For miles around, everyone knew me as the epitome of a virtuous wife. Capable, accommodating, endlessly patient.

When Justin Farley's widowed sister-in-law, Brooklyn Simmons, brought her son to stay with us, her gaze lingered greedily on the master bedroom.

"This room is so spacious, so bright," she murmured. "If we could stay here, perhaps Tommy could forget the pain of losing his father, just for a little while..."

Justin hesitated, conflict flickering in his eyes. I didn't wait for him to choose. I simply smiled, gathered my bedding, and moved toward the door.

"It's fine. I'll squeeze in with my son."

The heaviest snow of the year fell today. Justin took the factory vehicle to pick up our son, Carter, from school.

But when Brooklyn's son started wailing about the cold, the car suddenly didn't have enough room. Only two passenger seats.

My son didn't argue. He smiled—heartbreakingly understanding for a child—and shouldered his backpack, stepping into the white drifts.

"It's okay, Dad. I can walk home."

The neighbors praised me as a saint and marveled at how sensible my son was. I only smiled. They didn't know the truth: my son and I had both been reborn.

In my previous life, Justin's blatant favoritism toward Brooklyn and Tommy drove me to divorce him. Shortly after I left, Carter was diagnosed with leukemia. Desperate, I swallowed my pride and begged Justin for money, begged him to find a bone marrow match.

He accused me of faking the illness to extort him and kicked me out.

In this life, I no longer hoped for his love. I didn't want his heart. I only wanted him to fulfill his duty as a father—to secure the resources my son deserved. To ensure Carter survived.

——

When Carter finally stumbled through the door, slush filled his shoes and his clothes were soaked through. His small face was flushed crimson, his skin burning—just like before.

Yet he forced the corners of his mouth up. "I'm fine, Mom. Don't worry."

My chest tightened. Tears pricked my eyes as I peeled the wet clothes from his shivering body and fed him fever reducers. Memories of our past life crashed over me.

Back then, Carter hadn't given up his seat. He'd insisted on coming home because he felt unwell. Justin decided he was throwing a tantrum. To "teach him a lesson," he dumped our sick son at the school, leaving him in the freezing cold five miles away for the entire night.

By the time I found him, sobbing and hysterical, he was unconscious with a high fever.

I glanced at the paper on the nightstand—Carter's diagnosis report. Fortunately, this time, we were early.

In this life, love was irrelevant. As long as Justin provided a bone marrow match for our son, I would endure anything.

Darkness had settled when Justin finally returned with Brooklyn and Tommy.

He walked in carrying bags of gifts, trailing the rich scent of spicy hotpot. It clashed violently with the sterile smell of rubbing alcohol in our room.

Justin caught my eye and looked away. "It was too cold today," he muttered, "so I took Brooklyn and Tommy out for a quick meal."

He paused. "You know how it is. She's been raising the boy alone for years. It hasn't been easy. And Tommy isn't like Carter—he's frail. He hasn't eaten well since he was a baby..."

I remained silent.

I simply looked at Tommy. Sturdy, round-faced, glowing with health—a stark contrast to my pale, shivering son.

A flicker of smugness passed through Brooklyn's eyes. She patted her son's head, effortlessly assuming the air of the hostess.

"Tommy, be a good boy. Share the toys Dad Farley bought with your little brother."

Tommy clutched the two identical toy cars to his chest and threw himself onto the floor, kicking and wailing.

"No! Dad Farley bought these for me! They're mine!"

Brooklyn feigned a scolding tone, looking at me with practiced helplessness. "I'm so sorry, Ava. Justin spoils him terribly..."

Instinctively, I looked at Carter. In the past, this was when he would cry, hurt by the injustice.

But now, his expression was eerily calm.

"Carter doesn't want them," he said flatly. "Leave them for Big Brother."

Pain sliced through my heart. He had learned the hardest lesson too young: an unloved child has no use for tears.

A flash of guilt crossed Justin's face. He stepped toward me as if to offer a hug.

I turned sideways, grabbing a cloth to wipe the table, neatly dodging his touch.

The guilt in his eyes hardened into displeasure.

"Since when did you become so petty?" he snapped. "Why are you holding a grudge against a child?"

