Maynard Hansen planned a luxury birthday cruise for Darlene Thompson, but the cruise ship capsized when a violent storm swept in without warning.

Without hesitation, Maynard gave the last seat on the lifeboat to Darlene.

As I struggled in the water, my son, Waldo Hansen—whom I carried for nine months and gave birth to—cried out, "Don't let Mom up! She'll push Ms. Thompson off."

Clutching nothing but a broken plank, I somehow made it to shore. By the time I collapsed on the sand, I was frozen, exhausted, and done. I had never felt so alone.

Shortly after, I found myself clutching a diagnosis of severe depression in my hand. I was ready to bring this wretched life to a quiet end.

But when my husband and son realized I truly didn't want to live anymore, they collapsed into tears. They wrapped their arms around me as they sobbed, "Please don't leave us. We really can't live without you."

I had been married to Maynard Hansen for three years.

But when life was hanging by a thread, he didn't hesitate. He chose his childhood sweetheart.

Maynard carefully carried Darlene Thompson, soaked from head to toe, onto the last lifeboat. His eyes shimmered with a pain he couldn't hide.

My five-year-old son, Waldo Hansen, pulled off the only dry sweater I had given him and wrapped it around Darlene's shivering shoulders. He patted her arm like a little gentleman.

"Don't be scared, Ms. Thompson. Dad and I will stay with you," he said gently.

The three of them sat cozily together on the lifeboat. They were laughing and at ease. They completely ignored me as I gasped for help while struggling to stay afloat in the freezing water.

"Help me! Please, Maynard! Save me!" My voice was hoarse and trembling as I screamed at them.

Maynard looked down at me with chilling indifference. "There's not enough room on the boat. If you come up, what will happen to Darlene?"

Waldo burst into loud sobs the moment he heard that. "No! Don't let Mom on! She'll push Ms. Thompson into the water."

The people around us glanced at me with pity, but in this life-or-death situation, no one offered me a hand.

Watching their figures disappear into the distance, it felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my heart apart, chunk by chunk.

In that moment, surviving didn't matter anymore. I stopped fighting.

Just as I started to sink, a broken piece of driftwood surfaced beneath me, lifting me toward the distant shore.

When I woke up, I was in a sterile hospital room.

The doctor stood by my bed, frowning at the chart in his hand. "Your depression is severe. It's progressed into somatic symptom disorder. How long have you been hiding this?"

I stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling hollow and detached. All I could think about was dying.

When the doctor left, I reached into the drawer by my bed and found a full bottle of sleeping pills.

Fifty pills. That was all it would take to finally be free.

I unscrewed the lid and poured them into my mouth.

My head felt foggy, like I was drifting through a dream.

I lay back on the bed. I finally felt peaceful, and I was waiting for everything to end.

But in the next second, I felt someone push me face down. He jammed his fingers into my throat, trying to force me to throw up.

"Patricia, what the hell did you take? Get the doctor, now!"

My stomach twisted violently. The pills surged up my throat, and I vomited all over the floor.

I opened my eyes.

Derek Grant was still hitting my back. He was trying to help me vomit while shouting at me nonstop. "Are you out of your mind? Maynard didn't choose you—so what? Is that worth your life?"

I clenched my teeth, refusing to give in. His fingers bled from my bite, but he didn't let go.

At the same time, the doctors rushed in with an entire cart of equipment to pump my stomach. I thrashed against them, but they strapped me to the bed anyway.

As the tube was forced down my throat, I caught Derek's eyes again. They were still full of that same pity.

Derek had grown up with Maynard. They had been best friends since they were kids.

Ever since he found out Maynard had married me under pressure from his family, Derek had gone out of his way to isolate and humiliate me.

Last year, when Waldo had his birthday, Maynard asked Derek to pick up a cake. He deliberately brought home a mango cake, knowing full well that I had a severe allergy to mangoes.

When I tried to explain why I couldn't eat it, he told my son I just didn't love him enough to celebrate with him. Waldo's sobs echoed through the entire house that night.

When he developed cavities, Derek gave him candy behind my back. He even gifted him a game console without telling me, encouraging his obsession with video games at such a young age.

