My husband wanted his childhood sweetheart to taste the delicious lingonberry flavors, so he sent my mother to gather some of it. She braved the rain to climb the mountain and pick them, but encountered a landslide. When I arrived at the hospital, all I saw was my mother's lifeless body, clutching a branch of the berry tightly in her hand. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to reach my husband by phone. When I found that he was updating his social media with intimate photos of himself and that woman, I lose my mind. They would pay for this.

“Our condolences. We apologize for not reaching her on time,” said one of the rescue team members, sincerity evident in their words. “The rain was pouring heavily and the terrain was quite challenging. The area she went to is prone to landslides, but that's not an excuse. This is our fault.” 

My eyes widened involuntarily, and I knew it made me appear as if I were holding back anger. But I was too shocked to look away or blink. Every movement system in my body felt like they were having a major shutdown.

“Why is she angry? It's not even our fault,” muttered a younger rescue team member beside me. He seemed annoyed. “Besides, who the heck is in their right mind allowed an old woman to go to the forest alone to pick berries in such heavy rain?” 

“Shush, Hansen,” the senior rescuer reprimanded. 

“What? I’m not taking a blame for an old lady’s death which was actually the fault of her guardian!”  The younger member grew angrier as he spoke. “I know our job is to save lives, but we're not God. We can't bring someone back to life after they've been buried six-feet under landslide. It was an accident.”

“That's enough, Hansen!” The older rescuer snapped. “Hansen is our newest member. He's still learning the ropes, and he needs to keep his mouth shut immediately,” he said to me with regret, glaring at Hansen at the end. 

“We are really sorry,” with that, they walked away. I didn’t understand why mother insisted on going to the mountain in the midst of heavy rain. As I tried to process what had happened, Hansen's words echoed in my mind. 

“Wait!” With great effort, I finally snapped out of mind and hastened to catch up with them. “What did you say? W-what did my mother go up the mountain in the middle of the rain for?” 

Hansen's eyes widened. The two rescue teams exchanged glances before turning back to me. He seemed hesitant before answering.

“She went to pick lingonberries. Did she want the berries so badly that she was willing to risk her life for them? Or did someone send her to do it? Was it you who wanted it? Do you regret it now that this has happened?”

When they told me the cause of her death, it felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck me. My mind went blank, and for a moment, I couldn't comprehend what I was hearing. The words echoed in my ears, heavy and suffocating. How could such a tragic fate befall her? She had gone out innocently, simply to gather wild vegetables. The realization hit me like a wave crashing over me, leaving me stunned and paralyzed. In that moment, the world around me seemed to fade into a blur, and the weight of grief settled upon me like a suffocating cloak.

In an instant, clarity pierced through the fog of shock and grief. Without a moment's hesitation, I grabbed my phone and began dialing my husband's number with frantic urgency, my fingers trembling against the screen. 

“The number you have dialed is not in service.”

Each unanswered ring fueled my desperation, driving me to persist despite the mounting anxiety and dread in my chest. With each failed attempt to reach him, frustration surged through me like a relentless tide, compelling me to redial again and again. Consumed by a mixture of rage and despair, I slammed the phone down with a force at the end. 

I couldn't think of anyone else who would make such an unreasonable demand to eat wild vegetables apart from my husband.

I opened WhatsApp, my fingers trembling as I navigated with a mix of dread and determination. Intent on calling him again, my gaze shifted to the top of the screen where his recent status update caught my eye.  A familiar profile picture that pierced through my already shattered emotions. 

[My dear wife looks stunning!]

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as I stared at the image, my heart sinking with the realization of what it meant. It was a picture of him, smiling warmly alongside her—the woman I had suspected, the mistress he had kept hidden from me. The sight pierced through me like a dagger, unleashing a torrent of emotions—betrayal, disbelief, and a consuming fury that threatened to engulf me. 

At the same time, I began to speculate why my mother insisted on picking the wild berries in heavy rain. Tears fell as I looked at the sweet smiles of the two people on the screen. “I will make this pair of adult pay!”

