On the day I donated a kidney to my mother-in-law, Daniel Brooks used the money I had set aside to hire a caregiver to buy his cousin, Chloe Miller, a Chanel outfit.

Chloe couldn’t wait to show off on social media:

“Someone said that even if I never work a day in my life, he’ll still take care of me. A man who keeps his word is so handsome!”

Trying to be considerate toward the younger generation, I kindly commented:

“A woman should always rely on herself.”

The next second, that comment was deleted.

My husband called, immediately lashing out at me:

“It’s just a damn dress—why are you making such a big deal out of it? I have to get your permission to buy something for my sister? If you like lecturing people so much, why don’t you become a teacher?”

Through the receiver, I could hear Chloe’s pitiful sobs.

Before I could explain, he hung up and blocked me.

When I came out of the operating room, I saw a notification: the two million I had saved for our future child’s expenses had been completely transferred out.

At the same time, Chloe posted a photo of a pink Porsche 911.

I knew—this was Daniel’s “compensation” to her.

But this time, I didn’t care anymore.

Margaret Brooks was in the late stages of kidney failure, and the critical condition notice had already been issued three times.

I had called Daniel over a hundred times, but he hadn’t replied once.

It wasn’t until the doctor came out of the operating room, delivering the final ultimatum for the kidney transplant, that I shakily picked up my phone, intending to contact him one last time.

Instead, I saw Chloe’s latest post.

The photo showed a brand-new Chanel gift box—inside was a dress, along with several matching silk scarves from the brand.

She smiled sweetly, holding the box and making a heart sign with her fingers.

The caption read:

“Someone said that even if I never work a day in my life, he’ll still take care of me. A man who keeps his word is so handsome!”

Daniel’s reply was short—only three words:

“Mm, I’ll take care of you.”

The comments section was full of blessings from mutual friends, except for one person who voiced concern:

“That new Chanel dress doesn’t look cheap… Isn’t your mom about to have surgery? Isn’t your wife handling it? Aren’t you afraid she’ll divorce you?”

The next second, Daniel snapped back:

“Once the surgery’s over, she’ll be down a kidney and basically useless. And we’ve been married for seven years with no sign of a baby—probably infertility. I’ve been merciful enough not to ask for a divorce. Do you think she’d dare bring it up?”

I stared at the money I had planned to use for a caregiver, now turned into a Chanel gift box.

Even my well-intentioned comment to Chloe had been deleted.

Angry, I sent him a message to confront him:

“What’s that supposed to mean? Mom’s about to have surgery, you’re not replying or coming to sign the consent forms, but you have time to buy Chanel for your ‘sister’?”

But instead of guilt, he was even angrier, calling me back immediately:

“I need your approval to buy something for someone? Isn’t my mom being taken care of by you? If you can’t handle something this small, what’s the point of being married to you?”

“I told you I was busy, and Chloe bought that dress herself. Stop acting like some bitter, paranoid wife. If anything were going on between us, it would’ve happened long before you came into the picture.”

After venting, he hung up on me.

When I tried calling again, his phone was already turned off.

He had blocked me.

If it weren’t for the fact that Margaret had been kind to me all these years, I would’ve walked away right then.

But my conscience wouldn’t allow it.

In the end, I was the one who signed the consent form for her surgery.

The doctor couldn’t reach Daniel, and could only reluctantly turn a blind eye to the procedural violation.

The surgery lasted eight hours.

As the anesthesia took hold, countless thoughts flooded my mind.

Chloe Miller hadn’t always been part of our lives.

She appeared only two years ago, when Daniel Brooks suddenly brought her into our home, saying he needed to take care of her.

He told me Chloe was his distant cousin who had been tricked into marriage by some shady guy a few years back and had finally managed to escape.

She was young and wanted to try her luck in the big city.

Here, Daniel was her only family, so he had no choice but to look after her.

I wasn’t blind to the special treatment he gave Chloe, but every time I brought it up, Daniel’s face would turn cold instantly.

He would ask me to cut fruit for her, to let her use the new cosmetics I’d just bought.

If I showed even the slightest displeasure, he would give me an icy, judgmental stare.

“Chloe is my sister. If you can’t even accept me taking care of my sister, then we might as well get divorced early.”

He was certain I couldn’t live without him—and that I would never willingly become a divorced woman.

So I endured it for seven years.

But this time, I wasn’t going to endure it any longer.

When I was wheeled back to the hospital room, there was no one to take care of Margaret Brooks.

I had to push through my own pain, holding my IV pole in one hand while using saline to wipe the corners of her lips.

My surgical wound split open over and over, and the doctor had to come in again and again.

By dawn the next day, Margaret finally woke up.

Her gaze swept over the empty room, and her tone was tinged with disappointment.

“Daniel didn’t come? He must be so busy with work…”

I took a deep breath, unable to hide my exhaustion.

“He’s with his distant cousin. The money for a caregiver was used to buy Chloe a gift, so I’ve been the one taking care of you.”

Margaret’s eyes widened in shock.

“What cousin? How come I’ve never heard of him having a cousin? We barely have any relatives left back in our hometown.”

