It is payback time!

Cynthia Laurent’s comeback is fueled by heartbreak… and a love that won’t let go.

The day she was told she had six months to live, her husband’s betrayal cut deeper than any diagnosis.

While grappling with a brain tumor, Cynthia overheard her stepsister’s cruel confession: “I’m pregnant.”

One look at her husband’s face told her the truth — the affair was real, and the baby was his.

Eight years of marriage, discarded like trash.

Her pleas were met with her mother-in-law’s venom who saw her only as a nanny, a cook, a housekeeper, a cleaner – never a daughter-in-law and her eight-year-old son’s chilling wish for a “new mom.”

Broken and abandoned, Cynthia vanished to Paris, ready to die.

But fate had other plans.

In Paris, three men of immense power burst into her life, claiming to be her brothers and vowed to protect her at all costs. Titans of industry, speed, and medicine, they rebuilt Cynthia from the ground up.

Now, as the Michelin-starred queen of Maison Cynclair, Cynthia returns to the city that destroyed her.

Her ex-husband falls to his knees. “We’re still married,” he pleads.

Her son cries, “Mom, don’t you love me anymore?”

The woman they once broke is gone.

“Thank you for your betrayal,” she replied, calm and clear. “It made me a hundred-million-dollar woman.”

A man’s love fades. An empire? Never.

#1

**Preface**

-------------Update Schedule------------

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Chapters are updated daily, though there may be occasions when I post twice or even three times a day. Turn on notifications so you don’t miss a drop!

Love ya!

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-------------Author’s Note -------------

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Thank you so much for choosing to read this story. It is completely fiction but I believe you would be able to relate to the reality of it.

Your time and resources poured into this book mean everything. With countless amazing books out there, the fact that you chose mine is something I sincerely appreciate. It's both an honor and a privilege.

If you're enjoying the journey, I’d truly appreciate hearing your thoughts. Your feedback is a great source of motivation.

Multi-dimensionally Yours,

Grace Grandi

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**Cynthia’s POV**

"It's just a headache. With modern medicine so advanced, it won't kill you."

Ethan didn't even look up from his phone as he spoke. His coffee sat untouched beside his plate, growing cold while he scrolled through emails, sitting before him was my son, Amber and my Mother- In-law.

I stood at the edge of the dining table, one hand gripping the back of my chair to steady myself. The pounding in my skull had kept me awake all night, and this morning the nausea was so intense I had barely managed to prepare breakfast.

"Ethan, please. It's not just a headache. I've been having these symptoms for weeks now, and they're getting worse. I really think I should see a doctor, and I'd like you to come with me…"

"Don't make a fuss." My mother-in-law cut me off. "Just take some medicine and you'll be fine. You're always complaining about something, jeez!."

"But Mother, I'm really not feeling well. Yesterday I nearly collapsed in …"

"Are you overthinking it again?" She finally glanced at me, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "Doctors tend to scare people. They'll run a bunch of expensive tests and tell you you're stressed. Is that what you want? To waste money on your anxiety?"

My throat tightened. "I don't think it's anxiety. Something feels really wrong…"

"Mom…, you're so dramatic." Amber didn't even pause between bites of his eggs. "Can I have more juice?"

I moved automatically to get the pitcher, but the room tilted. I grabbed the edge of the table for stamina.

"Cynthia." Ethan's voice held a note of irritation. "I have three important meetings today. I have to finalize the Bennett proposal. I don't have time to sit in a hospital waiting room because you have a headache."

"I'm not asking you to miss work. Maybe you could just come with me after…"

"We'll talk about this later." He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Right now, you need to stop being so dramatic. Take an aspirin and rest. You'll be fine."

He grabbed his briefcase and keys in one smooth motion, then turned to Amber. "Come on, buddy. I'll drop you at school."

“Finally!” Amber jumped up. “Can Aunt Anna pick me up today? She promised to take me for ice cream!”

“We’ll see. Grab your backpack,” Ethan said, already rising.

I opened my mouth – to remind him that Amber had already had ice cream yesterday and shouldn’t have another and to beg him to come with me to the hospital, but Ethan was already striding to the door, our son trotting happily after him.

“Wait… Ethan…” My voice broke, swallowed by the slam of the closing door. My Mother In-Law had already found her way out of the dining area.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. I stood there surrounded by dirty dishes and cooling food, my hands trembling against the table edge.

The nausea hit me like a wave.

I stumbled toward the kitchen sink, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. The floor seemed to rise up too fast. I fell to my knees on the carpet.

I couldn't hold back the gagging sensation in my throat, my stomach heaved, and I retched onto the intricate blue and gold pattern.

"Oh my God!"

I looked up through watering eyes. My mother-in-law’s face twisted in disgust, I thought she had returned to her room.

"You're so disgusting!" she shrieked. "How could you vomit on the carpet? Anna brought this back from France last year! Do you know what this costs?"

"I'm sorry," I gasped, wiping my mouth with shaking hands. "I couldn't make it to the…"

"Oh my God, why would my damn husband – bless his soul – ask Ethan to marry you!" She pressed her hand dramatically to her forehead. "If you don't clean it up, you're doomed! Do you hear me? I want every trace of this gone!” She stormed out.

I knelt there on the soiled carpet, with a well of tears escaping from my lids and mixing with the mess on the floor. I reached for the cleaning supplies, scrubbing until my knuckles were raw and my arms ached.

I must not be sick, I told myself with each scrub. I can't be sick. They need me. I just need to be stronger.

***

The hospital was busier than I expected for a Tuesday afternoon.

The headache had become a constant companion, a drum that never stopped beating behind my eyes. I'd grown almost used to it, learning to function around it.

Then I noticed a man walking past the reception desk. He was just so familiar. He was tall, wearing a suit I recognized because I'd picked it up from the tailor three weeks ago.

My heart fluttered in my chest at the thought of Ethan probably coming to the hospital to check up on me.

"Ethan?" I called out but he was already turning a corner, heading deeper into the hospital.

I followed curiously. What else would he be doing in the hospital if not to confirm if I am fine, well, he still has me in his heart after all.

I was about to call out his name louder when I saw him outside the obstetrics ward, right in front of a door marked PRENATAL CONSULTATION.

Ethan stood there, and beside him was Anna.

"Ethan, I can't believe it!" Her voice carried down the hallway, bright and breathless. "I'm pregnant! Can you believe it? I'm really, actually pregnant!"

The words slammed into me like a fist to the chest.

Pregnant.

He’s been having an affair with her all along, hasn’t he? The late nights, the brushed-off explanations, the way he always sided with her – it all made cruel sense now.

Ethan had never truly accepted me, not even after I gave birth to our son, Amber.

Eight years ago, when I learned I would marry him, I was naïve enough to be happy. I thought it was fate, that our future would be golden. But reality had slapped me again and again until I was numb.

If it hadn’t been for his father’s dying wish – if it hadn’t been for the will that chained him to me, he would never have married me and now, with his father gone, nothing stopped him from treating me like the unwanted burden I’d become.

I stood frozen, partially hidden behind a corner, watching my husband place his hand gently on Anna's shoulder.

"Let's wait for the doctor to confirm," he said, but there was a softness in his voice that I hadn't heard directed at me in years.

"I know, I know, but the home kit test was positive! Oh God, Ethan, we're going to..." Anna cut herself off, glancing around. For a moment, I thought she'd seen me but she just lowered her voice and leaned closer to him.

Anna had no boyfriend. She'd never mentioned dating anyone and now she was pregnant, for my husband?

No. No, this can't be happening.

"Ma'am?" A nurse appeared beside me. "Ma'am, are you alright? You look very pale."

I tried to respond, but no words came out. The floor seemed to rush up toward me.

"Ma'am!"

Darkness swallowed everything.

***

When I opened my eyes, I was staring at white ceiling tiles with annoying beeping sounds.

"Mrs. Walker, can you hear me?"

I turned my head slowly. An older doctor stood beside the bed and behind him, a nurse checked an IV drip connected to my arm.

"What..." My voice came out as a croak. "What happened?"

"You fainted in the hallway. We brought you to the ER and ran some scans." He pulled up a stool, sitting so we were at eye level. "Mrs. Walker, I need to discuss your test results with you."

The test results, right. That's why I'd come here in the first place but all I could see was Anna's face, glowing with happiness. Ethan's hand on her shoulder, loving and protective.

"Mrs. Walker?"

I forced myself to focus. "I'm listening."

He pulled out a tablet, showing me images I didn't understand, cross-sections of a brain, with a dark mass visible in one quadrant.

"The headaches and nausea you've been experiencing – we have identified the cause. You have a mass in your brain. A tumor." He paused, and in that pause, my entire world shifted on its axis. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but based on the size and the rate of growth, it's malignant."

Malignant.

The word echoed in my head, somehow louder than all the headaches combined.

"What does that mean?" I already knew. I just needed him to say it.

"It means the tumor is cancerous and aggressive. We can discuss treatment options, surgery, radiation, chemotherapy – but Mrs. Walker, I need to be honest with you." His eyes were kind, which somehow made it worse. "Given the location and the stage we're at, you have approximately six months. With treatment, possibly longer, but..."

Six months.

One hundred and eighty days.

The ceiling tiles blurred as tears filled my eyes.

"No," I whispered. "No, that can't be right. I have a son. I have…there's so much I haven't…"

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Walker. We'll schedule you for a follow-up appointment to discuss your options. Is there someone we can call? Your husband?"

My husband.

Who was somewhere in this hospital right now, holding my sister while she told him about the baby growing inside her?

"No." The word came out flat. Dead. "There's no one to call."

#2

Cynthia's POV

I left the hospital in a daze, the doctor's words still echoing in my skull louder than any headache.

I had six cruel months to live and everything and everyone was just acting so normal like I had not just been handed a death sentence.

What was I supposed to do with six months?

My phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out with shaking hands.

‘Where are you? You've been gone for hours. Don't forget the organic vegetables Mr. Brown prefers.’

It was my mother-in-law with another demand on an endless list.

No "how was your appointment." No "are you okay."

I stood on the corner, staring at the message, when something across the street caught my eye. A café with floor-to-ceiling windows. The kind of trendy place with overpriced lattes and desserts that I'd never been allowed to visit.

"Waste of time," Ethan would say whenever I suggested it. "We have coffee at home."

But apparently not a waste of time for him and Anna.

Amber sat between them, laughing at something Anna said. She had her arm around his shoulders, pulling him close for a photo. Ethan held up his phone, angling it to get the best shot.

"Perfect!" I couldn't hear him, but I could read his lips. "One more. Amber, look at Aunt Anna."

My son gazed up at Anna with pure adoration.

She ruffled his hair, planted a kiss on his forehead, and Ethan captured it all, his expression warm and indulgent.

They looked like a family.

A perfect, happy family.

I remembered last month when I'd asked Amber if we could take a photo together for his school project.

He rolled his eyes and muttered, "Do I have to? Mom, you're not like Lilian’s mom."

Lilian’s mom — the glamorous news anchor who looked like she belonged on a red carpet instead of the PTA. She was everything I wasn’t: elegant, accomplished, adored by all the parents.

The café table was covered with treats — cupcakes, cookies, colorful macarons. Anna fed Amber a bite of something chocolate, and he giggled.

When was the last time my son laughed with me?

When was the last time Ethan had looked at me the way he was looking at them — like they were precious, worth his time, worth his smile?

My hands moved on their own, pulling up Ethan's contact, pressing call.

Through the café window, I watched him glance at his phone. I watched his expression shift from content to irritated and he swiped to decline the call.

The rejection was a physical blow.

I called again.

This time he answered, but he didn't look happy about it. He said something to Anna and Amber, then stood and walked toward the back of the café, phone pressed to his ear.

"What?" His voice was sharp, impatient. "I'm busy, Cynthia."

"I..." My voice cracked. "I need to talk to you. It's important."

"Everything is always important with you." I heard the eye roll in his tone. "Can this wait? I'm in the middle of something."

"No, it can't wait. Ethan, please, I went to the hospital today and…"

"The hospital, right. How did that go? Did they tell you that you're fine and just need to relax like I said?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Look, we'll talk about this later. Did you clean Anna's apartment like I asked?"

The question hit me like a slap.

"What?"

"Anna's apartment. I asked you to clean it this morning. Did you go?"

I looked through the window at Anna, laughing at something Amber said, looking so beautiful and carefree in her designer dress. Why do I always have to do things for her like some maid, while she eventually takes all of the glory?

"I... no. I was at the hospital, Ethan. I've been trying to tell you…"

"Cynthia, I don't have time for this right now." His voice hardened. "You need to go there this afternoon. And don't forget to make dinner for her afterward. She's been working so hard on the Bennett project, the least you can do is help out. She's family."

"Ethan…"

"I have to go. We'll talk when I get home."

The line went dead.

I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, staring at my husband as he walked back to the table. Anna said something, and he laughed, shaking his head. Probably telling her I was being dramatic again.

Amber pulled on Ethan's sleeve, showing him something on a tablet. Ethan sat back down, pulling his son onto his lap in a gesture so natural, so affectionate, it made my chest ache.

I should walk in there, push open that café door and confront them. I am dying and they are having a swell time?

I wish I had that boldness, I would just turn out to be a crazy, dramatic woman ruining their perfect afternoon.

***

"Where have you been!"

My mother-in-law's voice hit me before I'd even closed the front door.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? The dinner is tonight! Tonight, Cynthia! And you've been gone for…" she glanced at her diamond watch, "…over five hours without a single word!"

"I'm sorry, Mother. I had a doctor's appointment…"

"I don't care if you had an appointment with the Pope himself!" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. "Don’t you remember Mr. Brown is coming tonight? He is one of the most important potential partners for Walker Industries! And you disappear all day like a selfish child?"

The headache that had briefly receded came roaring back. I pressed my fingers to my temple.

"Mother, I really wasn't feeling well. The doctor said…"

"Oh, enough with the excuses!" She waved her hand dismissively. "You're always 'not feeling well.' Always complaining about something. Do you think I don't see through your little act?"

"It's not an act. I'm actually sick…"

"Sick of what? Sick of having a beautiful home? Sick of having a husband who provides for you? Sick of having more than a orphan girl like you ever deserved?" Her eyes were cold, cruel. "You should be grateful, Cynthia. Grateful that my husband forced Ethan to marry you, because God knows no one else would have wanted you."

She was very good at talking down on me, she had a degree in that.

"Now stop wasting time and get to the kitchen."

"Mother, please. Can't we hire a caterer? Or …"

Her laugh was harsh. "Are you insane? Do you know how much Ethan has sacrificed to get this meeting? And you want to serve him catered food like we're some common family?"

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"No. You will cook. You will make it perfect. Because if you ruin this, if your mediocre food or your pathetic appearance tonight costs my son this deal, then you deserve to die. Do you understand me? You deserve to die."

The words should have shocked me but I'd heard variations of this speech so many times they'd lost their power.

"I understand," I whispered.

***

Beef Wellington was Mr. Brown's favorite, according to the notes my mother-in-law had left. I prepared the dough from scratch, my hands shaking as I rolled it out.

My head pounded every single second and twice, I had to stop and lean against the counter, breathing through waves of nausea.

But I couldn't afford to rest because if dinner wasn't perfect, it would be my fault.

By the time the doorbell rang at seven o'clock, the dining table was set beautifully and arranged with care while I looked like death.

I'd caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My skin was pale, dark circles under my eyes, hair limp despite my best efforts. The simple black dress I'd chosen hung off my frame; I'd lost weight without noticing.

The guests arrived in a wave of expensive cologne and practiced laughter. Mr. Brown was exactly what I expected in his early sixties. His wife was younger, decorative, wearing a practiced smile.

Ethan welcomed them as he guided him into the living room.

When he saw me, his smile froze. His eyes traveled from my face to my dress to my hair, and I saw disappointment and disgust in his looks.

"Cynthia." His voice was pleasant, but I heard the steel underneath. "Could you help me grab the wine from upstairs? I think I left the vintage Mr. Brown prefers in our room."

He followed me up the stairs and as soon as we were out of earshot, he turned on me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I flinched. "What?"

"Look at yourself!" He gestured at me, his voice a harsh whisper. "You look terrible. Don't you understand what tonight means?"

"Ethan, I've been cooking all afternoon. I'm tired…"

"Tired? Everyone gets tired, Cynthia. But they don't show up to important dinners looking like… like this!" His hand cut through the air. "You're my wife. You represent me and right now, you're embarrassing me in front of one of the most important potential partners Walker Industries has ever had."

The unfairness of it stole my breath.

"I've been trying to tell you all day that I'm sick…"

"Not now." His voice was flat, final. "Whatever personal drama you're manufacturing can wait. Right now, I need you to go fix yourself. Change your dress. Put on makeup. Do something with your hair. Make yourself presentable."

"Ethan…"

"Now, Cynthia." He was already turning away. "And smile when you come back down. I don't care if you have to fake it. Just don't ruin this for me."

He walked away, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.

I stood in the hallway, alone, and felt something inside me crack.

#3

**Cynthia's POV**

The dinner was a performance, and I was like the supporting actress in the play who hadn’t practiced my lines.

Mr. Brown and his wife sat across from Ethan and me, their questions flowing like wine …personal, probing, the kind of questions people ask when they're deciding if you're the "right kind" of family to do business with.

How did we balance work and family? How did we keep the marriage strong? What was our philosophy on raising children?

All those questions hurt because well, none of them seem to have a positive response but I answered carefully, trying to paint a picture of domestic harmony I didn't actually feel.

Ethan offered occasional comments, mostly letting me carry the conversation. It was what I always did.

Then Anna walked in.

She appeared in the dining room doorway like she'd been summoned by some cosmic force, wearing a dress that made mine look like something from a decade ago. Emerald silk that clung to every curve. Hair artfully styled.

Makeup perfect in that effortless way that probably took an hour to achieve.

My eyes flicked to her stomach, catching the faint curve of a baby bump, so subtle no one would notice unless they knew — as I did, from the hospital hallway, from her breathless

“I’m pregnant!” to Ethan. The sight of it now, here, in my home, was a punch to the gut, my headache flaring like a warning siren.

This bitch has the nerve to come in here uninvited after getting pregnant for my husband. Hasn’t she done enough?

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry I'm late!" Her voice was bright, apologetic, drawing every eye in the room. "Traffic was absolutely insane. You guys started without me? Ethan didn't mention I was coming?"

I felt Ethan shift beside me, his discomfort is basically because it was awkward that he hadn't mentioned it. Which meant either he'd forgotten to mention her, or Anna had invited herself.

“Anna,” he said, his voice tight but polite, “good to see you. Join us.”

"Better late than ever" Mr. Brown said, gesturing to the empty chair. “And you are?”

“Anna… Anna Walker” she smiled seductively as she settled gracefully into the seat beside Ethan, and I watched the dynamic shift in real time.

"So you're family with the Walkers?" Mr. Brown's wife turned to Anna with interest.

"Sister," Anna corrected gently. "Adopted sister, technically, but family all the same. Our parents took us in after… well, you might’ve heard about it. The kidnapping case, twenty years ago? One of the nation’s biggest."

The way she said “us” made it sound like we were equals, like we shared the same scars, the same story. But I’d always been the afterthought, the girl tacked onto her narrative. My fingers tightened around my fork, the metal biting into my palm as Mrs. Brown leaned forward, intrigued.

"How wonderful," Mrs. Brown said. "And you all get along so well?"

"Oh, absolutely." Anna smiled at me, and it was perfect.

Warm and sisterly. Everything a supporting character should offer the lead.

"Cynthia is such a devoted mother and wife. We all admire her so much."

The compliment stung more than an insult would have. Because it was a lie wrapped in the language of affection. It was Anna positioning herself as someone who admired me from above, looking down with benevolent generosity.

"Tell me, how do you manage all the household responsibilities?" Mrs. Brown asked me. "It must be quite a lot having a child, a husband with a demanding career, managing staff..."

I opened my mouth, grasping for an answer that wouldn’t betray how hollow I felt. “It’s… challenging, but I…”

"Cynthia is remarkable at organization," