"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.

I said nothing and stepped into Rosy's room. Her face was flushed bright red from the fever.

I stripped off her clothes, wiped her palms and neck with alcohol, and then gave her some fever medicine. The fever broke quickly after that.

The moment she opened her eyes, Julian yanked me aside and scooped her up. "Sweetheart, you gave me quite a fright. Are you still uncomfortable?"

Rosy's gaze was still a little dazed, but she instinctively wrapped her arms around Julian's neck.

In her soft, childish voice, she murmured, "Daddy, thank you for taking care of me."

Julian smiled. "It's nothing. As long as you're healthy, I don't mind doing whatever it takes."

I stood to the side, laughing until tears fell.

The two of them turned to look at me.

I fixed my gaze on Rosy and said, "Rosy, it's me who's been taking care of you. He did nothing. For the past five years, I've raised and loved you like my own daughter. What does he have to do with that? He's just busy remembering the mother who gave birth to you and then left this world."

Julian's face gradually twisted with anger, as if it could set the whole world on fire. "Naomi, have you lost your mind?"

He covered Rosy's ears and glared at me.

I let my expression calm and forced a small, controlled smile. "I've made my decision. Julian, the divorce papers will be delivered to your office. Sign them without delay. After that, you can take that memorial plaque home and be with her openly."

As I left that room, a surprising relief washed over me. I had endured enough. That night, I began packing my things.

Julian was truly angry. After putting Rosy to bed, he went straight to his room, ignoring me like he always had.

Back when the company was just starting, I had held a substantial number of initial shares. Even though Julian later deliberately diluted them, what remained in my hands was enough to tip the balance of power in the company.

As I sifted through my things, I discovered a drawer overflowing with letters. I opened one at random—it was filled with his words to Vivian.

Every letter mentioned our son and me. Only then did I finally understand the depth of his favoritism.

"I've raised our daughter well. Don't worry, Naomi and her son won't harm her. Rosy can say 'Mommy' now. Every night, I show her your photo and tell her that you are her mother. Naomi is just a housekeeper taking care of her."

Every line cut through me like a blade.

The fact that Rosy was his biological daughter churned my stomach. Nausea overwhelmed me, and I bent over to vomit. I had given everything, walked through hardships alongside him, and yet ten years of marriage were nothing but lies.

I forced back the overwhelming nausea and photographed every letter that could serve as evidence, then tore each one into pieces.

As the shredded paper scattered across the floor, Julian pushed the door open.

His expression hardened into a mixture of irritation and disgust. "Naomi, where's your sense of decency? Who told you to touch my things?"

I met his gaze calmly.

His frown deepened. "What are you staring at? Go and take care of Rosy."

In my hand, I still clutched the final letter he had written yesterday, in which he had even arranged for his burial with Vivian.

I smiled and tore the letter into fragments in front of him. "Julian, I hope you find happiness with that dead woman and your daughter. I'll let you have your love, and I hope you finally meet her and stay with her."