When I found out, I boxed up everything Derek had given him and threw it all out.

That only made things worse.

My son threw a tantrum and screamed, "Mom, you're mean! Mr. Grant gave me that, and you threw it away."

Derek kept poisoning his mind, and the distance between Waldo and me only grew.

He slipped in when I was at my weakest and earned Waldo's trust. Then, he used that trust to poison him against me, saying things behind my back and turning Waldo into someone who constantly pushed back.

He was like a shadow that never left—dark, calculating, always lurking.

He tore my life apart piece by piece, then dared to show up like some kind of savior. Here he was, pretending to care after ruining everything.

The stomach pumping nearly killed me.

I sank into the hospital bed, numb and motionless. My eyes were empty as I stared at the ceiling.

Derek stood by my bedside, breathing hard as he tried to steady himself. Blood still dripped from the raw wound on his hand, where I had bitten him.

It looked like he was the one who had just come back from the edge of death.

"Patricia, is this really how you treat your life? Like some kind of joke?" he said.

He reached out like he wanted to touch me, but midway, something made him pull back. He looked strangely hurt, like I had wronged him somehow.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask what game he was playing this time, his whole demeanor shifted. He shoved his hands into his pockets. That cocky, infuriating look was back on his face.

He scoffed. "I mean it. What the hell were you thinking when you downed those pills? You really think pulling a stunt like that is gonna make Maynard look at you differently? I'm telling you right now—all you're doing is making him hate you more."

He kept talking, ranting like always. He was completely oblivious to what I was doing.

My hand crept toward the paring knife on the nightstand.

Before he could notice, I grabbed it and slashed my wrist. Blood dripped onto the white sheets.

Derek lunged, grabbing the blade with his bare hand. It sliced deep into his palm.

"Let go!" I ordered.

He winced, and his teeth were clenched in pain. Yet, he didn't release the blade. "You let go first."

Blood oozed from his hand. The knife was digging deeper—close to hitting tendons—but he still didn't let go.

I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to die.

In the end, I loosened my grip.

He yanked the knife away and kicked it across the room.

After my second attempt to end everything, he finally understood. I wasn't trying to get attention. I genuinely wanted to die.

"Stop treating your life like it's disposable. There are billions of men out there. Why destroy yourself over him?"

He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting his tone. "Maybe... maybe if you looked around, you'd see that someone's been waiting for you this whole time."

Once his hand was bandaged, he drove me back to the house.

Somewhere along the way, Derek mentioned what had really happened on the cruise. There had been enough lifeboats for everyone on that cruise.

But Maynard thought that I sabotaged the last lifeboat. He blamed me because Darlene had not made it onboard.

"Just apologize to Darlene. Once she forgives you, Maynard will calm down. Then, figure out a clean way to end the marriage."

I didn't answer. I turned my head and stared out the window.

I knew the truth.

I had seen Darlene sneak into the storage room during the chaos. She was the one who had tampered with the last lifeboat.

And now she was twisting everything and blaming me.

All over again, she painted herself as the delicate, innocent victim. And Maynard—he never once questioned it.

Every one of Darlene's clumsy lies became another excuse for Maynard to abandon me.

I remembered the first time I met Maynard.

Back then, I was young and naive. One night, cornered in an alley by the school bully and out of options, Maynard showed up with a group of his friends and pulled me out of trouble.

That was the moment I fell for him—this handsome, wealthy man who seemed untouchable. I was willing to give him everything, no matter the cost.

When Darlene left the country to pursue her career, I was the one who stayed. I sat by his side as he drowned himself in bottle after bottle of liquor. By morning, the floor was littered with empty glasses.

He loved watching Darlene dance, so I slipped on ballet shoes and forced myself to learn, even when my legs were bruised and aching. I kept going, convinced I just needed to be better for him to notice me.

But when I finally worked up the courage to show him and stood proud before him, he barely looked at me.

"Don't imitate what you'll never be," he said coldly before walking away.

I found out later that Maynard had stomach issues and was often out late at night for business dinners. So, I started cooking for him. I would have soup ready to sober him up when he got home. I would always try new recipes, staying up until the middle of the night just to make sure he had something warm to eat.

