At an interview, my husband, Julian White, reveals that he has already allocated his assets properly.

The host in charge of interviewing him makes a joking remark that he must have left large amounts of money to his son and wife.

With a gentle smile on his face, Julian denies it softly.

"I only left them enough money to sustain their lives. The rest of the assets are reserved for my adoptive daughter, Rosy, only.

"This is a promise between me and her mom. I had promised her that I'd make sure her daughter would lead a lavish and worry-free life at her grave."

When I hear Julian's statement, I pause in my actions of preparing a meal for the children. Then, I look up at the television in disbelief.

Meanwhile, Julian is prattling on and on about his deceased first love, Vivian Bennett.

Some time later, the host speaks up again. "Does your wife know about this?"

Julian is left feeling taken aback for a moment. But his smile doesn't change at all.

"She won't disagree with my decision. Over the years, she's been nothing but great to Rosy. Heck, she's even better than most caretakers out there."

I take off my apron and walk out of the kitchen. Then, I scoop up my son, Jude White, who's in the middle of picking up toys for Rosy, into my arms and return to my room.

It's been six long years, and I've finally had enough with this family.

Since Julian doesn't intend to give me and Jude anything, then he can find himself another "caretaker".

The interview was split into two parts, with the second taking place at our home.

By the time Julian White arrived with the reporters, I had just put our son, Jude White, to bed. He barely glanced at me.

After shrugging off his coat, he picked up our adopted daughter, Rosy White, who had been watching TV, and pinched her chubby cheeks with a fond smile.

"Did Mommy give you a hard time today?"

It was his daily routine question.

I had always thought he was teasing, but there was a different edge to his tone today. He seemed worried that I might mistreat the daughter of his first love, Vivian Bennett, while he was away.

"Mr. White, you treat your adopted daughter so well."

"If Ms. Bennett were still alive, she would be delighted to see her only daughter loved like her own."

"If nothing had gone wrong, the two of you would probably be a much-admired couple by now."

A wistful look crossed Julian's face, and a small smile played at his lips.

I stood to the side, clearing my throat twice.

The room fell into an awkward pause. The host seemed to realize too late that his earlier remarks had been inappropriate.

"Mrs. White—"

"Naomi, have you washed Rosy's clothes for school tomorrow?" Julian interrupted. "I can't trust the nanny to do it properly. You need to hand-wash them yourself."

Rosy was completely used to him bossing me, and she toddled over on her stubby little legs, dumping all the clothes she had messed up today into my arms.

"Go on, hurry," Julian urged.

All eyes were on me, filled with judgment, disdain, and contempt. In that instant, I felt as small and exposed as a stray dog on the street. Perhaps in Julian's eyes, I had always been nothing more than a slightly more useful housekeeper.

I lowered my head in humiliation, and a wave of bitterness swelled in my throat.

"Julian, I'm not washing them. I'm your wife, not the housekeeper."

He frowned, glancing at me with a hint of curiosity. "Naomi, what do you mean by that?"

"I saw your interview today," I said, gripping my hands and forcing myself to look at him. "You gave all our shared assets to someone else's child. Why?"

Julian shot me a sharp look. "What do you mean?"

He covered Rosy's ears. "Rosy is my child. Naomi, when I brought her home to raise her, I gave you the choice to take care of her. You chose to do it."

As I looked at him, a coldness settled deep in my heart.

When I was close to my due date five years ago, Julian vanished for seven days and nights. I searched everywhere for him, but the stress eventually pushed me into premature labor, and Jude was born two weeks early.

Julian only showed up after I had finished giving birth. Just as I finally relaxed and was about to place our son in his arms, he beat me to it and held out a swaddled baby to me.

"Vivi died during childbirth. She entrusted her baby to me. From now on, this child will be our adopted daughter," Julian had said.

My face drained of color. It wasn't until I forced myself to sit up that Julian finally stopped talking.

"If you can't accept this, we can divorce. I'll transfer child support to you every month for you and the baby, but that's all I can give."

That was the choice he gave me at the time. I could either endure the humiliation and raise the daughter of the woman he loved, or walk away with my premature son Jude and nothing.

I refused to accept that, so I endured it.

I had been married to him for five years. I had nearly risked my life to give birth to our child. Why should my son and I leave with nothing?

Although five years had gone by, he had never shown even the slightest tenderness toward Jude or me. It felt as though all his love had died with Vivian, and the only warmth he had left was reserved for her child.

Suddenly, it struck me that all my persistence over the years had been nothing but a ridiculous show for him. Ten years of love, resentment, and hope had quietly faded under his constant suspicion.

I held his gaze calmly. "I want to make my choice again. This time, I'm leaving with Jude."

Julian let out a soft, derisive scoff.

"Leave? Naomi, do you even have the means to support yourself and the child without me? Go back to your room. Stop embarrassing me in front of everyone."

He signaled the servants with a look, and they immediately rushed over, seizing my arms and pushing me toward the bedroom before I could react.

The door was locked from the outside.

Though the room wasn't very soundproof, I could still hear their murmurs drifting in.

