Not long after our wedding, both families began pressing us for children. The whispers and pointed gazes followed me everywhere.

Enduring the endless gossip, I presented the infertility diagnosis.

From that moment, my mother-in-law’s demeanor shifted. Her once amiable tone turned sharp, laced with ridicule. She sneered, her words dripping with disdain as if I were neither man nor woman. Again and again, she lamented her son’s misfortune, how someone as talented and handsome as Hayden had ended up with a wife who couldn’t bear children.

Her scorn cut deep, but what hurt more was seeing my own parents push me toward medical treatment as if I were some defective product that needed fixing.

One evening, as the weight of their expectations bore down on us, Hayden sighed.

“Ella, maybe I should just tell them the truth that I want to dance and don’t want children.”

I reached for his hand, holding it tightly, my voice calm yet firm.

“Hayden, even if your mother accepts it, can you withstand the pressure from my parents?”

“I’m a woman. I can endure their scolding and their criticisms. But can you? Are you ready to sacrifice your dance career for this?”

His lips parted, but no words came. He fell silent.

That day, I spoke softly, my words a quiet promise.

“You can keep dancing for a few more years. If one day you change your mind and want to be a father, just tell me. I’ll have the procedure reversed so we can have a baby.”

“No matter what, I will always support you.”

In the second year of our marriage, Hayden secured an opportunity for self-funded training. Without a second thought, I took money from the furniture business and sent him off to study in another city.

From that day on, his mother changed. She stopped mocking me for being infertile, no longer throwing cruel words like daggers at my heart. Instead, she often returned to her hometown, claiming she preferred the fresh countryside air, that the small apartment I had bought for her felt stifling.

I thought she had finally accepted me, that she was giving us space as a couple.

In reality, she was in another city, caring for her three precious grandchildren.

That was when the truth hit me like a slap to the face: Hayden had never gone for training. He had used my money to support his mistress and raise their children.

I swallowed the ache in my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady.

"Hayden, do you really think having children erases your betrayal? Did you ever stop to consider my feelings?"

Seeing the sorrow in my eyes, a flicker of guilt flashed across Hayden’s face.

"I'm sorry, Ella. I never wanted you to suffer again… and I didn’t want children disrupting our life."

"Eulalie said that by having these children, she’s fulfilled her dream of being a mother. She swore to raise them alone, never remarry, and never interfere in our lives. If you're willing, she even agreed to let them respect you as their godmother one day."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"How considerate of Eulalie. Afraid that I’d have no one to care for me, she selflessly gave birth to three sons to fulfill my need for filial piety. Should I get on my knees and thank her? Otherwise, I really might have been left all alone."

Hayden smiled indifferently as if the weight of his words meant nothing.

"There’s no need for that. Eulalie may be younger than you, but she’s mature and understanding. She knows her situation is complicated, yet she has never once complained. She has devoted herself to raising the children, so I wouldn’t have to worry."

"Now that the kids are older and our financial situation has improved, I think it’s time to give her an explanation. We’ll set aside a million from the demolition compensation, reparation for her hardships over the past ten years. We’ll also buy her a four-bedroom apartment nearby so the children can stay with her. They’re used to being with her, after all."

His voice remained casual as if he were making an ordinary business transaction.

"I’ll visit them occasionally, fulfilling my duty as a father."

Every word landed like a hammer against my chest. I opened my mouth, but my throat was dry, the words barely forming.

"Hayden, are you planning to keep two households?"

"Don’t you think you’re being heartless? How do you expect me to face our family and friends?"

For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face.

"Ella, I know this isn’t fair to you, but haven’t you always said you don’t care about what others think? That as long as we’re happy, nothing else matters?"

His expression darkened, his gaze locking onto mine. "What do you mean now? Are you asking me to be heartless and abandon them?"

"Ella, I’m a father. You don’t have children, so you can’t possibly understand what that means. I can’t just turn my back on them; it’s my responsibility."

