Evelyn lifted her head slowly, her voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and broken,

“Chris, my knees hurt.”

Her words hung in the icy air, fragile yet defiant.

Christopher let out a soft sigh, the kind that spoke of exasperation laced with resignation. He crossed his arms, visibly trying to rein in his temper.

“Evelyn, you know Charlotte and I grew up together. I’ve always been close to her and I care about her like family. That’s not something you can just change.”

He paused, searching her face for understanding, then continued, “I know you don’t like her, but you can’t lash out at her like that. She’s not in good health—her heart condition makes things worse. She can’t handle the stress.”

Christopher felt as though he was being more than fair, speaking to Evelyn with patience despite his frustration. To him, this was her chance to reflect and apologize.

If she just took responsibility, he might be willing to forgive her.

But instead, Evelyn repeated the same words, her voice softer this time,

“Chris… my knees hurt. I can’t kneel anymore.”

His patience snapped.

The calm facade melted away as his brows furrowed and anger darkened his gaze.

“Don’t act like you haven’t knelt before. You’ve been through this and come out fine. So why now? Why pretend you’re in pain after just one night?”

His voice grew sharper, harsher. “I didn’t save you or stand by you just so you could throw tantrums. Stop pushing your luck, Evelyn.”

A bitter laugh echoed in Evelyn’s mind, though her face betrayed no emotion. She had known this would happen. She had known he wouldn’t care—wouldn’t believe her.

Once, Christopher had always been the one to shield her. When he’d made her kneel in the past, it had been more for show than punishment. The moment she’d looked truly pained, he would falter, his heart softening enough to pull her back to safety.

It hadn’t taken her long to learn the rules. Back then, she could feign discomfort and he would carry her back inside, guilt etched on his face.

But this time was different.

Yesterday, everything had changed.

Evelyn and Charlotte had fought—words sharp enough to cut, leaving deep wounds. Charlotte had hurled cruel insults, accusing Evelyn of being manipulative, of worming her way into Christopher’s life and ruining their bond.

“You’re just like your mother,” Charlotte had sneered. “Pathetic, unwanted. No wonder your father left her—and you.”

Evelyn couldn’t hold back. Years of life on her own had given her a sharp tongue and she let loose with biting retorts that left Charlotte visibly shaken.

But then Charlotte had done the unthinkable. With a shove, she’d sent Evelyn tumbling down the staircase, leaving her knee bruised and swollen.

And, as if on cue, Charlotte had played the victim perfectly. The moment Christopher appeared, she clutched her chest, gasping, feigning a heart episode.

“She attacked me,” Charlotte had cried, her voice trembling.

Christopher hadn’t even looked at Evelyn before sweeping Charlotte into his arms and rushing her to the hospital.

Hours later, Evelyn had spent what little energy she had dragging herself to a clinic. The doctor’s words had been blunt: a hairline fracture in her knee. Rest and hospitalization were recommended. But Evelyn had refused, swallowing painkillers instead.

Now, after kneeling in the snow for hours, the pain had reached unbearable levels, radiating up her leg and threatening to consume her.

Christopher didn’t know any of this. He only saw her silence, interpreting it as stubbornness. His frustration mounted.

“I’ve been too lenient with you,” he finally said, his voice low but cutting. “But this time, Evelyn, I won’t let it slide.”

With that, he turned and walked into the house, leaving her alone in the biting cold.

Evelyn tilted her head back, staring at the sky as snowflakes continued to fall, their icy edges slicing into her skin like tiny knives.

The wind howled, relentless, tugging at her hair and clothes. Her lips quirked upward in a faint, bitter smile.

“You haven’t been soft on me for a long time, Chris,” she murmured.

***

When Charlotte arrived the next morning, Evelyn was still there—kneeling in the same spot, her body almost entirely buried in snow.

Charlotte snorted derisively, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “This is what happens when you cross me,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “So what if you’re Chris’s girlfriend? He’ll always put me first.”

Evelyn didn’t respond. Her lips were pale, her body swaying unsteadily, barely holding itself upright.

Charlotte adjusted her coat, brushing past Evelyn with deliberate force, causing her to stumble to the side.

