The real estate agent quickly agreed to the sale.

As I ended the call, I stood in the kitchen, staring at everything around me.

I remembered when we first bought this house—how I had poured my heart into designing this very kitchen because I wanted to cook for Jameson for the rest of my life.

But all the effort I’d devoted over the past fifty years had been taken for granted.

This house had been bought with my entire life savings when we got married, and the property was under my name.

Letting go wasn’t easy, but now that I’ve decided to sell it, I feel a sense of relief.

Just then, Jameson walked into the kitchen and ordered, "Give me the jade pendant I gave you when we got married."

“It’ll look perfect on Sabrina at the wedding.”

I stared at him in disbelief, wondering if I had misheard.

“That pendant was your token of love,” I said, eyes fixed on him. “You told me it would be mine for life, that it symbolized our bond. You promised you’d never take it back.”

Jameson frowned and replied with feigned patience, “Julienne, when did you become so petty? I’m not giving it to Sabrina. I just want her to wear it for the ceremony. She’ll return it afterward.”

I let out a bitter laugh and clapped back, “And what if I say no? That pendant is mine. I won’t let her wear it.”

His face instantly turned cold at my refusal. Scoffing, he spat, “Then I’ll just take it myself.”

Before I could stop him, he reached out and yanked the pendant from my neck.

I tried to resist, but he snatched it away anyway.

I followed him into the living room, only to watch as he handed the pendant over to Sabrina.

But as she took it, she fumbled, and the pendant slipped from her hand.

Clang!

It hit the floor with a crisp, sharp sound.

I stared in disbelief as the jade pendant I had worn for fifty years broke into pieces before my eyes.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

With that broken pendant, the fifty years of love and devotion I had given Jameson were shattered too.

For a moment, panic flashed across Jameson’s face. He glanced at me instinctively.

Staring at the shattered jade, Sabrina’s eyes turned red. She looked toward me with faux remorse and said softly, “Julienne, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drop it.”

“Why don’t you tell me how much it cost? I’ll pay you back.”

Seeing the always-elegant, poised Sabrina now looking so fragile and apologetic, Jameson immediately forgot any guilt he had toward me and rushed to comfort her.

“It’s fine. Just a jade pendant—it’s not a big deal.”

“It wasn’t even worth that much anyway. Don’t feel bad, and you don’t need to pay her back.”

My son and daughter-in-law also gathered around her, trying to make her feel better.

To ease Sabrina’s guilt, my son pulled me aside and whispered urgently, “Mom, hurry and tell Mom Sabby it’s okay. Say you don’t mind. After all, it’s just a pendant.”

“Keeping the peace in the family is more important than anything. The pendant doesn’t matter.”

I stared at the son I raised for over thirty years, and suddenly realized—his heart had never truly been with me.

Not once.

Even when he was younger, it was the same. I used to scold him for playing on his phone too much, urging him to focus on his studies. But he always look at me with resentment.

On the other hand, Sabrina—she would sneak him phones behind my back. She played the “fun aunt,” and he adored her for it.

My silence was taken as agreement.

He pulled me in front of Sabrina and urged me again, “Come on, Mom. Just say it—you’re not mad.”

My heart felt like it was bleeding. I looked at Sabrina.

She looked right back at me.

And in her eyes—I saw a glint of triumph, a flash of malice behind her innocent facade.

At that moment, I knew.

She had dropped the pendant on purpose.

And now, my husband, my son, and my daughter-in-law were all pressuring me, cornering me...

For her.

I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and looked at her.

“Sister-in-law, I don’t mind. The pendant’s broken, and so be it.”

After saying that, I didn’t glance at any of them again.

I turned and went back into the kitchen. But not long after, Sabrina followed me in.

“Julienne, your husband and son treat you like this, and you still won’t divorce him?”

“Jameson never loved you!”

She walked up to me, her eyes filled with undisguised triumph.

She looked me up and down, and seeing my dirty, grease-stained apron, she sneered in mock pity.

“Look at yourself in the mirror—you’re nothing but a washed-up old woman.”

"Jameson is a professor at Vanderbilt University. How could he possibly take someone like you out in public? Every time there’s an important event, it’s me he takes, not you.”

With no one else around, Sabrina dropped all pretenses. Her arrogance surged. The mask of politeness was gone, and her naked malice showed through.

Just as I was about to ask why she hated me so much, she suddenly let out a cry and collapsed to the floor.

“Ow—Julienne, I didn’t mean to break your pendant. I really came to the kitchen to help and apologize!”

“Why did you push me?”

Jameson rushed in from outside. When he saw Sabrina lying on the floor, his face twisted in fury.

Without a word, he slapped me hard.

The force sent me crashing to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth.

“You vicious woman!”

Stunned, my ears ringing, I didn’t even have time to react.

Before he could strike again, Sabrina suddenly gasped, “Ah! My hand... it’s bleeding!”

The moment Jameson heard that, he forgot all about his anger—or my injuries. He scooped her up in his arms like she was made of porcelain and yelled for our son to drive them to the hospital.

And I?

I was left lying on the cold floor—my knees scraped raw, and my arm had slammed hard into the wall during the fall.

It was dislocated.

The pain turned my face deathly pale.

But outside, everything was silent again.

No one asked what had happened to me in the kitchen.

No one cared, so I had to call the ambulance myself.

At the hospital, they reset my dislocated shoulder and bandaged me up.

Just as I was about to go home, my phone rang.

It was my son, Jonathan.

“Mom, where are you? Why aren’t you at home?”

For a moment, I thought he’d found the blood I left behind in the kitchen. That maybe, finally, he was worried about me.

My heart softened, and I smiled faintly. “I'm fine. I’m at the hospital, but I’ll head home soon.”

“Which hospital?”

Before I could answer, I saw Jonathan sprinting toward me down the hallway.

His face was full of anxiety.

He rushed up and grabbed my arm—the one that had just been dislocated.

A sharp pain exploded through me. My face turned pale, and I couldn’t help but cry out.

But he didn’t seem to hear it. Or didn’t care.

He dragged me toward the elevator.

“Mom, hurry! Mom Sabby’s anemia is serious. She needs a blood transfusion—and only your blood type matches!”

I tried to stop him, to tell him I’d just dislocated that arm.

But the pain stole my voice. I had no strength left to resist.

All I could feel was my arm tearing apart again.

When we reached the fifth floor, Sabrina was already lying unconscious on the hospital bed, surrounded by people murmuring anxiously.

The moment Jameson saw me, he called the doctor in.

“Draw her blood,” he ordered.

I struggled with everything I had, shouting, “No! I don’t want to—I won’t give blood!”

But Jameson simply tried to soothe me with a tone full of false concern. “Julienne, Sabrina really needs it. Just endure it—it’s only a few needles.”

“Once it’s done, I’ll buy you some supplements to help you recover.”

He and our son pinned me down, ignoring my protests.

Jameson even told the doctor, “I’m her husband—I’ll sign the consent form. The woman on that bed is my sister-in-law, and this is a matter of life and death. What’s a little blood?”

I couldn’t fight back.

Held down tight, I had no choice.

They drew three full vials of blood from me.

And then, everything went black.

When I woke up, the hospital room was empty.

A nurse pushed the door open and came in, telling me I could go to the first floor to pay the fees and be discharged.

I grabbed her arm and asked, “Where’s my husband? My son and daughter-in-law—where did they go?”

She looked at me with a troubled expression, her eyes filled with sympathy and pity.

“Auntie, your family already left. They said you’re in good health and could go home on your own.”

I numbly completed the discharge process, limping as I paid the hospital bill by myself.

I couldn't even remember how I got home.

All I knew was that when I stepped into the house, the lights in the living room were bright. My son and daughter-in-law had already taken my grandson to bed.

And there, on the living room couch, my husband Jameson sat holding Sabrina intimately.

“Sabrina,” he said gently, “the wedding you’ve waited over fifty years for is finally coming true.”

“The biggest regret of my life was seeing you marry my brother, and I married Julienne out of spite.”

He held her tightly, his eyes red with emotion.

Sabrina choked up. “Jameson, you went abroad to study, and my parents forced me to marry. I didn’t even know until later that the man I was marrying was your brother.”

“I never loved him. I’ve only ever loved you.”

Overwhelmed, Jameson leaned in and kissed her passionately.

They clung to each other, completely unaware of—or perhaps uncaring about—my presence.

So this was the truth: Jameson married me not out of love, but to spite Sabrina.

I met Jameson while studying abroad. Being from the same country, we naturally drew close—sharing stories, meals, and quiet moments that made a foreign place feel a little more like home.

In time, that closeness turned into something deeper.

Jameson was the first to confess his feelings, and I said yes without hesitation.

The moment I completed my studies, I returned home and married him, ready to embrace the role of a devoted and loyal wife.

I believed I had married for love—when in truth, I had simply closed my eyes to everything else.

I couldn’t listen any longer. My heart swayed with dizziness.

On the third day, I took a cab to a divorce attorney’s office and asked them to draft the divorce agreement.

I had originally planned to leave some money behind—for my grandson, the youngest and the only one I still felt tenderness for.

My son and daughter-in-law were cold-hearted ingrates. But my grandson had done nothing wrong. I couldn't bring myself to blame the child.

I used all the savings I had left to hire a private investigator—to follow Jameson and Sabrina, and gather evidence of their affair.

Once that was done, I returned home.

When I walked in, Jameson immediately tried to play the doting husband.

“Julienne, here’s the health supplements I promised you at the hospital.”

He handed me several bags full of tonics and nourishing products.

I didn’t take them. I just looked at him, my face expressionless.

He grew uncomfortable under my stare, then stiffly added, “Four days from now is the golden wedding ceremony I’m holding for Sabrina. I need you to help greet the guests.”

So that’s what all the fake kindness was for.

He wanted me to be a servant at their wedding.

I must’ve shown too much in my expression, because his face suddenly twisted with frustration.

“Fine! If you don’t want the supplements, forget it!”

He turned around and stormed off.

“Grandma!”

Just as Jameson left, my little grandson came running toward me, stumbling as he threw himself into my arms.

His innocent face and big, sparkling eyes made my heart ache.

“Grandma, I want ice cream.”

He asked sweetly, blinking up at me.

I laughed and gently tapped his nose.

“You’ve had too much ice cream lately. No more for now.”

“You haven’t even been brushing your teeth properly. What if you get cavities?”

“Be good, brush your teeth every day, and then Grandma will buy you some. Okay?”

The boy’s smile instantly dropped. He burst into tears and pushed me.

“Grandma is mean! You won’t buy me ice cream!”

When pushing didn’t work, he took several steps back and ran at me full speed, trying to knock me down.

I staggered but managed to stay upright.

He had already run off by the time I steadied myself.

Sighing, I just chalked it up to childish tantrums. Kids didn’t know any better.

As I got older, I got tired easily. I went back to my room to rest.

Lying there for a while, I began to feel thirsty and got up to get some water.

As I stepped out of the bedroom and reached the top of the stairs, I saw something that froze me in place.

My grandson stood at the foot of the staircase—holding a bottle of peanut oil, pouring it all over the steps.

He mumbled to himself as he poured, “I hate Grandma. She won’t buy me ice cream. If Grandma dies, Grandpa can be with Grandma Sabby.”

“I like Grandma Sabby. She’s pretty and always buys me ice cream.”

“I want Grandma Sabby to be my real grandma...”