The cheating husband was rushed to the hospital after being poisoned at his lover's place. She was sobbing uncontrollably, begging the doctor to save him. The doctor turned to me, seeking my approval.

"There's no point in wasting resources. Let's cease treatment," I declared decisively.

"How can you just decide to give up on him without trying to save him? He's your husband!" the mistress shouted, her voice choked with emotion.

"Because I'm his lawful wife," I replied calmly, with unwavering conviction. "And you don't have the legal authority to sign."

---

"Ruby, how should I celebrate your divorce from Anderson? Should I cook him a dinner he loves? Lobster, Merlot, and his favorite dessert..." Colette mocked me over the phone. I hung up quietly and prepared dinner for the evening.

At the dinner table, Anderson abruptly mentioned divorce.

His reason? "Colette is pregnant with my family's heir. I can't let them suffer."

Not even a year had passed since my miscarriage, and there he was, pushing divorce papers at me.

Colette, who had once worked in our home, had been having an affair with Anderson during my pregnancy.

Dinner ended in tense silence because I refused to agree to the divorce. I had no other options, so why should he get off the hook?

After a few heated exchanges, his phone rang.

"The house, the car, and the savings can be yours. I'll leave with nothing. What more do you want? If you drag this out, I'll make sure you end up with nothing," he threatened before answering the call, his tone softening. “Yes, you and the baby...”

He had been secretly transferring our assets for years, which is why he was bold enough to claim he'd walk away with nothing.

When we married, he was just starting his business, so I had been the primary contributor to the house and car. As for the savings, he had nearly drained them for his own purposes.

He wanted both the prestige and the wealth. Over my dead body.

That very night, I was awakened by a frantic phone call. The hospital needed me to sign some papers.

When I arrived, Colette was there, wearing nothing but a seductive robe hastily covered by a coat, her face a mask of bitterness.

The doctor explained that Anderson had been brought in too late and that further treatment was pointless, advising me to prepare for the worst.

Colette was crying again, begging the doctor to save him, but he just looked at me, awaiting my decision.

What else could I say?

"Then let’s not waste resources. Cease treatment," I said calmly.

"How can you just give up on him without trying to save him? He's your husband!" Colette screamed.

Her shouting drew the attention of others in the hospital, with the doctor reminding her, "Please keep it down."

"And as for you," I replied, unfazed, "You're just a mistress. What gives you the right? I'm his lawful wife. You don't have the right to sign."

Colette watched in venomous silence as I completed Anderson's death certificate and other necessary documents.

Once the paperwork was finished, I immediately arranged for Anderson's body to be taken to the crematorium, with Colette trailing closely behind.

"Aren't you going to mourn? He's about to be cremated," I reminded her.

She glared at me with resentment, then nervously glanced at the staff nearby, before launching into a display of grief.

"Oh, Anderson, what are we going to do now, the baby and I?" she wailed, tears streaming down her face.

The staff looked on with blank expressions, treating her like a professional mourner.

As the time came, I signaled for the procedure to begin.

The staff pulled Colette away to allow them to move Anderson's body.

"You have no right—" she began, pointing a finger at me.

Ready to yell again, I whispered in her ear, "A mistress remains a mistress, with no hope of becoming legitimate."

She glared at me with fury but attempted to flaunt her pregnancy, exaggeratedly resting her hand on her still-flat belly.

"Until it's born, it's not a person, wouldn't you agree..." I let the sentence hang, and she instantly retreated, protective hands cradling her stomach.

When the staff handed me the urn, Colette lunged, scattering some of the ashes in her frantic attempt to seize it.

She collapsed on the ground, clutching at the ashes and crying out, "Anderson, Anderson..."

The staff looked on with complex expressions, reluctant to intervene.

Only when I walked out with a steely expression did they relax. They murmured among themselves, impressed by the mourner's dedication.

Some, however, seemed to understand the truth: Colette was, indeed, just the mistress.

Upon opening the door, I saw Ronald, Frances, and Colette in the living room, chatting and laughing as if they were a real family. Colette had moved out of her small apartment and into this house some time ago, even convincing Anderson’s parents to join her and provide support. She insisted on not hiring a nanny; instead, she expected me to fill that role. This seemed to be her way of retaliating, likely because she was once tasked with taking care of me and wasn't thrilled about it.

When they first moved in, Ronald and Frances kept a close watch on me, firmly believing I was responsible for their son's death and robbing them of the chance to see Anderson one last time. It wasn’t until I revealed that Anderson had passed away in Colette’s bed that they reluctantly decided against moving back to their place, all for the sake of their grandson. The three settled in here, seemingly eager to squeeze me out to claim a bigger share of the estate.

As soon as Frances saw me, she put on a disapproving face. "You were gone so long buying groceries. If you make my grandson go hungry, you’ll have to answer for it."

