I screamed like a madwoman.

“Chase, tell them to stop. Now!”

But they would not listen to me.

I tried to chase after him, to grab hold of him.

Yet his eyes and heart held only Emma. As he carried her out, his elbow slammed hard into me.

I fell to the ground. My forehead struck the corner of the table.

Tears fell, one by one, onto the cold screen.

Too late.

It was already too late.

On camera, the ashes were poured down from the ship.

Against the biting sea wind, they scattered, little by little, vanishing into the surging waves.

In that instant, my heart felt as if it were torn apart alive.

My mother had always been afraid of the cold.

She hated the freezing sea more than anything.

And now, not only had she died there, she would be trapped there forever.

“Mom, I’m sorry…”

I cried until I broke down completely.

At that moment, regret consumed me.

I regretted falling in love with Chase.

I regretted marrying him.

I drafted the divorce agreement. It would take effect soon.

Just after finishing it, my phone vibrated. A text from the hospital reminded me that I had an upcoming prenatal checkup.

This would most likely be my last one.

When I stepped outside, I saw the doorway piled high with packages.

Large and small, stacked neatly.

I glanced at them casually.

Cement, steel bars, timber.

At a glance, it was obvious they were materials for building an underground bunker for the so called apocalypse.

I suddenly felt like laughing.

He moved fast.

So fast that it made me suspect he had long been eager to build this so called love nest with Joyce.

I did not even dare imagine what a Peking University astronomy professor would look like, sleeves rolled up, hauling bricks and laying stones.

But not long after, I actually saw it.

Joyce posted another update, without the slightest restraint.

“Little bunker. Our home after finding our way back to each other.”

In the video, Chase looked nothing like the meticulous man I remembered, the one who would press every crease out of his shirts.

His face was smeared with dirt, his hair a mess, squatting inside a pit and digging.

As he dug, he spoke to her gently.

“Joyce, don’t be afraid.”

“When the world really ends in one month later, we won’t die either.”

In that moment, I finally understood what blinding pain meant.

Beside him, Felix struggled to pass him bricks.

Father and son, one squatting, one bent over, the scene absurd and ridiculous.

I watched and watched, and somehow started laughing.

But as I laughed, my face slowly grew wet.

So he really was willing.

For Joyce, he would give everything.

Even at the end of the world, he would still give her a home.

And I had nothing.

When I filled out the divorce agreement, it was not that I had never thought about it.

About taking every last bit of the modest income in the accounts and leaving him with nothing.

But after calming down, it felt unnecessary.

Aside from the title of Peking University astronomy professor, all Chase really had left was his self righteous pride and foul temper.

If I truly left him with nothing, he probably would not even be able to raise our son.

The car was provided by the university.

The furniture was secondhand.

The house was rented.

Back when our relationship was at its best, it was not that I had never suggested buying a home.

I had even planned it seriously.

Little by little, personally building a place that belonged to the three of us.

“I can pay in full.”

“The deed can have only your name on it.”

But he always thought I was joking.

He would even lecture me in that utterly natural tone of his.

“Don’t let yourself be tied down by worldly things.”

“A house is just a place to sleep. There’s no need to obsess over it.”

He never understood.

Money had never been a problem for me.

Across the capital’s elite circles, the properties my grandfather had arranged for me were so many that even I could not remember them all.

What I wanted was never a house.

What I wanted was a small home that had something to do with him.

Until I gave birth to our son, I had brought up buying a house again, but he still wouldn't budge.

So, like Wang Baochuan, I followed him, moving once again, from the southern part of the city to the city center, over and over.

With each move, I lost more than I kept.

In the end, all that remained was my willingness to give to them.

But I never expected that, in the end, they wouldn’t even want that.

I purposely bought a box of donuts, intending to give them to the nurses and doctors who had taken care of me all these years.

“Miss Emma, you’re so thoughtful,” the nurse said, taking the snack, her tone gentle. “Thank you.”

I forced a smile, one that lacked any warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Just as I was about to turn to find a seat in the waiting room, my steps suddenly faltered, and my breath was abruptly cut off.

There they were.

Chase, and Joyce.

They walked out of the gynecology clinic together, their movements natural, their intimacy undeniable. Chase’s hand rested gently on her small belly, with a tenderness and adoration I knew all too well. In that instant, my gaze seemed to be nailed in place, unable to look away.

Joyce was holding a pregnancy guidebook, its clean cover clearly displaying her name.

My mind went blank.

Countless thoughts exploded in my head, but I couldn’t find a single one that made sense.

“Is... is this their child?”

“How did it come to this?”

It was absurd and ironic.

Chase—he was the one who had personally introduced me to this gynecologist.

And now, here he was, openly bringing his mistress into the clinic, as if he was certain I would never run into them.

“So… even the doctor knows?”

As that thought crossed my mind, a sharp pain suddenly twisted in my chest, as if countless knives had simultaneously plunged into my heart, making it hard to breathe.