After settling affairs with my mother's remains, I returned home in a daze, holding a flimsy death certificate in my hand.

“Where have you been?” My husband began bombarding me with questions the moment I stepped into the house. “You've been gone for days without a word, not even a call. Have you been out seeing another man?”

What a ridiculous question. I forced myself to suppress the overflowing hatred in my heart and asked him, “I disappeared without a word? I called you over and over, but you didn't pick up. Where were you?”

“I have a business to do!” He snapped. He seemed regretful for a split second, then his face hardened again. “Didn't I tell you before that I was going on a business trip? Do you think I went out to meet another woman?”

I stared at him and sneered, throwing the printed photo in my hand hard at his face. The sharp edge of the paper cut him, leaving a bloody mark there.

He was seething with anger, his face contorted as if he might lunge at me, but his demeanor abruptly shifted when he glanced at the contents of the photograph. His expression hardened, and with a swift motion, he crumpled the picture in his hand.

“So what if I'm with her?” he snapped, his voice sharp with defiance. “You have no right to pry into my life. Why are you acting crazy? I don't understand you.”

His words cut through the air like a blade, leaving me momentarily speechless. The accusation stung, but I knew there was more at stake than just my feelings. I needed answers.

Before I could gather my thoughts, he fixed me with a piercing glare. “Where are the berries?” he demanded, his tone betraying a mix of frustration and urgency.

I stood there, paralyzed by the realization sinking in. It was really him all along—the person I had suspected but hoped against hope was innocent. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably as I screamed at him, “Why did you tell my mother go pick berries on a rainy day! She has been so good to you. How could you do that to her!”

My husband fell silent after hearing my words and said harshly, “If it weren't for your mother treating me so well, I would have divorced a crazy woman like you long ago!”

“And what’s the problem with me seeing another women? At least they're not jealous lunatics like you.” Then, he pushed me roughly and said, “Go get you mother and ask her to bring those berries out. I can still pretend that this isn’t happened. Otherwise, don’t blame me if I get rough. Esther has been feeling unwell lately and she said she just wants to eat that. I won't forgive you if you get in my way,” said my husband with a snort.

Anger filled my mind as I stepped forward and delivered a hard slap across his face, “My mother has been very good to you, how could tell her to do that!”

My slap seemed to ignite his anger. “Can’t you be over with it? Yes, she's been good to me. So what? I never forced her to. She did it of her own will.”

“Now, where’s the damn berries?” he yelled.

I didn't say anything, just holding the death certificate in my hand. He seemed to have reached the end of his patience and stepped forward to snatch the death certificate from my hands, viciously tearing it into tiny pieces.

He glared at me, frustration and impatience etched on his face. With a sudden burst of rage, he lunged forward and snatched the death certificate from my grasp, ripping it viciously into tiny shreds. The pieces of paper fell to the ground like confetti.

“I'm so sick of your act!” he spat, his words dripping with venom. He slammed the door shut and left.

Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision as I gathered all the torn pieces of paper. Each shred felt like a piece of my shattered heart, fragmented by the harsh reality I couldn't escape. With trembling hands, I painstakingly pieced the death certificate back together, methodically aligning the edges and securing them with tape. As I worked, a mixture of grief, anger, and determination fueled my movements.

Once the certificate was restored as best as I could manage, I placed it on the living room table, alongside the divorce agreement I had prepared long ago. But I wouldn't let him walk away unscathed. I wouldn't let him believe he could manipulate and deceive without consequence.

“I won't let you go away with this, Lucian Robinson,” I whispered to the empty room,

This marriage had been my wishful thinking all along. 

My father was a driver for the Robinson family, but he died in a car accident while trying to save Lucian's father. His last wish was for me to marry into a good family. When Mr. Robinson heard this request, he immediately agreed to arrange my marriage to Lucian in a fit of enthusiasm. He paid no attention to the fact that Lucian already had someone he deeply loved at the time.