Once inside, Charlotte shrugged off her coat and hung it neatly by the door. Her mood lightened as she spotted Christopher seated on the sofa, engrossed in a discussion with his assistant, who held a tablet and gestured animatedly.

Charlotte approached with a casual grace, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

“What are you looking at?”

Charlotte’s voice was light, almost playful, but her eyes betrayed the tension beneath her carefully composed exterior.

Christopher didn’t glance up, his focus fixed on the tablet in his hands. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips as he replied,“The venue for my wedding with Evelyn. She’s always loved traditional weddings, so I’m trying to find the perfect place.”

Charlotte’s hand froze mid-air, the casual grace of her movement faltering. A wave of bitterness surged in her chest as she forced herself to sit down beside him. Her tone was measured, but there was a sharpness to her words, “Do you really think someone from a background like hers deserves such a grand venue? Brother Chris, I think a simpler one would be just fine.”

Her words lingered in the air like a thin veil of smoke, but Christopher’s reaction was immediate.

His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unyielding. The weight of his stare was oppressive, making Charlotte’s heart sink.

“Her background?” he repeated, his voice cold and cutting. “And what about yours? Do you think you’re somehow above her?”

The chill in his tone deepened. “Three years abroad and you’ve come back with prejudice? I thought you were better than that.”

A bead of sweat formed on Charlotte’s temple as she realized she’d misstep. She knew Christopher well enough to recognize the subtle shifts in his temper—this wasn’t something he would easily overlook.

Pasting on a strained smile, she quickly backpedaled, “That’s not what I meant, Brother Chris. I only meant that... maybe I could help? I know women best, after all. I could make sure Evelyn’s dream wedding is exactly what she wants. It’d be a nice surprise.”

Christopher studied her for a long moment, the ice in his eyes thawing just slightly. Finally, he gave a small nod. “Fine. I’ll leave it to you. But use this chance to build a better relationship with her. Evelyn is your future sister-in-law and the two of you shouldn’t be at odds all the time. It makes things... difficult for me.”

Charlotte’s nails dug into the palm of her hand, but her smile remained intact.

“Got it,” she said, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “I’ll take care of it.”

***

Evelyn returned home late that evening, her body trembling from hours spent in the snow.

The nanny helped her inside, but the warmth of the house offered little relief. The sudden change in temperature sent jolts of pain through her body, as though needles were piercing her skin. Her legs throbbed with an excruciating ache, as if thousands of nails were driven into her bones.

By the time she reached her room, the pain had become unbearable and her vision blurred. She collapsed onto her bed, fever overtaking her almost immediately.

She barely had time to pull the blanket over herself when the door swung open.

Charlotte entered, a smug expression on her face and a tablet clutched in her hands. She stood at the foot of the bed, her tone laced with mockery. “Oh, you’re still alive?” she sneered. “Brother Chris asked me to let you know—the bride for the wedding next month has changed. It’s me.”

She didn’t wait for a response before shoving the tablet in Evelyn’s face. On the screen were photos of luxurious wedding venues. “See? I’m already picking out the location.”

Evelyn didn’t respond. Her face was pale, lips cracked and her body shivered under the covers. She didn’t even bother to glance at the screen, her indifference cutting deeper than any retort.

Charlotte’s smirk faltered. She frowned, her voice turning sharp. “You know how Chris feels about me, don’t you? Let me warn you—get out while you can. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

She leaned closer, her words dripping with venom. “A woman like you, who was abandoned by her own parents, has no place in Chris’s life. You’re nothing but a pathetic mistress.”

Evelyn finally spoke, her voice barely audible but steady, “Don’t worry. I’ll leave soon. You don’t need to make this harder for me. Now get out.”

The words were simple but firm and Evelyn didn’t give Charlotte the satisfaction of seeing her break. She turned over, pulling the blanket tighter around her fragile frame and closed her eyes.

Charlotte stared at her in disbelief.

The Evelyn she knew would have fought back—sharp words, bitter accusations, anything to defend herself. But now, Evelyn was strangely calm, almost resigned.

It unsettled Charlotte, though she quickly dismissed the feeling. Fine, she thought. It’ll save me the trouble.

