Her usually cold and composed voice was now trembling with anger, each breath ragged and heavy.

I simply asked her, “You rushed off in such a hurry—was it really for a flying-in surgery?”

“Was Henry’s social media post truly because some drunk patient’s family forced you all to play a game?”

“Or did you just want to get away fast... so you could go on a Disneyland date with your precious little protégé?”

On the other end, her breathing abruptly stopped.

There was a brief silence—two seconds at most— then her voice softened, carefully composed.

“What nonsense are you talking about? That’s not true. Are you… having one of your delusions again?”

And then, Henry’s voice came through, clear and casual. “Irene, the fireworks are about to start. It’s rare for you to relax like this—I don’t want you in a bad mood because of me. Once we’re back, I’ll personally apologize to Mr. Carter. Even if I have to kneel, it’s fine.”

The call was cut off immediately.

She must have hung up in such a hurry—afraid of missing the beautiful fireworks, no doubt.

I held my children’s urns in my arms, tears falling uncontrollably.

“Daddy will never let them get away with this,” I whispered.

Eventually, I cried myself into unconsciousness.

The next day, when I woke up, my eyes were so swollen I could barely open them.

I put on a pair of sunglasses and went downstairs— only to see a familiar figure moving busily outside.

Irene was carrying a bowl of porridge. She froze for a moment when she saw me, but quickly put on a casual smile.

“You’re up? I made you breakfast. Eat a little, okay?”

“I figured you’d overthink everything after yesterday. I didn’t even rest—I flew back overnight.”

I opened my mouth to tell her there was no need, but then I saw a tall figure rush out of the bathroom, wearing my pajamas.

He walked straight over and wrapped his arms around Irene, saying teasingly,

“Irene, you really give off that married-woman vibe. My dream marriage is waking up to see my wife making me breakfast.”

My gaze darkened.

Irene had always treated her skillful hands like precious treasures. Cooking? Out of the question.

Back when we were still together, I once asked her to simply hand me a plate. She immediately gave me a cold glare and snapped, “Are you insane? Why are you wasting my hands on something like that?”

But now that my heart had gone cold toward her, she’s suddenly changed.

Irene quickly stepped out of Henry’s embrace, her tone flustered.

“You’re a grown man. Stop acting like a child.”

Then she turned to me and tried to explain, “It was raining when we landed. We got drenched. I told Henry to go home and change, but he insisted on coming here first to apologize. That’s why I gave him your clothes to wear.”

Henry stuck out his tongue playfully and said to me, “Mr. Carter, I came to say sorry! Yesterday was really just a joke! If it’ll help ease your mind, I’ll go on a blind date this weekend and get married right away. I promise I won’t get in the way of your relationship anymore!”

“Henry! Don’t joke around like that!” Irene called out, her voice sharp.

Then, noticing the mocking smile tugging at my lips, she quickly added, “What I meant is—Leo has always been gentle and kind. I’m sure he’s already forgiven you. There’s no need for you to rush into a marriage.”

“Right, Leo? Let’s just put yesterday behind us and pretend it never happened. Okay?”

My children’s bones weren’t even cold, yet she had been wrapped in tender whispers beneath a sky of fireworks with her little puppy.

And now, she wanted me to just… drop it?

Of course. I could.

I gave her a slow, mocking smile. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

After all, they’d be heading to Africa soon enough.

Whatever their relationship really was, wherever they went last night, whatever they did, I didn’t care in the slightest.

Hearing my response, Irene seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“It’s good you’re being reasonable. I’ve rescheduled all my surgeries—I’ll stay with you for the next few days. Once your mood is better, once the seventh day after the kids’ passing has passed, I’ll go back to work.”

I nodded calmly. “Alright.”

She was the mother of our children— She should’ve been by their urns, keeping vigil through their seventh day.

But in Henry’s eyes, a flicker of irritation flashed. His gaze shifted and suddenly he grabbed the bowl from Irene’s hands and walked toward me.

“Mr. Carter, you have to try this seafood porridge Miss Wells made. Last time we went to the beach together, I told her it tasted amazing—and she said she’d learn to make it for me. I just had some and it tastes exactly like the one we had that day.”

Irene glanced at me, flustered.

She always said her hands were meant to save lives—not for chores or cooking. She never touched any of it.

But starting last month, she began stepping into the kitchen after work.

The place was a mess every time.

That was when the children were gravely ill and I was already exhausted, hanging by a thread.

I had thought she was doing it for me— that she felt sorry watching me worn out, that she wanted to shoulder just a little of my burden.

While I quietly cleaned up her kitchen disasters, I felt both bitter and touched, secretly hoping she might cook again—for me, for our children.

It turned out, she was just trying to recreate Henry’s seafood porridge.

The moment that familiar, pungent smell of fish reached my nose— the one I hated most— my skin instantly prickled with red welts.

I clutched my mouth and stepped back sharply, my voice cold. "I'm allergic to seafood. Take it away."

Suddenly, Henry's hand jerked— the steaming porridge spilled all over his thigh.

He let out a scream, then tumbled down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter! I didn’t know… Miss Wells—it hurts, it hurts so bad…”

"Leo! Are you insane?" Irene shouted, her voice shrill with fury. "Henry didn’t know you were allergic—did you really have to push him down the stairs?"

"I didn’t!" I forced down the nausea, trying to defend myself.

"Still denying it? What, you think Henry dumped boiling porridge on himself for fun?"

Her eyes, once so calm and distant, now burned with disgust.

"You—look at you now. You're no different than a rabid dog."

She bent down, gently lifting Henry into her arms and helping him toward the door.

