My daughter's old illness relapsed, and she collapsed at home.

I tried calling my husband, Quentin Linwood, but his phone wouldn’t connect. Then I saw a photo posted on his ex-wife Vicky Jordan’s social media feed.

In the picture, Quentin was in a hospital room, carefully caring for their daughter.

The caption read:

[My ex-husband is still the best. Zoey just had a mild cold, and he flew 1,800 kilometers to care for her.]

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit me.

Right away, I asked my lawyer to draft the divorce papers.

When Quentin finally got home and saw the agreement, he erased his ex-wife's contact info right in front of me.

Then he asked coldly, "So, still want the divorce?"

I didn't even bother to lift my eyes.

"Yes," I said.

Jasmine's POV

Later that night, he came to me with red eyes, his voice hoarse in the dark.

"Jasmine, from now on, I'll answer your calls within seconds, any time, 24 hours a day. I'll only ever acknowledge Ella as my daughter. I—”

I cut him off. "There's no need. Her father is already doing all of that."

I was already watching the man a few steps away, the one holding the claw machine controls as he helped my daughter win a stuffed toy.

——

Quentin had come back the very night I filed for divorce.

The moment he walked through the door, he exploded.

"You brought up divorce, and now Vicky thinks it's her fault our marriage is falling apart. She's not eating, not sleeping, and Zoey's health is getting worse because of all this! You've seriously crossed the line this time. You're coming with me, and you're going to apologize to both of them. And you better sit your ass down and write a ten-thousand-word letter explaining what the hell you were thinking—plus a promise that you'll never, ever joke about divorce again."

I slipped the final medical report for our daughter into my bag and looked up at him with a calm, detached gaze.

"I wasn't joking."

"Jasmine!" His voice sharpened. "Don't test my limits! You're mad just because I went to see Vicky without telling you? I was trying to avoid exactly this kind of overreaction."

He looked at me like he already knew how I'd respond, his tone laced with irritation, superiority.

Just then, the hospital called.

"Is this the mother of Ella Linwood? Your daughter's condition just took a sudden turn for the worse. Please come in immediately."

Quentin froze and asked, "What happened to Ella?"

I almost laughed.

Zoey was over 1,800 kilometers away, and a sneeze from her could get a full response from him.

But his own daughter, right under his nose, relapsed, and he hadn't noticed a thing.

I didn't bother replying. I turned to leave.

But Quentin grabbed my arm from behind, his eyes dark and flaring with something unpleasant.

"Jasmine, do you really think I can't see through this act? You're just using our daughter to push me into cutting ties with Vicky and Zoey. I just had Ella checked last month, and every health metric came back normal. If you keep this up, this family will fall apart."

I looked at the man who used to make me the center of his world. He seemed like a stranger now.

This is how I appeared in his eyes, standing beside his ex-wife.

I looked pitiful.

Something cracked open in my chest.

I shook off his hand, yanking my arm from his hold. "The divorce agreement is on the coffee table. I've already signed it. Don't forget to sign."

Quickly, Quentin stiffened. The second his eyes landed on the papers on the table, his expression turned cold.

Without saying a word, he took out his phone and immediately deleted all contacts linked to Vicky—blocked, erased, and wiped clean right in front of me.

"There. Happy now? Still want the divorce?"

He spoke as if that gesture was meant to fix everything, like deleting a few names could erase all the cracks.

I took a slow breath, and only one word escaped my lips. "Childish."

That was all it took.

Quentin exploded. "Jasmine, can't you just let it go already? I've cut her out of my life for us, for this family. What else do you want?!"

I wanted out.

I didn't want to see him again.

But before I could say it, Quentin's phone started to ring.

Jasmine's POV

Through the doorway gap, I glimpsed his phone screen. The incoming call was from his ex-wife.

Within three seconds of answering, Quentin's face flashed with panic.

"Vicky said someone's trying to pry open their door. She and Zoey are both helpless. I need to go check on them."

His tone wasn't a discussion, but a notification.

At that, I clenched my fists and, for the first time, finally said everything I'd kept bottled up.

"What, 911 doesn't exist anymore? You think you can fly across the country faster than a local cop can arrive? If there's real danger, it'll already be too late by the time you get there. Besides, she has a boyfriend. Why isn't she calling him? Why is she calling you, Quentin?"

I took a step closer, my voice low and sharp. "You are my husband. Your daughter, your real, legal daughter, is in the hospital right now, in critical condition. And you're running off to play hero for a woman you have zero legal obligation to anymore? Do you not see how outrageous that is?"

But Quentin looked at me like I'd said something completely unreasonable. His gaze was disappointed, as though I'd let him down.

"Jasmine, do you even have a conscience?" he shot back. "They're in danger. I don't care if they're on the other side of the world, I have to go."

And with that, he turned and headed for the door.

I called out one last time, my voice cold. "If you walk out now, you will regret it."

But all I received in return was the loud bang of the door slamming shut.

I slowly inhaled, held my breath, then exhaled with trembling fingers.

After that, I dialed an international number across the ocean.

"Scott," I said quietly, "help me file for a divorce from Quentin. Also, pull all Watson Estate investments and resources from Linwood Holdings."

If Quentin were to see his ex-wife and her daughter, he would not deserve anything I gave him.

Right then, my brother's voice was tight with concern. "Did he hurt you? Did something happen?"

Once I confirmed it, he paused for just a second before responding.

"It's done. The divorce certificate's been processed. I also arranged your passports. You'll have them in two weeks. When they're ready, I'll come get you both myself."