What about his family?

Had they known all along?

Joyce seemed to sense my gaze and finally looked at me.

But she didn’t even flinch. Instead, she curled her lips into a smile, one that was completely unguarded.

Chase suddenly stopped walking, glanced at me, and his tone became casual, though there was a subtle hint of wariness.

“What are you doing here at the hospital?”

I instinctively tightened my grip on my bag, my fingertips turning pale, but I still lifted my head and smiled at him, a smile so faint it barely held.

“Routine checkup.”

I said it casually, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. After all, I was about to divorce him anyway.

“I’ve been feeling a little unwell, so the doctor asked me to come in.”

He furrowed his brow slightly, his gaze lingering on my face for a couple of seconds, as if searching for some sign of weakness.

But I lowered my eyelashes, avoiding his gaze, breathing lightly.

“No big deal, right?”

His question was dismissive, clearly no longer interested in probing further.

“Mm, it’s fine.”

I nodded, my voice steady. “I’ll leave once the checkup’s done.”

He simply muttered an “oh,” then turned to answer a call, his tone quickly shifting to a warm and patient one.

I stood there, watching his back, while my other hand, without my control, subconsciously fell onto my lower abdomen.

He followed my gaze, then seemed to finally realize who I was looking at, his tone so naturally casual, it felt almost like an explanation.

“She just came back to the country.”

“She doesn’t have any friends here, and her family isn’t around, so I’m the one accompanying her.”

He explained it with ease and thoughtfulness, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I nodded, not exposing the truth, nor asking further.

It was clear now—he didn’t even think I deserved an explanation.

The next moment, a deliberately suppressed gasp came from beside me.

“Ah!”

The mistress slightly furrowed her brows, instinctively holding her waist, her expression fragile and innocent.

Almost simultaneously, he had already turned around.

His movements were swift, without the slightest hesitation. One arm steadied her shoulder, and his other hand gently rested on her hand, asking in a low voice, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

The two of them stood very close.

So close that anyone who looked at them would think they were a family.

I stood there, like an intruder, a stranger who had wandered in.

If he had paid a little more attention, even just glanced at the signs around, he would have realized that the place we met was the gynecology clinic.

But he didn’t.

His attention was entirely on her.

On her slightly pale face, on her soft voice as she responded, and on the way she leaned into him.

And I, I was nothing more than the ignored background.

I suddenly felt a bit ironic.

I was standing here, I had said nothing, and I was the one who was his wife.

But in this moment, there was no place for me in his world.

When I entered the door, the smell hit me immediately.

The lights were on in the living room.

I stood in the entrance, and at a glance, I saw Chase holding a bowl of soup, patiently feeding Emma spoon by spoon.

Felix sat beside them, behaving unusually well.

“Auntie, you’re so gentle. Can you be my mom?”

In that instant, it felt like I had been shoved into an ice cellar.

How could these words come from my own son?

Emma smiled gently and gracefully, reaching out to rub Felix's hair. “Of course, as long as your dad agrees.”

My heart jerked painfully.

I walked into the living room with a blank expression.

“It’s so late. Where have you been?”

Chase looked up, and seeing my pale face, he was clearly taken aback. His tone softened involuntarily. “What happened to your forehead?”

I didn’t answer.

I had just come from the hospital and stumbled at the door. What was the point of saying anything?

Emma immediately raised her voice in a playful tone, “You’re back, Joyce! Just in time, I brought you some gifts. Come look.”

Chase cleared his throat, his expression a bit awkward. “Joyce, Shiyu is pregnant and needs to rest. For now, she’ll stay here. You should be more mindful. She’s lactose intolerant, can’t eat cold food, needs to sleep until 10 AM for her beauty rest, and the fruits need to be juiced…”

Each word felt like a knife, stabbing deeper into my heart, one after another.

I couldn’t believe it and let out a cold laugh. “What, you want me to take care of her?”

“Be good, Joyce. Everything in the past is behind us, don’t dwell on it,” he paused for a moment, then spoke with casual certainty, “You’ve worked as a maid in the Chase family, so I trust you to handle these things.”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Felix, standing beside us, innocently added, “Yeah, mom, I like Aunt Lu too.”

I lowered my head and saw on the side of the dining table a list of 267 “care instructions for the young lady.”

On the floor were a few luxury shopping bags haphazardly discarded. A Chanel handbag with worn-out corners, an Hermes keychain from a gift package, and Dior high heels that were clearly used.

The so-called “gifts” were nothing but a pile of discarded junk she had thrown away.

Suddenly, I remembered many years ago.

Chase’s good friend had once called me “the maid who serves,” and he immediately turned hostile, halting a billion-dollar project that night.

He said, “Joyce is my wife. Whoever dares to belittle her is slapping me, Chase, in the face.”

But now, he had slapped his own face.

He had made me serve the enemy as a personal maid.

It turned out that deep love and vows could be so easily shattered.