I set the groceries down, feeling drained. "Mom, I’m not feeling well. I need to rest a bit before making dinner."

Frances’s expression turned sour immediately, but Colette quickly jumped in with a cheerful voice, "Mom, let me help! I’ve been wanting to show off my cooking skills."

Ronald, hearing this, was quick to decline. After all, Colette was carrying their family’s only heir. He ordered me, "Cook the meal first, then rest. Maybe let your mom give you a hand."

Even when I prepared the meals, Colette would barely touch them. She feared I might poison her and the child, so she'd only take a few bites before retreating to her room to spit it out. Ronald and Frances, desperate for the grandchild, treated Colette with utmost care and indulgence.

When Frances came over and tugged at me, I nearly lost my balance. She huffed in annoyance and yanked again, "Quit pretending. Every time we ask you to do something, you're either too sick or too tired."

I shook off her hand and, with a pained expression, turned around and headed to my room. Colette’s face briefly lit up before she masked it with a facade of concern. "Ruby, are you okay?"

I could still hear Ronald and Frances complaining about me being lazy, while they praised Colette for being kind and sensible. I ignored her and lay down, pretending to sleep. Colette seemed to believe I was genuinely unwell and eventually left the room only when Frances called for dinner.

I wasn't in any hurry to expose her yet, choosing instead to turn over and let myself fall into a deep sleep. Colette knew my routines well, just as I knew she wasn’t going to let Anderson's inheritance slip from her grasp without a fight. We were both waiting...

The legal proceedings regarding the estate division were heavily skewed in favor of Ronald and Frances. Influenced by Colette, they were scheming to claim the house I currently live in as well. As Colette's pregnancy became more apparent, her dissatisfaction grew, urging Anderson's parents to secure a share of the inheritance for the child she was carrying, whom they deemed of utmost importance. Seeing me frail and detached, they eagerly agreed to pursue her suggestion.

On the day of the hearing—

Colette entered, visibly pregnant and full of assurance. "I’m carrying Anderson’s son. He deserves a share of the inheritance," she announced.

I shrugged, "Oh. How do you prove the child you’re carrying is Anderson’s?"

Colette, visibly taken aback, snapped, “You know he is. What more do you need?”

I maintained a blank expression and reminded her, “Where’s the evidence? You should have a paternity test report, shouldn’t you?”

Her face drained of color, her voice rising, “He’s been cremated. How am I supposed to get a paternity test now?”

I pointed out calmly, “And you scattered his ashes.”

Ronald and Frances immediately shot displeased looks at Colette, demanding, “You scattered our son’s ashes?”

Colette’s face contorted with distress as she quickly countered, “Mom, don’t listen to her. She’s trying to stir trouble.”

The judge cleared his throat, maintaining a stern demeanor, “The burden of proof lies with you. You claim this is Anderson’s child; please present evidence to support that claim.”

Colette cast a desperate glance at Ronald and Frances.

Frances exclaimed, “I can vouch for Colette. She and my son were close.”

I sat back quietly, while the judge showed mild irritation but continued patiently, “Only a paternity test can establish the father-son relationship. That’s the legal requirement.”

Ronald stepped forward confidently with a report, declaring, “Your honor, this is a genetic test between me and the child Colette is carrying. Anderson was my only son, so logically, the child must be his.”

The term “honor” seemed to irritate the judge, but the logic didn’t impress him. Without looking at the report, he declared, “Evidence dismissed.”

Ronald was about to explode, “On what basis? That is my grandson! The report is clear enough—how can you dismiss it?”

“Dad, calm down,” I interjected steadily, backing the judge’s stance, “A paternity test involves the father-child relationship and requires the biological father and child for validation. What you have simply confirms a general family connection. Only a test between Anderson and the child is valid.”

Whether they comprehended this or not, Anderson’s parents continued to argue, prompting the judge to elucidate the legal clauses and regulations thoroughly.

Suddenly, Colette knelt and began sobbing, “Ruby, I made mistakes, but the child is innocent. I just want him to have something from his father. Are you really heartless enough to let him have nothing?”

It was a strategic move. Any sign of softening or agreement from me could weaken my position, making the judge more sympathetic.

I watched her silently, saying nothing, measuring how long she’d continue her act.

She cried; I looked on.

Eventually, the judge, unable to tolerate it any longer, instructed her to stand, then proceeded to announce the decision.

Colette turned towards me, filled with rage, her previous mask of vulnerability now gone.

Failing to secure more inheritance for her unborn child, Colette nurtured deeper resentment towards me.

She regularly intruded into my space whenever I was away.

Meanwhile, my health continued to deteriorate daily.

Until one day, I experienced unrelenting abdominal pain.

I realized then, it was time to close the chapter.