My hand paused mid-air before I steadied myself. Calmly, I extended the medical report toward him.

"I need to tell you something." My voice held nothing. "Our son is sick. It's serious. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia."

I watched the color drain from his face.

"If we don't find a matching bone marrow donor immediately... he won't make it."

Justin stood frozen. His hands trembled as he took the thin sheets of paper, eyes scanning the diagnosis with growing horror.

"I'll make the calls," he stammered, voice thick. "I'll use every connection I have. We will find a match. Soon."

A breath I didn't know I was holding escaped my lips. I nodded. "Good. I'm going to put Carter to bed."

He moved to follow me, his instinct clearly to comfort his son, but Brooklyn was faster. Her hand darted out, pinching Tommy's arm where it was hidden from Justin's view.

"Ow!" Tommy shrieked, tears instantly welling. "I can't sleep! I need Uncle Justin to tell me a story! I can't sleep without him!"

Brooklyn launched into her performance immediately—a sigh, a mask of weary martyrdom. "Tommy, stop it. We're just guests here. We can't keep bothering your Uncle Justin with every little thing."

Justin halted, torn between the bedroom where his dying son lay and the crying nephew in the living room. Seeing his hesitation, I offered a faint, hollow smile.

"Go ahead. Don't keep the child waiting."

Unexpectedly, his expression darkened.

"Enough," Justin barked. "Tommy's in elementary school now. He needs to learn independence."

The smug smile on Brooklyn's face faltered. Her eyes narrowed, shooting a venomous glare my way before she dissolved into practiced tears. She scooped up her son, turning toward her room with dramatic flair.

"You're right. Who told Tommy he has no father? Who told him to cling to someone else's family, making everyone hate him?" She sobbed loudly. "I'll pack our bags right now. We'll leave tonight..."

Annoyance flashed through Justin's eyes, quickly replaced by panic. "Nonsense! It's the middle of the night. Where would you go?"

He took a step toward her, then stopped, glancing back at me with guilt written all over his features.

I maintained my smile. It didn't reach my eyes. "Go. She's your brother's widow. It's only right you look after them."

Relief washed over him. "Okay. I'll just get him settled. Wait for me—I'll come read to Carter once Tommy's asleep."

He never came.

Long after I had coaxed Carter to sleep, the guest room door creaked open. Brooklyn leaned against the frame, looking at me with provocative triumph. She tugged her silk pajama collar down just enough to reveal fresh, ambiguous red marks on her neck.

"Sorry, Ava." She purred. "Justin fell asleep in my room."

I smiled. No surprise flickered in my gaze. "Okay."

A scene I'd witnessed enough times to become immune to.

Early the next morning, Justin emerged from the guest bedroom. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes.

Brooklyn stood on her tiptoes, fussing over him as she straightened his collar. "You worked so hard last night, Justin."

The double meaning hung heavy. In the past, those words would have ignited a screaming match. I would have demanded explanations.

Now, Justin glanced at me, panic flaring as he opened his mouth to explain.

I cut him off with a light laugh. "Eat breakfast. We have to visit the grave soon."

Two weeks ago, we had agreed to visit my mother's grave today. When she was alive, she had doted on Justin, treating him like her own flesh and blood. Every year, I brought him along to pay respects.

He went to the factory specifically to swap cars, bringing back the largest SUV for the trip.

As we approached the vehicle, Brooklyn moved with practiced speed, sliding into the front passenger seat before I could reach the door.

Justin looked at me, an apologetic grimace on his face. "Ava... she's suffered a lot and doesn't know the rules. She gets carsick. Don't hold it against her."

I shook my head, opening the rear door. "It's just a seat. Not important."

Just like him. In my heart, Justin had long ceased to be important.

After dropping Carter and Tommy at school, Justin drove us toward the cemetery. The silence was suffocating.

Just as the cemetery gates came into view, Brooklyn gasped. She clutched her chest, face contorting.

"It hurts..." she whimpered. "My chest..."

Justin slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt on the shoulder. "What is it? Can you hold on?"

Tears spilled from Brooklyn's eyes. She bit her lip, trembling as if fighting a great battle. "I... I can try."

