing right there. Grabbed his jacket and turned to leave.

I stepped in front of him.

"In your eyes, my father's death doesn't even matter as much as one of her research reports? Do you know how many times I had to convince myself you didn't lose that money on purpose? Do you?!"

He ignored me completely. Sighed, pulled a tissue from the box, held it out.

"I gave you the money back. People have to look forward. Don't let something that's already gone ruin what we have now, okay?"

He shook my hand off and walked out.

So in his mind, giving the money back meant none of it ever happened.

And my father?

Who could give my father back?

My legs couldn't hold me anymore. I collapsed onto the couch.

The bank card was even the same one from four years ago.

Every glance was a reminder.

The man I'd trusted, the man I'd forgiven, was the one who killed my father.

The tears came and wouldn't stop.

My phone chimed with a notification.

A friend request from Bess Hughes.

*Dear mentor's wife—thank you so much for agreeing to transfer Senior Professor Henson's unpublished Verdant Harvest Project to me! With that behind my application, getting into the Academic Research Council won't be a problem at all!*

Every nerve in my skull fired at once.

The Verdant Harvest Project was my father's agricultural research project, named after me.

He'd spent a full month in the fields himself for that study, working until his body gave out and he had no choice but to be hospitalized.

Before he died, the project was nearly finished. He asked me to verify the final results myself, fill in the remaining data, and file the patent. His last wish. The final mark on a life's work.

Last week I verified the data, and Jarvis took every bit of it the same day—said he needed to get a head start on the application materials.

I thought he genuinely cared about honoring my father's dying wish.

But now he'd told me my father's life should step aside for Bess Hughes, and the data my father clung to until his last breath was going to pave her way too.

I was half out of my mind by the time I burst into the lab.

Jarvis was there with his students, throwing her a celebration.

The two of them stood close in the candlelight, their shadows nearly overlapping.

What a joke.

Back when Jarvis had been reported for sexual harassment and suspended, he certainly hadn't looked this happy.

"Bess, you're incredible! You're the first person in the country to pull off this experiment! This is going down in history!"

Bess smiled, glancing shyly toward Jarvis.

"Oh, please. I couldn't have done any of it if Professor Swanson wasn't looking after every little detail for me."

The students around them piled on one after another.

"Professor Swanson's always so good to you. The rest of us mere mortals could never get that kind of treatment."

Bess blushed, rose on her toes, and pressed a kiss to the side of Jarvis's face.

The lab erupted in sharp, gleeful hooting.

"So sweet! Too sweet!"

A thousand tiny needles drove into my chest all at once.

So behind my back they were already this shameless—open enough for the whole room to cheer them on.

The corner of Jarvis's mouth curved up.

"All right, enough. Let's just—"

He didn't finish. I pushed the door open and stood there, watching them.

"Let's just what? Just kiss? Or just hurry up and finish the party so you two can get a room?"

The air in the lab froze solid.

Jarvis frowned, a flash of panic crossing his eyes, and waved the other students out.

"What are you doing here? This isn't your place."

Funny. He used to beg me to come. Used to wheedle and tease until I showed up to check on him, to pick him up.

He couldn't wait for everyone to know he had a wife like me. Pretty. Devoted.

"Then when am I supposed to come? Go on, tell me—what's next? What else of my father's are you handing her? Or is it something of mine this time?"

"You stole my father's data, you stole his surgery money, and you built your affair on top of his corpse! Why the hell shouldn't I be here? I want every single person to see these two animals for what they are!"

I ran toward the corridor, screaming it for anyone who could hear, my voice tearing raw.

No one looked surprised.

They looked at me the way you'd look at a lunatic.

The lab's security guard caught me before I got far.

Jarvis jogged over, wearing an expression of weary concern.

"Sorry about this—she's having another episode. I'll get her out of your way."

I stared at him in disbelief, and the moment I opened my mouth to speak, something struck the back of my neck hard, and everything went black.

I woke to find the university forums had already done their work: I was a psychotic who'd trashed the lab, a disgrace who hadn't inherited a shred of her father's dignity.

My hands shook as I held up the phone, showing Jarvis the private messages crammed with slurs and insults.

"What is this? Why are they calling me crazy?"

He took the phone from me and sighed.

"After your father died, I was afraid you'd lose it and wreck Bess's academic career. So I told everyone the grief broke you—that you'd been diagnosed, that you were unstable, that you never left the house. I've been saying it for years."

"Renee, no one is going to believe you. You know that, right? So stop making a fuss."

"Stay home. Her condition could take her any day—I don't want her to die with regrets. Once she's made it academically, I'll come back to this family."

"Remember, no matter what happens, you are always the one I love most."

Three years. He had spent three years turning me into a madwoman in everyone's eyes—all so Bess wouldn't face even the slightest threat.

No wonder every job I applied for went well on the surface, then rejected me the moment the background check came back.

No wonder he always told me not to bother looking for work, not to subject myself to that. Just stay home. Let him take care of me.

How could he keep saying he loved me while treating me like an enemy?

I was shaking.

"Jarvis Swanson, you're terrifying. I'm done. I want a divorce!"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Stop this. You have no job, no family left. Keep pushing and you'll only make things worse for yourself. Calm down and think about it."

The door slammed shut behind him.

Wind howled outside the window.

I felt so cold all of a sudden.

Everything here felt like it belonged to a stranger now—so completely foreign that Jarvis holding me in this same room three years ago, his hand on my back, telling me he'd always be here, felt like something I'd dreamed up entirely.

He said he would be the only person I'd ever need to rely on.

What he meant was he'd tear out my wings.

Leave me bleeding and unable to go anywhere but back to him.

But even if it killed me, I was leaving him first.

I contacted a lawyer and drafted a divorce agreement.

The next morning, I took the signed papers and went to find Jarvis, but the security guard at the entrance stopped me.

"Sorry, ma'am. Professor Swanson left strict orders—you're not to be let in."

While I was arguing with the guard, Bess's voice came from behind me.

"Ms. Henson, here to see Professor Swanson?"

"He's tied up with my academic presentation materials right now, so I doubt he's free. But I can take you in—you could wait for him?"

The guard frowned and started to say something, but she cut him off with a single look.

He let me follow her without another word.

We were halfway down the corridor.

Then she smiled and spoke.

"Ms. Henson, I heard Professor Swanson told you the whole story about the surgery money?"

"Well, there's something I never told you either."

I stopped mid-step. Seeing the calm smile on her face, dread hit me before I even wanted to hear it.

"Professor Henson's heart attack wasn't some accident. When I found out you wouldn't lend me the money for my liver transplant, I took a private video of me and Professor Swanson—and I showed it to your father."

"I only meant to make him angry. How was I supposed to know he was that weak? He couldn't even breathe."

"The doctors said his chances were basically zero—that even if they saved him, what was the point? So Professor Swanson said the money should go toward my surgery instead. I'm young, after all. I'm worth more than a dying old man."

"He just lay there, in pain, dying bit by bit, and he never got to see you one last time. Don't you think that's such a shame?"

My blood caught fire. I couldn't move.

I looked up and met those wide, harmless eyes staring back at me without a flicker of guilt.

I was shaking violently.

"You vicious woman! Why would you do that?"