The day before our 40th wedding anniversary, I was tidying the house when I stumbled upon a large diamond ring.

My heart leapt with joy. I thought—finally, my husband was going to keep his promise and give me the wedding I never had.

But the very next second, he came rushing in, panic written all over his face. He snatched the ring from my hands and yelled at me for rummaging through his things.

I thought he just wanted to surprise me on our anniversary.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

On that day, I turned on the TV—only to see my husband on the news, lovingly holding his first love in his arms as they held a grand, luxurious wedding at a five-star hotel.

And that diamond ring I had dreamed about for years was now on her finger.

Worse yet, my own son, whom I had raised with my own two hands, stood there in a crisp suit, beaming as he shouted, “Mom, I love you!”

The wedding I had waited for four decades—the words I had longed to hear for over twenty years—were now given to another woman without hesitation.

I rushed to the venue, desperate for an explanation, only to be dragged away by security and locked in a filthy garbage room that reeked of rot.

Facing the guests, my husband smiled and said, “She’s just a crazy old beggar who likes to stir up trouble. Don’t mind her.”

I was devastated. I told him I wanted a divorce—but the lawyer only shook his head.

He said our marriage certificate was fake.

There was no record of our marriage, and I had no legal grounds to file for divorce.

It turns out the past 40 years had all been a lie.

Damian had never truly married me. He only used me—to give him a son, because the woman he truly loved had refused to have children in her youth, wanting to pursue art.

I wiped the tears from my face and made a call to the real estate agency.

"Hello. Please help me sell the apartment I own downtown. The sooner the better"

If our marriage was fake, then there's no need to split the assets.

If they don’t see me as the mistress of the house, then they don’t deserve to live in mine.

From now on, I will live for myself.

—

“Ms. Campbell, everything is arranged,” the agent said. “The villa on the island with the best view—it’s yours. We’ve sorted out the paperwork. You just need to come next week to sign.”

I quietly agreed and hung up.

Around me, the air was damp, the floor slick with grease, and the stench of rotting food made me nauseous.

From a few doors away, the sounds of the wedding carried through—cheers and music, loud enough to pierce the soul.

I heard the emcee’s voice loud and clear.

“Let’s give a warm welcome to our beloved couple—Mr. Damian Sanders and Ms. Eleanor Rodriguez! Their love endured over forty years and has finally blossomed again. What a beautiful gift from fate!”

Then my son’s voice, filled with emotion, soon followed.

“Mom Elly has always been someone I deeply admired. She’s kind and strong, the pillar of our family. This wedding is a gift from me and my father—to thank her for staying with us through thick and thin.”

“Mom, I love you!”

Then I heard Damian who had always been cold and indifferent said warmly, “Elly, I love you too.”

I sat in the pitch-dark kitchen, staring at the sliver of light peeking through the door, and tears welled up in my eyes.

I thought back to the life I had lived.

When I married Damian, he had just failed in business and was drowning in debt. I begged for loans, even pawned my wedding jewelry, just to help him through the hard times.

After giving birth to our son, I gave up my career and dedicated myself into the family. I cared for every detail of our lives.

When our son got married, he demanded a car worth 660,000 dollars. I worked day and night in supermarkets, restaurants, and wholesale markets—scraping together every cent for that gift.

And yet, his wife mocked me for being “uncultured and tasteless.” She spat out my cooking, calling it pig slop.

I said nothing. I told myself, We’re family. Just endure it, and things would be fine.

But now I know—enduring means nothing.

I gave them my whole heart, treated them as my world—but to them, I wasn’t even worthy of being called "mother."

They gave Eleanor the extravagant wedding I had dreamed of for forty years—but never got.

For four decades, I longed to hear a simple "I love you" from my husband and my son, but they never said it to me.

Yet they offered those words so effortlessly to Eleanor.

No matter how much I gave, I would never be enough.

—

I didn’t know how much time passed before the door creaked open.

My son walked in, frowning. “Mom, what are you doing? You didn’t even come out to see the event. So embarrassing.”

He looked me up and down with a flash of disdain before forcing a sympathetic expression—like I was the one who had done something wrong.

Damian followed behind, glancing at me coldly. His voice was sharp.

“Elly is seriously ill. She doesn’t have much time left. What’s wrong with giving her the wedding she always dreamed of? Can’t you be a little kinder? How dare you try to cause a scene?”

My throat was dry, my voice barely above a whisper.

“If you were so righteous... why did you hide everything from me?”

My son, Ethan, was clearly startled by how calm I was. He tried to explain, as if I were a child to be placated.

“Mom, don’t be like this. We did it for you! Aunt Elly has a lot of money. I’m only pretending to love her because I want her inheritance. In my heart, I love you the most! You’re too old to care about things like weddings, right?”

“I just didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d get upset. Your health isn’t good. I didn’t want to trigger your asthma.”

I had fallen for these excuses time and time again—so sincere, so sweet—believing I still held a place in their hearts.

But now, forcing myself to see clearly without the filters of “mother” and “wife,” I saw it plainly: their disgust for me was written all over their faces.

They stood side by side, father and son, united in affection, while just hours ago, they had both called me a crazy beggar who picks through trash.

At that moment, I gave up.

I no longer wanted to argue.

Letting out a sigh, I replied calmly, “I understand now.”

I was done with this home. Without hope, there would be no more heartbreak.

They hesitated, then smiled, thinking they had once again fooled me.

“Go freshen up,” Damian said, waving his hand. “Don’t let anyone see you like this. Don’t embarrass us again.”

After leaving the wedding, I went straight to a hotel, took a long shower, changed my clothes, and headed to the bank.

There, I transferred the entire demolition compensation from my maiden family into a separate account.

Eight figures.

The number was heavy, cold, but oddly reassuring.

This was the money I had once planned to use for Damian’s retirement and to help raise my future grandchildren.

But now, I regretted everything.

Money may not be able to buy love, but at the very least, it could buy me a clean, dignified exit from this sham of a life.

I paid the remaining balance for the seaside villa—the one on the island I used to dream about as a teenager. I’d seen it in magazines, where the breeze was gentle, and coconut trees sway in rows.

I used to say, “Once the kid grows up, and Damian retires, we’ll go there together.”

Damian always laughed and said, “Where would we get that kind of money? It’s hard enough just to make ends meet.”

Looking back now, all I did was save money for him and his precious first love—while sacrificing my youth and dreams.

But this time, I’m taking my life back.

I contacted a lawyer and asked someone to draft a divorce agreement. I told myself that once Damian returned, I would have him sign it.

He had already married Eleanor in every way that mattered. What was he still holding on to me for?

But the lawyer furrowed his brows after reviewing the documents.

“Ms. Campbell,” he said cautiously, “legally speaking... your marriage doesn’t exist.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

“We can’t find any record of your marriage registration. According to the Civil Affairs Bureau, Mr. Damian is not registered as married.”

“No... that’s impossible.” My voice cracked, hoarse with disbelief. I stared at the computer screen. “I remember—he held my hand and took me to the civil office. We filled out the forms, took the photo, and got the certificate... I wore a white dress. He even said I looked just as beautiful as the day we first met, twenty years ago.”

The lawyer was silent.

Seeing my reddened eyes, he hesitated for a moment before offering, “We can go check again—I'll go with you.”

At the Civil Affairs Bureau, the staff checked the system three times, and even rummaged through the old paper archives.

Finally, they looked up with a complicated expression and shook their heads.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Campbell. There’s no record of your marriage with Mr. Sanders.”

I slumped into the chair, dizzy, the world spinning around me.

Then what was the past forty years of my life?

I bore Damian a child, supported the family, cooked, cleaned, took on debts, raised our son—all of it, day in and day out, for decades. And now you’re telling me...

I wasn’t even legally his wife?

My first thought was—Did Ethan know?

But then, I laughed.

He had long since chosen Eleanor as his mother, stood proudly by her side, calling her “family,” “mother,” “the one who raised him.”

Even if he knew the truth, would he care?

In a daze, I went home.

I walked straight upstairs, heading to my room to pack my things.

But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

Eleanor was lying on my bed, wrapped in the quilt I had spent six months embroidering.

Beside her pillow was a framed photo of her, Damian, and Ethan—posing like a picture-perfect family.

The moment she saw me, she let out a fake, startled gasp, then slowly sat up.

“Oh... you’re back? I didn’t think you’d come home today. I couldn’t sleep last night, and Ethan insisted I stay in your room. Said your room had good ambience. I didn’t want to argue with him.”

She yawned, then deliberately lifted the quilt, flashing the dazzling diamond ring on her finger beneath her sleepwear. Brushing her hair back with a smug smile, she said, “This? Oh, it’s from Damian. He said he owed me far too much over the years—and no matter how much he gives, it’ll never be enough.”

I stood in the doorway, as if nailed to the ground. Clenching my fist, I snapped, “Enough. I don’t want to hear it. Get out of my room—now.”

But Eleanor didn’t even flinch. She continued lazily, like she owned the place. “Don’t be mad. Damian only married you because he was confused. If my parents hadn’t forced me to go abroad back then, do you really think you’d ever have gotten the title of Mrs. Sanders?”

She gave me a pitying smile and continued, “Honestly, I kind of admire you, Audrey. You managed to live in a dream for decades without ever realizing the whole marriage was fake. How do you stay that naive for so long?”

She emphasized the word “fake”, as if to stab me with it.

“But don’t worry. I’m not heartless. Once I recover a bit, I’ll convince Damian to give you some compensation. After all, you did contribute something to our family. Even if you were never the real wife, you were at least a good little housekeeper.”

Then, she deliberately glanced at my outfit from head to toe, and added, “Though, looking at you now... it’s no wonder Ethan won’t acknowledge you. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to call you ‘Mom’ either.”

Rage surged in my chest. My vision went black.

I raised my hand and slapped her across the face hard.

Eleanor yelped and stumbled out of the room, clutching her cheek, screaming dramatically, “Damian! Audrey has gone crazy! She hit me!”

Soon, hurried footsteps echoed up the stairs.

Damian rushed over and immediately wrapped his arms around Eleanor.

“What happened? What’s going on?!”

Tears welled in Eleanor’s eyes as she looked at me.

“She hit me... she barged in, yelling at me, then slapped me for no reason...”

“Audrey, have you lost your mind?!”

Damian glared at me, eyes full of disgust.

“All this over a wedding? That ceremony was just to fulfill her lifelong wish—it wasn't real. Must you be this petty?”

Ethan appeared too, his face was dark with disapproval.

“Mom, this is too much. Can’t you just let her be? Aunt Elly isn’t in good health. Letting her stay in your room—that’s just kindness from our side.”

I gave a cold, mirthless laugh.

“Kindness? Did you even ask me, your so-called mother, how I felt about it?”

“What right do you have to talk about feelings?” my son snapped, voice rising.

“What have you ever done besides giving birth to me? Dad’s success came from Aunt Elly supporting him behind the scenes—not you. Just stop making things worse.”

A sudden rush of blood surged through me, leaving me breathless. My body weakened all at once, and though I clung desperately to the wall, I still collapsed hard to the ground.

I gasped for air, unable to speak. A tight, suffocating pressure clamped down on my chest—my asthma had flared up, and even breathing became a struggle within seconds.

None of them moved.

Damian frowned. “Here we go again. Always using your illness to manipulate people. Aren’t you tired of this act? After all these years, you're still this pathetic?”

Eleanor tugged at his sleeve, feigning guilt.

“Forget it, Damian. Ethan, don’t blame her. It’s my fault. I was being too sensitive—I shouldn’t have stayed in Audrey’s room. Maybe I’ll just sleep on the couch tonight... It’s fine. I don’t have many days left anyway.”

Upon hearing that, they turned away from me without a glance and rushed to fetch medicated oil and an ice pack for her.

They hovered over her, comforting her gently.

“There, there. Don’t cry. I’ll make her apologize to you,” Damian whispered.

I sat slumped on the floor, watching the three of them fuss over Eleanor like she was made of porcelain.

Not a single one of them brought me my medicine.

Not one.

I remembered not long ago when Eleanor had eaten something that didn’t sit well with her, and they had panicked, rushing her to a private hospital, keeping vigil for three days and nights.

She, a woman nearing sixty, was draped in a custom-made haute couture gown they chose together, her skin was glowing from luxury skincare products I wouldn’t dare buy even if I scrimped and saved.

While me? I’m wearing a decade-old dress from a clearance rack, with a faded, fake-gold bracelet I picked up at a second-hand stall.

And in that moment, it hit me with painful, terrifying clarity.

In this family, I’m exactly what Eleanor said I was—someone treated worse than a nanny.

Gasping for air, I collapsed forward, face pressed against the cold floor like a dying fish.

Damian just frowned again and stepped aside with Eleanor.

“She always pulls this stunt. Crying, wheezing—it’s not the first time.”

They wouldn't help me.

I had to crawl.

Elbow by elbow, I dragged myself across the icy tiles to the cabinet. Gritting my teeth, inch by inch, I reached for the inhaler and pills, trembling as I poured a few into my palm and swallowed them dry.

Just as I wiped the residue from my lips, Damian reappeared.

“Audrey, give me your jade pendant.”

I froze. Before I could react, he reached to grab the red string around my neck.

“Damian, what are you doing?!” I recoiled, crashing into the coffee table behind me.

He scowled, growing impatient.

“What are you being so protective for? Let Elly wear it for a few days—it’ll keep her safe. You’ve had it long enough. It's time to pass it on.”

I clutched my neck, voice trembling. “That was left to me by my parents—”

“It’s just for a few days!” he snapped.

“Elly’s health is getting worse. Even the doctors said she should wear something for spiritual protection. Your jade has been blessed, hasn’t it? Stop being so selfish.”

I rasped, fury flaring in my chest.

“She wants protection? Let her buy one! Beg for one! Why do you have to take mine?!”

His eyes turned cold and he slapped me without warning.

The force knocked me back onto the floor. My ear rang, and my cheek burned.

“All this fuss over a lousy piece of jade?” he growled. “You’re ridiculous.”