After saying that, he rose to his feet, casting me a silent glance before adding, "Ella, I know this is hard for you to accept right now, and that’s okay. Just take your time. I still hope you can come to terms with it. After all, they carry my blood. I can’t abandon them."

With that, he called the relatives and friends outside, leaving me alone on the sofa, slumped in quiet defeat.

I reached for a bottle of liquor, leaned back, and drank in silence.

Moments later, my phone lit up, a message from the private investigator. Photos and videos loaded onto my screen.

A cold chuckle slipped from my lips as I clicked on them.

Ever since the truth surfaced, my mother-in-law and the others had stopped pretending. They openly walked in and out of hotels and amusement parks, no longer caring who saw them. The investigator had caught it all.

There were photos of the five of them dining at a restaurant, of Hayden and Eulalie, playing games with the children, of them escorting the kids to extracurricular classes together, like a perfect little family.

They were just ordinary family photos, yet my eyes burned as if seared by invisible flames.

If my father’s spirit could see this from the afterlife, he would have slapped me across the face and called me a fool.

But he was gone. He had passed away a year ago from late-stage liver cancer.

Before he died, he held my hand tightly, his voice weak yet firm. He told me to live well, not to burden myself with pressure, and that if life became too hard, I could always adopt a child.

I thought I had already cried every tear I had to shed. But, staring at that picture-perfect reunion, my vision blurred once more.

How could he do this to me after everything I had sacrificed for him?

And his mother, how could she?

Even when the furniture factory struggled, I never once cut off her monthly allowance of twenty thousand dollars. She had claimed she needed it for therapy and health supplements, citing anemia and heart problems.

At dawn, I called the relocation team.

“I agree to invest the compensation funds into the financial management fund. I’ll come by later to sign the papers."

By the time Hayden returned, I was already drunk, my face streaked with tears.

He helped me lie down, his touch laced with guilt, wiping my face gently with a warm towel.

The scent of “Mysterious Royal Jelly” cologne clung to him, turning my stomach.

So, he had spent the night with them, and under the roof, I had paid for his mother.

Hayden fed me warm water, cradling my head as he whispered, “I’m sorry” over and over, his breath brushing against my hair.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like I had gone back ten years, back to when my father had stood firmly against us, and we were struggling to survive in a damp basement apartment.

Life had been cruel back then. My father had severed all financial support, vowing that I would never marry a pretty-faced man with no future.

We had survived on cold steamed buns and instant noodles, but back then, Hayden had truly loved me.

He never once complained, never wavered, always by my side as we chased down orders, doing whatever it took to get by.

And whenever we had something decent to eat, he would always save it for me.

I remember a night after one of his performances, someone gave him a chicken drumstick.

He had tucked it into his coat pocket, keeping it hidden for an entire day. Then, when night fell, he pulled it out with a grin, holding it up to me.

"Eat quickly," he had said, his eyes full of warmth.

That night, after I had eaten my fill, he had held me close and wept, blaming himself for dragging me down. His voice trembled as he begged me to leave him behind, to go home and never look back.

Now, I clung to Hayden, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Hayden, let them go, okay? We can still support them financially, but please… don’t see them anymore. Please?"

His entire body tensed. He froze.

Reality struck me like a slap. The haze of alcohol lifted.

I pushed myself up, stepping away from the bed, my lips curling into a bitter smile as I stared at him.

"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why didn’t you come to me when you wanted children?"

I looked at him, my heart splintering under the weight of betrayal.

"Hayden, how could you be so cruel to me?"

The pain clawed at my chest, raw and unbearable. My fist slammed against the glass cabinet. The sound of shattering glass filled the room as shards scattered in every direction. A sharp sting shot through my hand, and crimson drops began trailing down my fingers.

For days, I buried myself in work, handling the relocation of the furniture factory.

That day, just as I concluded negotiations on a merger with Mr. Ashford, my phone rang.

It was Hayden.