And so, I married him. I knew that he had had a lover, and so did my mom. But I loved Lucian too much, and my mother wanted nothing more than for me to be happy. She thought, even if Lucian didn't love me, I wouldn't have to suffer by relying on the wealth of the Robinson family. So, as compensation for my marriage to Lucian, my mother always treated him well. 

We both fantasized about the day when we could truly become a family with Lucian. And he, in front of my mother, could also pretend to be a good son-in-law, showing extreme filial piety towards her. I thought our life would continue to be fine like this. Until one day, his girlfriend returned from overseas.

It was our third wedding anniversary. My mother had prepared a table full of food. All his favorites, and we both waited patiently, hoping to surprise him when he got home from work. We waited until midnight. My mother had reheated the dishes several times. My heart ached to see her tired face. Then, I told her that Lucian had urgent business came up and couldn't come home immediately, urging her to rest. I had to comfort her by saying that I would continue waiting for him.

After successfully convincing my mother to go to sleep, I received a message from an unknown number. Thinking it might be related to Lucian, I opened it.

I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a close-up photo of a man and a woman. The woman was absolutely beautiful, and the man was gently stroking her hair. The man was Lucian, and the woman, if I remember correctly, was his ex-girlfriend. She was back on our third anniversary.

My heart ached so much that I couldn't breathe. There were times when I really thought that Lucian was in love with me as I watched him get nicer and nicer to me over the years. But I never imagined I was always second to her.

The next day when Lucian returned, I asked him who he was with last night hysterically. I asked him if he remembered what day it was yesterday. Probably realized that I knew, he not only didn't feel guilty but also accused me, claiming I was being irrational.

“What are you so worked up about?” He asked me with his eyebrows knitted together. “Esther was just accompanying me. You’re being irrational. You don't know anything about business, so you can't possibly understand what I was going through! Even if I were to explain it, you wouldn't understand. Don't you forget Olivia that we are not in the same boat.”

Lucian's chest heaved, reflecting the anger simmering within him. He composed himself, then spoke to me again, this time in a softer tone. “You don't need to worry about Esther. We're just friends.”

Just friends? Who the hell did he think I was? Did he think that I would buy his nonsense? I lost my grip and went rage, shouting at him as a madman could ever be. 

Finally, he left, slamming the door behind him. Before that, he said to me, “You're a real nutcase. It's my worst luck to be married to you.”

I thought he would be a little more restrained when I exposed him, but instead, it brought about even more reckless behavior from him. Yet, he cared deeply about his reputation. He couldn't accept anyone accusing him of cheating in his marriage or suggesting that Esther was the misstress he kept. He arranged women as his secretaries and carried on with those disgraceful affairs without a shred of guilt.

He pretended too well, so well that no one believed he was cheating. They turned to me, saying I was insecure. They claimed I was lucky to have such a good husband, a man so rare that there was only one in a thousand in this world, and urged me to reflect on myself. 

The more I listened to what people said, the more I thought. Maybe he did love me after all, maybe it was true that there was nothing between him and Esther, and besides, no one is perfect. I started thinking that he just made a mistake and waited for him to come back and mend his ways.

I waited for him and remained patient. But what did I get? He grew increasingly blatant with his women, disrespecting me over time, even daring to shout at me in front of my mother. He treated us as if we were disposable, and tragically, it reached its peak when my mother lost her life.

The ringing of my phone woke me from my sleep. I wiped away the tears lingering in the corners of my eyes as I answer the call.  The first thing I heard was Lucian's frantic shout: “Olivia, you better get yourself down here and explain yourself before I end this and I swear you’re not gonna like it.”

I was sure he meant to end our marriage. He must have found the divorce letter I had left on the table. Sure, it was time for this loveless five-year marriage to come to an end. I propped myself up, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. After throwing on my casual yet semi-formal outfit, I took a breath before walked down the stairs. 

As soon as I walked through the door, Esther's pitiful cries reached my ears, sending a shiver down my spine. Without hesitation, I confronted Lucian sharply, my voice tinged with concern and anger.