Justin's focus was absolute, his worried gaze glued to her, oblivious to everything else.

I didn't wait for him to decide. I opened the door and stepped out onto the roadside.

"Take her to the hospital. I can walk the rest of the way."

The car idled for a moment—a brief hesitation from the man behind the wheel.

Then the engine roared. He whipped the car into a U-turn and sped away, leaving me standing alone in the dust.

A bitter smile curved my lips.

I had seen this coming, yet a dull ache still throbbed in my chest.

Kneeling before my mother's grave, my mind drifted back. After Justin's parents died in that accident, it was Mother who had taken him in. She didn't just give him a roof over his head or food on his plate—she treated him exactly as she treated me, her own flesh and blood.

I still remembered the day Mother passed away. Justin had stood there, eyes bright, face flushed with emotion as he swore an oath.

"Ava, I will never forget your mother's kindness. I swear to cherish and protect you for the rest of my life."

Now, only a few years later, he had forgotten everything.

A cold gust swept past. I wiped the tears from my face. The bulky mobile phone in my pocket rang, breaking the silence.

"Come home." Justin's voice came through, hesitant and thick. "I have something to tell you."

Could it be news about the bone marrow donor for our son?

Hope surged before I could stop it. I hurried back to the house, breathless.

But the moment I walked in, Justin wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Ava, I have news." Under my expectant stare, he gritted his teeth and forced the words out. "The factory has a publicly funded project—a business trip to New York that allows accompanying family members. I've decided to take Brooklyn and Tommy."

The hope withered. Coldness settled deep in my bones. Bitterness rose in my throat, though I kept my expression blank.

Beside him, Brooklyn curled her lips into a smug smile, posturing as if she were the true lady of the house.

"Don't worry, Little Sister-in-law," she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "When we come back from New York, we'll bring gifts for you and Carter."

Justin looked at me, panic flickering in his eyes. "You know how it is. Brooklyn and Tommy... they've had such a hard life..."

That excuse again.

Just because they had "lived badly," I was expected to surrender every opportunity that rightfully belonged to me and my son?

Fortunately, I no longer cared. As long as he fulfilled his duty as a father and secured a bone marrow match for Carter, nothing else mattered.

"Okay," I said, feigning compliance.

Yet memories intruded unbidden. When the factory was just starting out, Justin had been desperate to go to New York to study new technology but had no funds.

I was the one who had scraped together every penny, borrowing from everyone I knew, just to give him that chance.

Back then, his eyes had been red with gratitude. "To have a wife like you... what more could a husband ask for?" His voice had trembled. "When the factory grows, I promise I'll take you to see the bustling streets of New York myself."

The factory grew. It became massive. He never mentioned that promise again.

Now, it didn't matter anymore.

Seven days passed in a blur.

I went to the school gate to pick up my son. From a distance, I spotted two figures standing out from the crowd. Brooklyn was preening in a fashionable coat bought in New York, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Justin.

As my son and I walked past, a neighbor pulled me aside, her voice lowered.

"Look over there. That's the director's wife everyone talks about. Isn't she pretty? She and the director are so well-matched."

People turned to look. If I stayed silent, I would look like the fool.

I offered a polite, detached smile. "Yes, they are quite well-matched."

Justin's expression darkened. He strode over and caught my wrist in a hard grip. "What did you just say?"

I calmly pried his fingers off my arm.

"Wasn't it you who said we shouldn't expose our relationship in public?"

He froze, stunned by my indifference. When he spoke again, his voice held genuine grievance.

"Ava, you didn't send a single letter in seven days. Before, if I was gone for even half a day, you couldn't wait to send three."

I pretended not to hear him. Just then, someone from the post station called out to me. An uncle and aunt from my hometown had mailed a package—half a bag of brown sugar.

My throat tightened. I knew how long they must have scrimped and saved to gather something so precious.

I accepted the package, clutching it protectively against my chest, and looked at Justin with wary eyes.

"Brown sugar is rare, but to a man like you, it's nothing. Don't even think about touching my sugar."

Disbelief flashed across his face, followed by a sting of pain.

"In your eyes," he asked, his voice low, "is that the kind of person I am?"