In that moment, my breath caught. I didn’t know if it was the pain from my incision or the stabbing ache in my heart.

From my expression, Margaret seemed to realize something. She forced a smile and said gently:

“Emma, don’t be upset. Let me ask him—maybe there’s been some misunderstanding. You’ve always been the one in his heart. The worst thing for a couple is to let suspicion take root.”

I’m not even sure how I pulled out my phone, intending to contact Daniel and clarify things, but before I could, I saw a notification:

The two million I had saved for raising a child had been completely transferred out.

At the same time, Chloe posted a new update—a photo of a pink Porsche 911.

The caption read:

“Got bitten by a mad dog, so he bought me a car to cheer me up!”

“It’s my first time meeting a man like this. My heart’s fluttering—should I just make him mine?”

In the photo, the driver’s seat clearly showed the silhouette of a man.

His hand rested on the steering wheel, his wedding ring faintly visible.

That two million was the money I’d saved to give our future child a good life.

After years of marriage without a pregnancy, I had wavered at times, thinking about dipping into the funds for emergencies.

But the moment I mentioned it, Daniel shut me down immediately:

“It’s hard enough to save that money—if you take it out, who’s going to replace it? You’re the one who wants the kid to have a good life. When the time comes and there’s no money, don’t come to me—I won’t have any for you.”

My heart sank to the bottom.

By now, I’d have to be a fool not to see that their relationship was far from innocent.

Two days later, the doctor finally managed to reach Daniel.

His first action wasn’t to come to the hospital to take care of me—it was to call and demand:

“Why didn’t you tell me Mom was having surgery? If something had gone wrong on the operating table, who would’ve taken responsibility? You really think marrying me makes you part of the Brooks family? Who gave you the right to make decisions on your own?”

I clutched at my still-healing incision, the pain in my chest tearing through every nerve.

“The hospital has already issued three critical condition notices. I sent you messages, but you never replied.”

“Mom’s fine. The doctor said she’s recovering quickly. You don’t need to take it out on me.”

“Daniel, I mean it—if being with me just makes the both of us miserable, maybe we should—”

Before I could finish, Daniel’s tone softened.

“Sorry, I was just anxious earlier. I spoke too harshly.”

“Don’t do that again. She’s my mom—if you don’t feel for her, I do.”

“I’ll come to the hospital to pick you both up. The doctor says you can be discharged.”

After hanging up, I stared at the dark phone screen, lost in thought.

Over the past two days, I’d scrolled through nearly every one of Chloe Miller’s updates.

Since the last incident, she and Daniel had been getting bolder and bolder.

The Porsche was no longer enough for her to flaunt—her latest photo was of the two of them lying on a king-sized bed in a hotel’s presidential suite.

The caption read:

“Thanks for the advice, everyone—this good man is mine now!”

“When we get married, drinks are on me!”

The post already had over ten thousand likes. I stared at that number, unable to look away.

Margaret Brooks seemed to notice something and sighed heavier with each passing day.

When Daniel went to handle the discharge paperwork, she quietly slipped a bank card into my hand, pressing a finger to her lips to signal “shh.”

“This is the money Daniel gave me for my retirement. I know my son has wronged you. If you decide to divorce him, let this be my compensation to you.”

I hurried to give it back.

“Mom, we’re all family. You don’t need to say that.”

“Emma, you saved my life. This money is yours by right. No matter what happens between you and Daniel, I just hope you’ll be happy in the future.”

Margaret tossed the card into my lap and quickly left the room.

I stood by the window, watching her get into the car with Daniel and drive away.

A message from him popped up on my phone:

“I’m taking Mom back to her hometown. Wait for me at the hospital entrance.”

I stood outside in the cold wind for four hours, but Daniel never showed up.

When my body could no longer take it, I hailed a cab home—only for Daniel to walk in right after I arrived.

He tossed his car keys beside me and yelled:

“Why did you leave without telling me? Do you know how long I was waiting for you at the hospital?”

I looked up at him, baffled.

I had waited four hours and he never appeared—yet now he was accusing me of not waiting?

“If you wanted me to tell you, shouldn’t you first take me off your blocked list?”

“Daniel, I’ve been taking care of your mom all this time, and when I come back, you don’t even say thank you. Is this your idea of being a husband?”

The anger on his face vanished instantly, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“That’s not what I meant. I was just… worried about you.”

Worried I’d have an accident—or worried I wouldn’t?

Then he pulled a bag from behind his back and handed it to me.

“I went out of my way to stop for this on the way back. I remember you like this cake. Come on, let’s not drag this out—anger just makes women age faster.”

I stared at the brand name on the bag for a long time without speaking.

Yes, this shop was indeed out of the way—but more importantly, it was right outside Chloe Miller’s apartment complex.

And I’d stopped eating sweets after I turned twenty-five.

Even so, I opened the bag, trying to give us both a shred of dignity.

That was, until I saw that the fruit on top of the cake had been deliberately scooped out.

A surge of anger flared inside me.

I shoved the cake straight into the trash and said coldly:

“Forget it. I’m too old, my metabolism’s slow—I’m not fit to eat the desserts young girls like.”

I turned to head upstairs, and that’s when Daniel completely exploded.