“Why did you bring her to our house?” I demanded, trying to mask the rising panic I felt at the sound of Esther's distress.

Lucian's reaction was immediate and explosive. Lucian launched himself up from the sofa as soon as he saw me, and slammed his hand down on the table with a force that made me jump. His eyes bore into mine with a mixture of frustration and accusation.

“I've only been gone for a couple of days, and already you've turned into such a vile woman," he accused, his voice filled with disbelief and disdain. “What are you up to?” 

He held up the divorce agreement that I had already signed and questioned, his tone edged with frustration and disbelief, “I'm asking you, what exactly are you trying to achieve? Will this ever stop? Is this just a way to get my attention?”

I stood my ground, feeling the weight of my decision settling in my chest like a heavy stone. Straightening my shirt, I met Lucian's gaze with unwavering determination.

“No,” I replied firmly, my voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling within me. “I'm serious. I want to get a divorce.”

Lucian's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he processed my declaration. The room fell silent, tension thickening between us as we both grappled with the weight of my words.

“This isn't the time to play around, Olivia,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice cold and sneering. "You really think you can leave me?”

With a sudden, furious motion, Lucian ripped the divorce agreement to shreds in his hand.

“Don't you ever think you can leave me,” he continued, his voice now tinged with desperation and possessiveness. “I am your husband, and as long as I don't bring up divorce, you'll be my wife in this lifetime.”

“Oh, I see,” he said and paused. “It's because you think I'm cheating, so you want a divorce? You’re completely out of your mind. Even if you want a divorce, do you think your mother will allow it?”

“Where is she anyway?” Lucian demanded again. “Get her out here right now!”

Considering our impending divorce, I chose to ignore his outburst. I turned to Esther, who was standing stiffly– she covered all parts of her skin she even wrapped veil around her head, and asked, “Why are you here?”

As I directed my attention to Esther, Lucian's agitation escalated. He shouted at me, his words tinged with anger, “Where's your mom, Olivia? Tell her to come out! If she doesn't explain herself today, I'll call the police to sort this mess out.”

He approached Esther, his demeanor suddenly shifting to a softer tone. He spoke to her in hushed tones, his hand gently reaching out as if to comfort her. Esther, in response, slowly lifted her hand to remove the veil that concealed her face. The veil fell away, revealing Esther's complexion marred by angry red rashes, which shocked me.

Before I could ask anything, Lucian rushed to speak, “Just because you were jealous of her, you instigated your damn mother to poison her. Esther got lucky this time. What if she didn't survive next time? You've practically killed someone! How could I miss your wicked nature all this time?” 

Lucian's words hit me like a bomb, leaving me shattered. Unable to contain my anger, I tried to speak, but Esther interrupted. “I know you were jealous, but there was nothing between Lucian and me,” she said, wiping away her tears. “Why did you want to kill me?”

“Olivia, get your mom out here right now! Esther deserves an explanation.”  Lucian yelled in unbearable frustration. He threw the torn divorce agreement into the air. As the white fragments fell before my eyes, I felt like I was back to yesterday when Lucian tore up my mother's death certificate.

My eyes were red with tears, and I couldn't hold back my anger any longer. I stepped forward and slapped him across the face. “Who do you think you are to speak about my mom like that? Why do you keep accusing her?”

Lucian seemed infuriated. He scoffed and said mockingly, “You think I accused her unfairly?” 

He forcefully shoved his phone into my hand. “Here’s the proof. Take a good look. See if I'm wrong about your two-faced mother.” 

The phone played a video. In it was someone wearing a headscarf, bearing a strong resemblance to my mom. She nervously handed over a lunch box with some wild berries in it at the counter and said something before leaving. Later, Esther came down and took away the lunch box. Glancing at the date on the screen, it wrote October 20, 2020. It was a day after my mother's death.

“This can’t be right,” I gritted my teeth, refusing to believe it.