If they said I was unreasonable, then so be it. It didn’t harm me in the slightest. But if I let this resentment fester inside, that was what truly nauseating.

I knew they wouldn’t leave on their own accord. After all, they had nowhere else to go. But that wasn’t my problem.

About an hour later, I gave them my final ultimatum. "I gave you the chance to leave willingly, and you didn’t take it."

As soon as I finished speaking, there was a knock at the door.

Visibly startled, Eliza clutched her so-called grandson tightly.

I went to open the door and found two property management staff standing there.

That was right—I had called the property management. If they wouldn’t leave on their own, then I would force them out.

While my mother-in-law bickered with the property staff, Patrick remained unusually quiet. I knew this was a blow to his pride.

I had loved him for seven years—how could I not understand his thoughts?

"Enough already. Andrea, you’ve really outdone yourself. I’m leaving today, and even if you beg me, I won’t come back," he said, acting all righteous.

He picked up Kevin and walked out. Seeing their son leave, my in-laws grew even angrier.

"Andrea, what’s wrong with you? Where do you expect us to go in the middle of the night?"

"San Francisco is a big city, and your son is so capable—he can surely find a place for you to stay. Besides, where you go is none of my business. If you don’t leave now, the next people coming won’t be the property management staff."

At that moment, I realized that once I decided on something, I would see it through no matter what.

Just like how I was now resolute about ending things with Patrick—just as I had once been so determined to love him.

My mother-in-law finally understood what I meant. She cursed me while hurriedly grabbing a few important items from her room. After they left, I didn’t rest either.

I cleaned the entire house, packing all their belongings into boxes.

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa. Only then did I start feeling the pain in my lower abdomen.

Before leaving the hospital, the doctor had repeatedly told me to rest in bed.

Curled up on the sofa like a pitiful wreck, I didn’t dare call my mom. I was afraid she would scold me.

Back then, they had warned me that I was chasing after Patrick, that I loved him more than he loved me, and that I would suffer for it. But I believed that if I loved him enough, he would eventually love me back.

However, I was wrong.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. The pain became unbearable, and I ended up back in the hospital. As I lay on the cold hospital bed, tears streamed down my face.

At dawn, Patrick called.

"Andrea, apologize to Mom right now, and we’ll come back." His condescending tone made me nauseous. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?

They say the loved always act with impunity—and it couldn’t be any truer. He took my deep love for granted and acted without restraint.

Ignoring his words, I said, "Patrick, meet me at the Civil Affairs Bureau at 9 am today. If you don’t show up, prepare to be sued."

After saying that, I hang up. Even though I was in pain, I was determined to drag myself there and end this marriage.

Back then, I had been so eager to marry him. Now, I was just as desperate to escape.

I waited for him, but Patrick didn’t show up. I was stood up.

At the Civil Affairs Bureau, I inquired about the divorce process. If mutual agreement couldn’t be reached, I could file a lawsuit, but there would be a waiting period.

"If you can find evidence of wrongdoing or other proof of a broken relationship, the timeline for a lawsuit can be shortened," the staff member explained.

Her words struck a chord. After returning to the hospital, my attending physician scolded me.

"If you keep this up, do you even care about your life?"

I sighed and didn't respond. For now, all my plans would have to wait until I was discharged.

I was discharged a week later. During that time, Patrick hadn’t called me even once.

I had finally seen how cold and heartless he could be. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel too upset—perhaps because I knew our divorce was imminent.

With no expectations, there was no room for heartbreak.

When I returned home, I discovered I couldn’t get in.

I immediately guessed they had changed the door code. This family truly had no boundaries.

I called a locksmith to open the door, only to find the house completely transformed. All of my belongings were gone—even the tiny photo of my daughter.

At that moment, I hated Patrick and his family to the core.

But I quickly calmed down. Their extreme actions might actually serve as solid evidence for the divorce I so desperately needed.

I considered changing the locks but hesitated.

I wondered—if they didn’t know I was back, would they let their guard down and do something revealing?

So, I installed surveillance cameras around the house and then hid in the bedroom.

It wasn’t long before my in-laws returned.

My mother-in-law, as usual, spoke loudly the moment she entered.

"In a few days, Patrick will bring Kevin back, and our family will finally be reunited."

My father-in-law’s voice followed, hesitant and cautious. "But I feel like Patrick isn’t entirely willing to divorce Andrea. Do you think he still has feelings for her?"

I couldn’t help but laugh silently at his naivety.

"Feelings? What feelings?" Eliza scoffed. "Patrick’s heart has always been with Ria. Why else would he have rushed to her side the moment she got into trouble? Let me tell you, Ria and Patrick are the perfect match. Their bond since childhood is unmatched."

Her words hit like a dagger. Ria—Patrick’s childhood sweetheart. Back then, part of his tuition fees had even been paid by Ria. His entire family owed her gratitude.

I clenched my fists tightly.

"Then why doesn’t Patrick just divorce Andrea? Why all this hesitation?" My father-in-law, honest as he was, seemed genuinely confused—at least compared to my mother-in-law.

"You’re so naïve," she said, her tone laced with disdain. "Patrick has been living in her house all these years. And even though those savings were under his name, it takes time to transfer them around. Isn’t that obvious?"

Finally, the truth spilled out. This was their real motive.

"If Andrea comes back and finds us still here, with the password changed, she won’t let it go," my father-in-law said, a trace of concern was evident in his tone.

"Let her try," my mother-in-law sneered. "What can she possibly do? She put on a brave front that day, but you two were terrified. It’s been days, and there’s been no sign of her. See? Nothing to worry about."

Watching her smug face on the surveillance feed, I was overwhelmed with the urge to burst out and slap her.

"After all these years, she’s always obeyed me. I know her too well. If she can tolerate staying married, it’s better that way. Sure, Patrick and Ria have feelings for each other, but Ria’s circumstances can't compare to Andrea’s. Other than giving us a grandson, Ria doesn’t have much to offer. If Andrea can turn a blind eye and just keep living like this, it wouldn’t be so bad."

Her calculations were meticulous, her plans for her son’s future perfectly laid out.

"To be fair, Andrea isn’t bad," my mother-in-law continued. "Her only mistake was insisting on having just one child. If she’d had a boy, fine—but she had to have a girl. And when she finally got pregnant again, her body failed her, and she lost it..."

Hearing them mention my daughter, Amy, filled me with regret and anguish.

I wanted to storm out and confront them, to demand answers. But my rationality won out over my impulses.

I gathered all our bank cards and calculated every piece of property and asset shared between me and Patrick. My goal was clear—I wanted him to walk away with nothing.

Before I could finish, I heard commotion outside. Patrick had returned, and he brought Ria and her son with him.

They were openly trying to take over my home.

I steadied myself, suppressing the surge of anger, and walked out of my room. My sudden appearance startled my in-laws.

"When did you get back?" my mother-in-law blurted out, clearly alarmed.

Ignoring her, I fixed my gaze on Ria.

Sensing the intensity of my stare, she hurriedly put on her innocent, helpless façade.

"I really have nowhere else to go. Andrea, if it bothers you, I’ll leave right now," she said timidly.

Ria’s act didn’t fool me. I saw her for what she truly was—a two-faced manipulator.

It struck me how her demeanor—delicate and pitiful—had always been the kind that men seemed to adore.

I didn’t explode in anger. Instead, I smiled.

"Oh, you had nowhere to go? Then you can stay. You can have my room—I’ll be out of town for a few days."

My words left them all dumbfounded. They looked at me as if I were a ghost.

Patrick, who seemed braced for a fight, was equally taken aback by my calm reaction.

Their disbelief didn’t bother me. In fact, I welcomed it. The happiness they felt now would only make their eventual downfall that much sweeter.

I left the house without another word, their confused stares burning into my back.

In truth, I wasn’t going out of town. I just didn’t want to stay under the same roof as them. Sitting in my car, I started looking for buyers for the house.

Selling the house wasn’t going to be easy. For Patrick’s family, this house was their anchor in San Fransisco—a symbol of stability. Even though my parents had bought it, the painful memories I had here outweighed any attachment I felt. Selling it would be a way to cut ties and give them a lesson they’d never forget.

The location was prime, so I hoped to find a buyer quickly. But after three days, there wasn’t a single response to my listing.

Desperate, I decided to step up my efforts. I stationed myself outside a real estate agency, keeping an eye out for someone wealthy but pliable—a buyer who would make the process easy.

Luck was on my side. A man pulled up in a modest car, exuding an air of urgency. Modesty in a vehicle often signals someone cautious with their money—someone who might also be easier to negotiate with.

After preparing my pitch, I approached him. "Excuse me, sir, could I have a word with you?"

When he looked up, I realized I recognized him—it was Karter Miles, a lawyer I’d met at the courthouse.

"Mr. Miles, what a coincidence..." I said awkwardly, memories of our first encounter flashing back. That day, I had been at my lowest, clutching my stomach in pain, waiting fruitlessly for Patrick.

"Indeed, quite the coincidence. What brings you here?" he asked, his tone was neutral but curious.

Not wanting to divulge too much, I brushed it off with a vague excuse. Karter didn’t seem convinced. After finishing his errand, he approached me again.

"I know a bit about your situation," he said. "If you trust me, I might be able to help."

His offer gave me pause. After some thought, I decided to confide in him, sharing my plan to sell the house.

To my surprise, Karter agreed to help.

We carefully mapped out the next steps, ensuring the process would be both swift and seamless. With the plan set, I returned home to inform Patrick.