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.

But every time I brought it up, Irene would snap at me, “I already have to do dozens of surgeries a day — I’m exhausted. How could I have time to waste going on trips with you all?”

She always said she was too busy to take the children to Disneyland.

But just because Henry said he wanted to go, she skipped work and spent an entire day at Disneyland with him.

My children came into this world with such difficulty. They never got to visit Disneyland. So at the very least, they deserved one birthday party they would’ve loved.

Eyes red with grief, I sat before their urns and sang Happy Birthday over and over again.

Then the phone rang.

It was a call from the management company. The voice on the other end was urgent:

“Something’s happened. You need to get online—now. Dr. Wells has teamed up with the hospital’s doctors. They’re planning a public strike to protest against you.”

I opened my phone. At the top was a video posted from Irene’s personal account.

She wore a black dress, with Henry standing beside her.

Her expression was solemn as she spoke, “Even though Leo is my husband, I can’t just stand by and watch him continue down this path, harming innocent people.”

“Ever since the surgery failed and we lost our children, he’s been obsessively accusing me of murdering them. He even dragged in the anesthesiologist—my student Henry—slandering him with fabricated rumors.”

“When other doctors tried to speak up for us, he retaliated by punishing them—forcing them to relocate to hospitals in Africa. If they refused, he demanded an outrageous ‘repayment’ for their training costs.”

"Because this matter concerns the future of all us doctors, I am once again joining forces with the doctors who have been victimized in this incident to announce a strike. All surgeries will be suspended! Until Leo comes forward to apologize and compensate everyone for the emotional damage we've suffered. Especially to my student Henry — he must personally kneel and apologize!"

Henry, eyes red and choking back tears, said, "Mr. Carter, I hope you’ll stop slandering me. Please don’t send me to Africa. I’m the only son my parents have."

The comment section was full of patients' families crying and begging me to apologize.

“My father’s condition can’t wait any longer. If the surgery is delayed again, he’ll die.”

“Please, Mr. Carter, just apologize. I’ll kneel if I have to—my daughter’s illness can only be treated by Dr. Wells.”

I gripped my phone tightly and my once-calm heart was finally torn apart.

Irene called, her tone full of threat. “Leo, you don’t want your reputation ruined and the hospital destroyed, do you?”

I roared with heartbreak and fury. “Bitch! Irene, you fucking bitch! You think I didn’t give them a choice? The contract clearly states—if the hospital requires support, they must fulfill a three-year service obligation at a branch hospital! Otherwise, they pay the penalty! They agreed to this willingly in the first place!

“So why—just because they don’t want to honor the contract—they get to strike with you? You already killed my children, isn’t that enough? Now you want to cause even more deaths? How are you even qualified to be a doctor? How are you qualified to be human?”

It was the first time I had ever screamed at her like this. Irene was stunned for a few seconds.

But then she snapped impatiently, “You’re insane! I already told you, the kids died because of bad luck! No one killed them! You’re just having another paranoid episode!”

"If you don’t want to watch those patients die, then get down on your knees, apologize and pay compensation! As long as you admit it was just your paranoia, that you misunderstood me and Henry—that everything about us was a lie you made up—and withdraw the announcement about the Africa deployment, we’ll start doing surgeries again.”

“And one more thing—you need to say you’re mentally ill, that you’re going to a psychiatric facility for treatment and transfer the hospital’s directorship to me…”

I growled viciously, “Keep dreaming! Irene, go to hell and enjoy your sick fantasy there!”