With a click of her heels, she turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

Once the room was quiet again, Evelyn opened her eyes.

It was hard to say what hurt more—her legs, her head, or the hollow ache in her chest.

Tears slipped silently from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her pillow. The overwhelming despair returned, suffocating her. The thought of leaving everything behind—of simply ceasing to exist—seemed almost comforting.

Her fever worsened, her thoughts growing hazy as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

In her fevered state, she dreamt of faces from her past—people she had loved, people who had mattered. The images were blurred and fleeting, but the emotions were vivid, pulling her deeper into the haze.

For a moment, she felt warmth. And then, only darkness.

It felt as if time had rewound, back to when she was just a little girl—those golden days when it was only her, Mom and Dad, a perfect family of three.

Every evening, Dad would come home from work with bags full of her favorite foods and sometimes, if she was lucky, he'd bring her a new doll. Mom would always complain, “You’re just spoiling her!” even as she helped unpack the gifts, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“Should we hang this pink one above Evelyn’s bed? She loves pink!” Mom would ask with a grin, holding up the latest doll.

And like magic, Dad would always pull out one more surprise—this time for Mom. Sometimes it was a single flower, sometimes a delicate necklace. Mom would blush and laugh, eventually throwing herself into his arms, her protests melting away.

To Evelyn, her parents’ love had always seemed unshakable, indestructible—like a fortress no one could breach. Even when she misbehaved and Mom got angry, it never truly disrupted the harmony between them.

But then, the cracks started to show.

At first, Dad began coming home later and later. Mom grew more irritable, her temper flaring over the smallest things. The laughter that used to fill their home became less frequent. And eventually, the gifts stopped coming—no more dolls for Evelyn, no more flowers or necklaces for Mom.

Late at night, Evelyn would hear Mom’s voice rise into a storm, hysterically confronting Dad, “Who is she? Who is that woman?!”

It wasn’t until much later that Evelyn pieced it together. The family she’d once thought unbreakable had started to fall apart long ago. The tiny cracks had grown into a chasm too wide to bridge.

Eventually, her parents divorced. Evelyn stayed with her mom, while Dad remarried a woman she didn’t recognize. The day they met, the new “auntie” greeted her with a syrupy smile.

“Evelyn, I’m your mom now too. Call me ‘Mom,’ and I’ll give you a red packet! How about that?”

“Or I’ll buy you new clothes!” she added sweetly.

Evelyn clenched her fists. She stayed silent at first, then shouted, her voice trembling with rage, “I won’t call you that! You’re the mistress! You stole my dad!”

The woman’s smile froze and her father’s hand came down hard on Evelyn’s face.

“How dare you speak like that?! Is this what your mother has been teaching you?!”

The woman stepped in, her tone soft but tinged with defeat. “Don’t hit her. She’s just going through a rebellious phase—it’s normal that she doesn’t like me.”

Her father sighed, resting a hand on the woman’s stomach. “I hope our future child won’t grow up to be like this.”

That was the moment Evelyn realized—her father no longer had room for her in his heart. He had a new family now. She ran out crying, wiping her face as she went and from that day on, he barely reached out to her.

It took nearly a decade for Evelyn to come to terms with it. People leave. Parents, lovers—it doesn’t matter. In the end, everyone leaves.

By the time she graduated college and her mother announced she was remarrying, Evelyn accepted it without protest. She’d already learned to expect abandonment.

But then came Christopher.

Despite all her scars, she gave him everything—her trust, her heart, her love—without hesitation. And just when she thought she’d finally found someone to hold onto, she discovered the truth.

There was someone else.

For the sake of that other woman, Christopher belittled her, punished her and humiliated her. Even when Evelyn spiraled into depression, even after she attempted to end her life multiple times, he barely noticed.

No one in this world had ever truly cherished her—not her father, not her mother, not Christopher.

Love always has an expiration date. Once it’s over, it’s gone forever.

Evelyn had once fought against that truth, but now she’d experienced it so often that she’d grown numb.

When she finally opened her eyes, two days had passed. An IV drip was attached to her hand and a fever-reducing patch rested on her forehead.

The first thing she saw was Christopher’s hand reaching out, his palm hovering above her forehead as if to check her temperature.