I opened the message without emotion.

[Ella, come home tonight. I have something to discuss with you.]

Knowing this conversation was inevitable, I typed a single-word reply.

[Okay.]

When I pushed open the door, I stopped short, my breath catching.

For a moment, I thought I had walked into the wrong house.

The crystal chandeliers and wall sconces bathed the room in warm light. An anime played softly in the living room, where three little boys laughed between bites of snacks.

The dining table was covered with steaming dishes, the air thick with the rich scent of red wine. In the center sat a towering three-tiered cake, its candles flickering. A bouquet of roses, fresh, vibrant, almost too perfect, rested beside it.

Hayden approached with a bright smile, effortlessly taking my bag from my hands.

"Ella, you’re back. Everything’s ready. We were just waiting for you to start dinner."

Noticing my frozen expression, he placed a hand on my back, gently guiding me toward the table.

"Today is the triplets' birthday. I thought this would be a good chance for you to meet them, to bond with them." His voice was light and casual, as if it were normal like this wasn’t ripping me apart.

"So, I arranged a little celebration at home."

Then, he called out, "Diego, Mateo, Bruno, come meet Aunt Ella. After you greet her later, she'll officially be your godmother."

I froze. This wasn’t just an introduction; it was a trap.

The three children barely spared me a glance, their attention fixed on the glowing anime projection. Only after Hayden coaxed them did they reluctantly shuffle over, dragging their feet.

I studied them, searching for something, anything, that resembled Hayden. But their round faces, small eyes, and short, chubby figures bore no trace of him. Especially their expressions, impatience, irritability, and complete uninterest. They carried none of the sharp, striking features he had in his youth.

The tallest boy eyed me with blatant disdain.

"So, you're Ella? You're really ugly, not even close to how pretty my mom is."

I barely had time to process the words before he turned, frowning.

"Mom, is this really the godmother you found for us? I don’t want her. She’s old and ugly."

The other two pouted in agreement.

"If Big Brother doesn’t want her, neither do I. Going out with her would be embarrassing. She dresses so poorly."

Hayden immediately covered the boy’s mouth, his voice firm but coaxing.

"Diego, don’t be rude. Have you forgotten what Dad told you? If you call her godmother, she’ll buy you big toy cars, a big house, and more toys than you can count."

Then, he turned to me, his expression calm, too calm.

"Ella, since the kids are willing to accept you as their godmother, it’s only fair you show some sincerity. I think three million per child from the relocation compensation sounds reasonable, plus another million for a four-bedroom apartment for Eulalie."

"Money is just an external thing. You don’t have children of your own, so sooner or later, it will all go to them anyway. If you win them over now, when you’re old, they’ll take care of you. I’m doing this for your own good."

The tallest boy, clearly the eldest, rolled his eyes before sighing dramatically.

"Mom said you don’t have kids, and that’s just pathetic. We’ll barely accept you as our godmother but don’t be stingy. You have to treat us well. Otherwise, when you’re old, I’ll make you pick up trash and lock you in a dark room to eat leftovers."

Hayden nodded approvingly.

"My son’s got a point. If their godmother treats them well, of course, they’ll return the favor, right?"

"Don’t worry, your godfather has money. Whatever they want, just let me know."

As he spoke, he grabbed my arm, his grip firm, his gaze full of unspoken meaning.

I sneered and shoved him away.

"Who said I wanted to take them as my godsons? Toy cars? Houses? Where’s your real mother? Why isn’t she buying them for you? What’s the point of dragging an outsider into this?"

The eldest’s face twisted with rage. Without warning, he slammed his head into my stomach, his tiny fists pounding against me.

"How dare you talk about my mom! You’re old and stingy; you deserve to be childless!"

"Asking you to buy us a house was just out of pity. Who’d want an ugly freak like you as a godmother?"

The other two sprang forward, clawing at my clothes, their voices sharp with childish cruelty.

"We don’t want you here, ugly freak! Get out!"