For context, I met Quentin three years ago through a mutual friend. He was wealthy, handsome, thoughtful, and knew how to maintain boundaries with women.

In many people's eyes, he was the ideal husband.

His only flaw? He had been divorced and had a daughter with his ex-wife, who had custody.

At first, I didn't plan to marry him. Until one night, the apartment building I lived in caught fire. Flames engulfed my room so fiercely that even the rescue team said I had no chance of making it out alive.

But Quentin stormed through the smoke, wrapped in a soaking-wet blanket. Even when a beam came down and hit him square in the back, he never let go of me.

He held me close, shielded me, and brought me out safely.

That night, he stole my heart.

I married him without hesitation.

It wasn't until after the wedding that I realized his shining qualities were all shaped by his ex-wife.

I had fallen for someone's completed work. And completed works are always the easiest to reclaim.

When his ex-wife returned to the country six months ago, Quentin visited them constantly.

I cried, begged, and fought.

None of it mattered.

To him, I was just a foolish woman who didn't understand his 'duty' as a father.

And those very qualities I once admired in him—his decency, his sense of responsibility—became weapons turned against me. Everyone around us said I was overreacting and that a man like him would never cheat.

But he never came home, not even when our daughter recovered and was discharged from the hospital.

His ex-wife did, though. She walked into our home, casually looked around, and said with a half-smile:

"Wow, it's been so many years, and nothing's changed. The furniture layout is the same. I remember designing all this myself back when we got married."

Her words were like invisible needles: no context, no explanation, just a quiet stab.

And suddenly I understood.

All these years, Quentin had never agreed to redecorate because Vicky had designed everything in this house.

I didn't react. My face gave nothing away.

"What are you doing here?" I asked coolly.

She handed over a few gift bags.

"There's been a creep hanging around my neighborhood, trying to break in. When Quentin went to catch him, he got injured. He's still in the hospital. I just came to let you know he's safe."

Jasmine's POV

I stared at the half-hearted gift bags in her hands and didn't take them. Just then, my daughter, Ella, came running over in a white princess dress, her face full of anticipation.

"Mommy, we're going to the amusement park tomorrow. Do I look pretty in this?"

I had just opened my mouth to answer when Vicky suddenly let out a dramatic gasp, one hand flying to her lips.

"Oh my god! Zoey has a dress just like that! But Quentin said her dress is a one-of-a-kind global exclusive. The cuffs on hers are real gold. Your daughter's dress looks like plastic… were you guys scammed? Is that a knockoff?"

The fragile calm I'd fought so hard to maintain shattered instantly.

That dress was a birthday gift from last year, chosen by Quentin for our daughter.

It turned out that the real one had gone to Zoey, and we got the fake.

I couldn't take it anymore, so I immediately ordered someone to send Vicky away. Then I told the staff to burn every piece of furniture in the house.

...

A week passed, and Quentin finally returned. He didn't come alone and brought Vicky and Zoey.

He even bought them a villa right next door.

In the morning, after I had dropped off my daughter at school, I ran into Vicky directing workers as they moved furniture into her new home.

She looked at me with that same smirking, half-sincere expression.

"Quentin said my old place was too dangerous," Vicky said. He moved us here so he could take better care of me and Zoey."

Her tone was deliberately light. Her smile was anything but that.

"I heard you burned all your furniture that day. So I recreated your house exactly, every detail, one-to-one. That way, Quentin and I can feel like we're back home again."

I gave a slight tug to the corner of my lips, then asked calmly, "Didn't you ask for the divorce in the first place? Why come back now, trying to win him back?"

Vicky just chuckled, her eyes filled with open provocation. "I just want to make sure that anything I throw away… no one else gets to touch either."

At that moment, the sound of an engine rumbled behind us.

Suddenly, Vicky grabbed my wrist, then shoved herself hard, tumbling backward down the steps in a dramatic heap.

Almost simultaneously, I heard Quentin's furious voice behind me. "Jasmine! What the hell are you doing?!"

He ran over and crouched beside Vicky, his hands trembling as he checked her for injuries.

Zoey stood to the side, her eyes red as she pointed at me. "Daddy, Auntie Jasmine said I'm a wild child with no dad. She told Mommy and me to get out."

Quentin's face darkened on the spot. His eyes turned cold, filled with rage as they swung toward me. Just as he opened his mouth to scold me, like he always did, I kicked Vicky back down just as she tried to get up.

Then I turned to him and slapped him across the face hard.

"That's what I did. If you can't tell what's real anymore, then donate your damn eyes!"

Without waiting to see his reaction, I turned and walked away.

...

Three days before the passports were due to arrive, I stopped by the swim center to speak with the coach and cancel my daughter's lessons.

By sheer misfortune, I ran into Vicky, Zoey, and Quentin.

So much for his early morning 'urgent business.' He was there in person, crouched poolside, gently guiding Zoey into the water, patiently helping her overcome her fear of swimming.

When our daughter started, she was also terrified of the water. I begged him to go in with her once, but he always said he was too busy.

Turns out, it wasn't about being busy.

He just didn't want to.

As soon as she saw us, Vicky beamed and walked over. And the first words out of her mouth were aimed squarely at my daughter.

"Ella, I heard you've always been sickly. So you're here to swim and build up strength? But looking at you now… doesn't seem to be working. Still a little troublemaker, always making it hard for your dad to rest easy."

She reached down and patted Zoey's head.

"Not like our Zoey. She's always been so considerate, never gets sick for no reason."

Zoey wrinkled her nose in disgust and stuck her tongue out at my daughter.