"This is my last warning: take my and Henry’s names off that transfer list— If you don’t, we’re definitely getting divorced!"

But the divorce papers were already signed. I had no interest in her threats.

Just then, a call came in from the third-party management company.

They informed me that they had officially taken over the hospital's HR and logistics. The transfer list to the Africa branch was finalized and issued.

I was pleased with their speed and efficiency. My only instruction to them: pull the surgery room footage from the day the twins went under.

I hadn’t been able to get it before because Irene had blocked me at every turn.

Everyone in HR sided with her. The moment I brought up checking the footage, they all had excuses to avoid it.

Now, no one could stop me.

The management team went to check the surveillance footage. A few minutes later, they called back, their tone apologetic.

“The footage from that day has already been deleted.”

My grip on the phone turned white with tension. I didn’t need to guess who deleted it.

To protect her precious protégé, she really was capable of anything.

“But don’t worry,” the person added, “Our tech team will try to recover the data.”

I exhaled in relief and gave a clear directive. “If you can recover it, everyone gets double bonuses.”

The moment the reassignment list was released, my phone exploded with calls.

The same doctors who once told me, “Mr. Carter, thank you for giving me the chance to become a doctor,” were now flooding me with curses and angry messages.

[Leo, you can't catch your cheating wife, so you're taking it out on us. Don't think you can use me as a scapegoat. I'm going to expose everything you've done to the media. I won't pay a cent and I'm definitely not going to Africa.]

[Mr. Carter, please have mercy. I'm about to get married and I still have a mortgage to pay. This is between you and Dr. Wells—please don’t drag us into it.]

[You pathetic cuckold, just wait. Once Dr. Wells divorces you and my buddy takes your place, let’s see how long you can keep acting like you're king of the hill.]

I pulled up each of their records one by one—and handed them over to the management company.

"Calculate exactly how much I spent training each of them. If they don’t want to go to Africa, then they can pay me back three times the amount, just like the contract says."

I was already being merciful.

Training a doctor wasn’t easy. For them to become good doctors wasn’t easy either. I didn’t want to ruin them — I just wanted what I was owed.

When the official reassignment list came out — and her and Henry's names were still on it — Irene finally couldn’t sit still.

When the call connected, her voice was already shaking with fury.

“How long are you planning to drag this out? Are you really going to push it until the entire hospital is in chaos before you’re satisfied? Do you have any idea how many surgeries are scheduled today? How are the doctors on that list supposed to work in peace?”

“This is a hospital — a place where lives are saved — not somewhere for you to throw tantrums and vent your anger.”

“Take down the announcement immediately. Come to the hospital immediately and apologize to everyone! Compensate everyone on the list with an extra year’s worth of performance bonuses!”

I replied calmly, “They signed the sponsorship contracts back then — agreed to obey any aid reassignment order from the hospital. Now that the orders are issued and they can’t do their jobs properly, it just proves they’re unfit to be doctors.”

On the other end of the line, her breathing grew heavy. Then came a string of curses.

“You’re insane! Fine — since you won’t listen to reason, don’t blame me for what comes next.”

“Leo, remember — you were the one who tore this all apart first.”

She hung up.

But I didn’t feel even the slightest bit of satisfaction.

Only bitterness. And sorrow.

I had tried so hard to convince myself — that she did love me, that she did love our children, that she was just cold by nature.

But the truth was, she could lose control. She could get furious.

The truth was, she never loved any of us at all.

I wasted ten years of my life with someone who never loved me. And I could only watch helplessly… as she caused the death of our two children.

***

I didn’t respond to any of the insults.

And perhaps to provoke me further, Irene began her retaliation—openly and shamelessly.

She took Henry with her to every academic conference, every gala, every public appearance.

They wore matching outfits like a couple, holding hands while being interviewed.

At the launch event for a research project I had personally funded—one that only existed because of me—she stood on stage and declared, loud and clear.

“Henry played a critical role in this project. Without him, it would never have succeeded.”

They smiled at each other and the press captured it perfectly.

The photo made headlines the next day:

"Cardiology Experts Irene Wells and Her Husband Appear at Major Medical Launch"

“A Love as Brilliant as Their Work—True Partners in Science and in Life.”

She reposted that headline, adding only five words: “New drug launch. Very happy.”

But she said nothing—not one word—about the reporter's error calling Henry her husband.

The comment section was filled with praise.

People called them a “perfect match,” congratulated them on their work, on their love.

A few dared to question it:

“Dr. Wells, isn’t this a bit inappropriate?”

But those comments vanished almost immediately.

I read through everything calmly, took screenshots and sent them to my lawyer.

Maybe it was because I wasn’t reacting at all. No anger. No accusations. Just silence. So they started to feel bored.

And that’s when someone sent me a secretly recorded video.

In the dressing room, Henry had his lower body completely exposed. Irene, her face flushed, was holding a cotton swab, tending to a spot near the top of his thigh.

Henry let out a soft moan.

“Dr. Wells, it hurts… maybe you should just use your fingers?”

Irene swallowed hard and tossed the cotton swab aside.

The video cut off at that moment.

The person who sent it to me added a cheeky emoji.

[Don’t misunderstand, Mr. Carter. They’re just changing a dressing.]

I replied calmly, [I won’t.]

Whatever they were doing, it didn’t matter. They would be going to Africa together soon enough.

On the seventh day after my children passed, I decorated the house entirely in a Disney princess theme.

That had been their biggest dream once: To go to Disneyland as a family of four.

If they could spend their birthday there, it would’ve been perfect.

So this year, I made sure they could. Even if it was just in spirit.