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...”

My little grandson’s childish yet chilling words echoed in my ears.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

If I hadn’t gotten up tonight to drink water, I never would’ve discovered the peanut oil he had poured on the stairs.

If I had walked down those steps tomorrow morning...

I didn’t dare imagine what might have happened.

My most beloved grandson—just because I refused to buy him ice cream—wanted me dead.

I let out a bitter laugh.

The last bit of affection in my heart vanished completely.

This house, and everyone inside it, filled me with suffocating disgust.

I returned to my room. Just then, the real estate agent called. A buyer had been found—ready to pay 9.5 million in full.

The handover and contract signing would take place in four days.

I agreed without hesitation.

Four days from now—the exact day Jameson was holding the golden wedding celebration for Sabrina.

With everyone gone to play their happy family, I could settle the deal quietly.

By the time they came back from their wedding, they would find the house gone.

I also booked a plane ticket to leave the country that same day.

By the time they realized anything, I’d be far away—untraceable.

The private investigator had given me all the photos.

Dozens, nearly hundreds of snapshots capturing Jameson and Sabrina’s affair—intimate moments, hotel records, spanning from their youth to now.

I stared at the images. At first, I laughed. Then, tears slowly streamed down my cheeks.

I wasn’t crying over his betrayal—I was grieving the fifty years I had wasted on a man like him.

—

On the fourth day, for the first time in fifty years, I allowed myself to sleep in.

I didn’t get up to make breakfast for the family.

But I was jolted awake by my daughter-in-law’s shrill shouting and furious pounding on the door.

“Mom! Open the door! Hurry up!”

When I opened it, she stood there fuming with anger.

Without even a greeting, she snapped at me, “Why didn’t you make breakfast? The whole family went to work hungry because of you!”

I looked at this woman—who hadn’t cooked a single breakfast in fifty years—and without a word, I slapped her hard across the face.

Then I gave a cold laugh and said, “If I don’t make breakfast, can’t you?”

She never expected me to hit her. Eyes brimming with tears, she ran off to complain to my son and husband.

When I went downstairs, they were all waiting—Jameson, my son, and my grandson, who was wailing dramatically in the corner.

Jameson barked, “Can you stop throwing tantrums? Look at what this house has become!”

“You don’t cook, you don’t do laundry, and now you’re even hitting your daughter-in-law. What kind of mother-in-law are you?”

I let out a cold laugh. “Then let Sabrina be the mother-in-law.”

“Starting today, I’m done. No more housework. Whoever wants to do it can do it!”

Jameson’s face turned dark with rage. “Julienne, don’t regret this! Even if you beg me later to take you back, I won’t forgive you!”

My son chimed in bitterly, “If you’re going to be this heartless, don’t expect me to take care of you in your old age.”

I said nothing. Just turned and went upstairs.

In a few minutes, I packed everything I needed, dragging my suitcase down the stairs toward the door.

As I passed through the living room, Sabrina happened to come in.

Seeing me with my suitcase, she feigned surprise. “Oh? Leaving already?”

“You’re all too much. How can you let Julienne go out alone at her age?”

Jameson’s voice dripped with mockery. “She’s old but still wants to run away from home—who can stop her?”

No one tried to stop me.

No one asked where I was going.

They were just waiting to see me fail.

As I pulled my suitcase through the front door, Jameson suddenly called out behind me, like he remembered something.

“Don’t forget—you’d better show up to help at Sabrina’s wedding in three days! Otherwise, don’t even dream about ever coming back to this house again!”