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?"

Memories from my past life clawed at me. I smiled bitterly—this wasn't paranoia. This was experience.

Ever since my widowed sister-in-law Brooklyn moved in, everything I owned had slowly become hers. My barely-worn designer coat, the fabric coupons I'd saved for months—Justin handed them all over in the name of "family support."

Now he was desperate to prove he wasn't petty about some brown sugar. He had his subordinates haul in every gift from New York.

Imported toys. A set of luxurious cashmere coats.

The crowd gasped.

"Look at that cashmere! You can tell it's expensive just by looking."

The whispers shifted. "So she really is the Director's wife..."

Mocking gazes turned toward Brooklyn. She shot me a look of pure venom, then stormed off.

I ignored her. I just stared at that familiar coat—and that night, the nightmares returned.

In my previous life, I'd refused to give up the master bedroom after Brooklyn moved in. Justin and I fought viciously.

He called me a jealous shrew and locked me out. I spent the night shivering in below-freezing temperatures.

The brown sugar my aunt and uncle mailed? He gave that to Brooklyn too.

Even my favorite coat—the one sitting in the living room now—ended up hers. A few pitiful lies from her lips, and Justin handed it over.

Fighting became our daily routine. At first he tried coaxing me into submission. Eventually, his patience ran out.

The moment that truly broke me happened at the factory. I'd gone to bring him lunch.

When the massive chandelier crashed down, Justin didn't reach for me. Without hesitation, he threw himself over Brooklyn.

After I was discharged, I demanded a divorce. He warned me not to regret it.

He was right. A divorced woman was a pariah.

The Cultural Troupe fired me.

Then my son was diagnosed with a terminal illness. I swallowed my pride and begged Justin to use his money and connections to save our child.

He accused me of using my dying son to manipulate him.

When the hospital evicted us for non-payment, my son whispered that he wanted to see his daddy one last time.

Fighting back tears, I carried him to the Farley home. What we found: Justin, Brooklyn, and her son, laughing together like a perfect family.

My son stopped breathing before we left the gate.

I drank the rat poison I'd bought weeks earlier, tears streaming as I chased my son into the dark.

My last thought: If there's a next life, I'll never crave a man's love again. I only ask that my son lives.

I woke gasping, my pillow soaked with cold tears.

My son had already left for school. I forced myself up, washed my face, and rushed to the Cultural Troupe.

Today they'd announce the new lead dancer.

When the results were posted, silence fell.

The lead went to Brooklyn Simmons—a woman who hadn't attended a single rehearsal.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a modest, sickeningly sweet smile.

"I'm so sorry, Ava. I was just so bored at home. Justin wanted me to get out more, so he donated fifty pounds of rice, flour, and oil to the troupe..."

"So what if you have connections?" Daisy Abbott stepped forward, face flushed. "Ava dances circles around you! You're not even in the same league!"

Daisy wanted to scream for justice, but I grabbed her arm.

I was calm. Far calmer than anyone expected.

"Is that so?" My voice was steady. "Congratulations, sister-in-law."

I didn't care about the lead role. As long as my son lived, nothing else mattered.

The phone in my pocket rang.

The hospital. The doctor's voice was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard—the bone marrow match was successful.

Relief hit so hard my knees nearly buckled.

As I passed Brooklyn on my way out, I leaned in close.

"He's just a man, Brooklyn. If you enjoy picking up my leftovers, be my guest."

I didn't wait for her reaction. I rushed out, desperate to reach the hospital.

In my haste, I missed the murderous glint in her eyes.

When I arrived, breathless and hopeful, I asked when we could schedule surgery.

The doctor wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Mrs. Farley... the donor... the bone marrow has been allocated to someone else."

The room spun. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Doctor, who took it? We waited so long—we finally got the match!"

"It was... Director Farley."

I froze. The blood in my veins turned to ice.

A small, cold hand slipped into mine. My son looked up at me, eyes wide with fear.

"Mom... am I going to die again?"

The words shattered me. I forced a smile, squeezing his hand. "No. I won't let that happen."

Panic drove me toward Justin's number—but I didn't need to call. He was right there, in the adjacent VIP ward, hovering over Tommy's bed.

"Uncle Justin prepared the best room for you," Justin said, his voice softer than I'd heard in years. "Tommy, you have to be strong."

Brooklyn leaned into his embrace, eyes red-rimmed—a perfect picture of fragile beauty.

"Justin, thank goodness I have you," she wept. "Without you, what would a widow and her orphan do?"

Dark fire ignited in my chest.

This was Brooklyn's doing. The moment Carter needed surgery, her son suddenly fell ill. No coincidence.

I wanted to storm in and tear down their façade. But their next words nailed me to the floor.

Brooklyn's voice dropped to a whisper. "Justin... if your wife finds out we took Carter's match, what will we do?"

Conflict flickered across his face. Brooklyn let a fresh tear fall.

"Tommy's illness hit so fast. But Carter... his condition is chronic. He can wait..."

The doctor beside them nodded. "Yes, Director. Your son's body can handle a few more months."

Lies. Carter was late-stage. He didn't have months.

I stared at the doctor. He wouldn't meet my eyes. Brooklyn had bought him.

Justin's expression hardened.

"Don't worry, Brooklyn. My brother's dying wish was for me to protect you and Tommy," he said. "Carter can wait. If Ava asks, I'll say the hospital made a mistake."

Coldness spread through me until I felt numb.

My nails pierced my palms. The pain was all that kept me from slapping them both.

Did he have any idea how hard it was to find a match?

If I hadn't overheard this, would I have waited by my son's bed like a fool while Justin handed his life to a nephew who was barely sick?

Rage shook through me. But I had no leverage. Justin was Director. The hospital answered to him.

I needed a higher power.

A memory surfaced. In my previous life, I'd saved a young man—a rising business titan. He'd promised me a favor. Said he could solve anything.