Maybe my devotion gave him a twisted sense of superiority, because little by little, he started to tolerate me.

That night, Maynard was drunk. Things got out of hand between us, and I ended up pregnant.

Under pressure from his family, Maynard married me.

From that moment on, whatever affection he had for me disappeared completely. He thought I had trapped him on purpose, that I had gotten pregnant just to tie him down.

It was laughable.

I endured the pain that night, thinking we might finally have a future together.

Looking back, I was only fooling myself. Everything I did—all those sacrifices—meant nothing to him.

I pushed open the front door of the villa.

Darlene was leaning lazily against Maynard's shoulder. She looked smug as he massaged her neck with practiced ease.

Waldo was curled up next to her, sweetly calling her "Ms. Thompson".

The whole room was glowing with sickening, rosy warmth.

The spots where my photos used to hang were now filled with a framed portrait of the three of them. They looked like a perfect little family—like Darlene was Maynard's wife and Waldo's mom.

I pretended not to notice and headed straight toward my room.

But Maynard blocked my path, towering over me with that suffocating authority of his.

"Patricia, Darlene told me everything. She saw you sneak into the storage room and sabotage the last lifeboat. You want to throw a tantrum, fine. But to go as far as hurting Darlene? I'm so disappointed in you."

I turned my head to the side and let out a cold laugh. "You actually believe her?"

Maynard's face darkened. "Darlene doesn't lie. She's not like you—spiteful and manipulative."

The cruise ship had already sunk. There was no evidence left, nothing but Darlene's word. Yet Maynard took her side without question.

As Maynard spoke, Darlene quickly stepped in. She clutched his sleeve like she was afraid I might say something to expose her.

With that innocent, wounded look she always wore, she murmured, "Maynard, don't be so harsh on Patricia. After all, she's your wife. It's only natural that she'd be jealous of how well you treat me…"

A sharp sound echoed through the room.

A red handprint bloomed across her face.

If I hadn't just gotten out of the hospital and been so drained of strength, I would have slapped her clean across the room.

Everyone froze.

Maynard stared at me wide-eyed. But his shock quickly gave way to fury.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed me to the floor. His fists and feet followed like a storm. He hit me over and over.

I didn't fight back. I wanted him to kill me. I wanted it to end right there.

"Go on. That's all you've got? Or did your side piece already drain every ounce of strength from you?" I spat between shallow breaths.

It was like something snapped in Maynard. He hit even harder, driving his fist straight into my lower stomach with brutal force.

I was left battered and bruised. Every inch of me ached from the assault.

Lying there, I realized maybe I should have chosen a quicker way to die.

Another punch flew toward my face—but this one never landed.

Derek caught Maynard's arm in mid-air, then punched him square in the jaw.

Maynard crashed to the ground.

Before he could react, Derek had him pinned.

I was covered in bruises; not a single patch of skin was left unscathed. My organs felt like they were twisting inside me. I was so close to dying, but Derek had to ruin it.

He straddled Maynard, pinning him to the floor. Rage was radiating from him. "She's dying! Do you even realize that? You were about to beat her to death!"

Maynard struggled beneath him. "She deserved it! She went after Darlene first."

Derek snapped, "Are you blind? She's provoking you on purpose. Patricia is suffering from severe depression. She's suicidal!"

"Suicidal?" Maynard scoffed.

"She wouldn't dare. She fought tooth and nail to steal the title of 'Mrs. Hansen'. Now she wants to throw it all away? I don't buy it."

Waldo stood off to the side, wailing through his tears. "Mom's mean! She hit Ms. Thompson. I don't want her to be my mom anymore!"

My head was pounding from all the noise. It felt like it was about to split open. While they argued, I quietly made my way to the rooftop.

The house was only four stories tall. Falling from that height might not kill me, but there was a rusted metal pitchfork in the lawn. If I landed just right, it would pierce straight through me.

I took a deep breath, letting the wind rustle my hair.

I used to be terrified of heights. But now, there was no fear left—only a desperate longing for peace.

I stepped forward and leapt.

But just as my feet left the edge, a pair of arms yanked me backward, pulling me hard against the rooftop.