"I don't know what Mrs. White thinks she's doing. She has a good life, yet she insists on making Mr. White look bad in front of the reporters."

"Isn't she just raising the child of a dead woman? She's basically a parasite living off Mr. White. Why can't she just tolerate it?"

A parasite?

When Julian and I first got together, he had nothing. I gave him all my savings to help him start his business. I stayed up all night drinking and negotiating just to land the company's first big contract. And when his work consumed him, I willingly stepped back to support him from behind the scenes.

Yet now, in everyone's eyes, I was nothing but a parasite living off him.

I slid down against the door and sank to the floor as the voices in the hallway slowly faded.

Julian pushed the door open and accidentally kicked me as he stepped inside. It didn't hurt, but it felt like a strange, sharp release.

Tears rose unbidden to my eyes. Just as I was about to let them fall, a piece of clothing landed over my head.

"Don't cry. Naomi, I remember you're pretty good at mending clothes. Fix this for me."

I pulled the garment off my head. It was a white blouse with the cuff slightly worn.

The tears froze in my eyes. I couldn't cry anymore.

A wave of humiliation washed over me so fiercely that I almost laughed.

I recognized the blouse.

There were two walk-in closets in this house. One held the clothes for the children and me. The other belonged to Julian and Vivian.

Vivian was dead, yet Julian insisted on keeping traces of someone who no longer existed in his life.

I took a deep breath and threw the blouse heavily onto the floor.

"Julian, I'm not joking with you. I've had enough of this life. We're getting a divorce," I said firmly, but Julian acted as though he hadn't heard a word.

He began unbuttoning his shirt and spread his arms. "Help me change. Hurry up. I promised Rosy I'd read her a bedtime story."

I walked up to him, but didn't move. I repeated, "I'm leaving with my child."

This time, he finally looked at me directly. The undisguised contempt in his eyes pierced through me like needles.

"Tell me, what do you want this time? Naomi, I've told you countless times—just be straightforward with me about what you want. Don't play these ridiculous games."

Julian pulled a card from his wallet and tucked it into my blouse. "This should keep you covered for a while."

Then he changed his clothes, pushed past me, and went to Rosy's room. The card hit the floor with a snap.

I stared at it for a long moment before letting out a bitter laugh. Apparently, I really wasn't any different from a housekeeper who needed money to be kept content.

I wiped the tears that were about to fall and turned toward Jude's room. He was awake, staring off into space.

At the sound of the door, he looked over and pouted slightly. "Mommy, did you fight with Daddy again?"

I shook my head. "Not exactly, but I want to leave Daddy. Will you come with me?"

Jude's eyes brightened. "Really? Mommy, I'm just like you—I'm not happy here at all. Whenever Rosy is upset, Daddy scolds me with a cold face. And if Rosy and I want the same thing, he always gives it to her. The toys I play with and the books I read are just the things Rosy didn't want and threw aside.

He wiggled his little fingers and asked, "If we leave, will my things really be mine?"

My eyes burned. My son should have been cherished and adored. Instead, he had grown up under Julian's relentless favoritism.

If he wasn't happy, the last reason I had for holding on to this marriage is gone. This marriage with Julian was over.

After settling the divorce terms with our lawyer, I spent the night in Jude's room.

I had barely closed my eyes when the bedroom door flew open. Julian's face was pale, and he yanked me off the bed. "Rosy has a high fever! What should we do?"

This was one of the rare times I had seen him truly panic. I instinctively glanced at sleeping Jude and tiptoed toward the door.

After making sure Jude's door was firmly shut, I turned to Julian. "Cool her down physically, call the housekeeper, then get her to the hospital. Julian, she has a fever. What do you expect me to do? I'm not a doctor."

Impatience flickered in his eyes, but for Rosy, he held himself back. "Naomi, you raised Rosy yourself. No one knows her like you do. She's burning up badly. Can you stop being so cold?"

That accusation hit me like a punch.

I let out a bitter laugh. If I were truly cold, the girl he loved would have died three years ago. Perhaps she inherited it from her biological mother—Rosy had always been sensitive and prone to allergies.

One time, Rosy had eaten a few lemon candies while we were away. The rash spread almost instantly, and her fair little face quickly turned blue.

I checked the home monitors constantly. I nearly panicked as I watched her crumple to the floor in pain. I ran through dozens of red lights, even smashing into a guardrail along the way.

By the time we got home, I was covered in blood. I gave her the allergy medicine and called an ambulance, collapsing from exhaustion afterward.

The hospital ambulance took us both. I suffered a severe concussion and three broken ribs. It took a full month before I could get out of bed, and during that entire time, Julian didn't even come to see me once.

Later, when I broke down and confronted him, Julian just glanced at me lightly. "You're not dead, are you? You're an adult now. If you can't drive safely, whose fault is that? Rosy's condition was worse anyway. She hasn't eaten properly in days.

"Hurry up and get out of the hospital—Rosy says she wants your cooking."

It was always the same. Whenever Julian needed something, I could be a doctor, a chef, or a housekeeper, but never the wife he truly respected and loved.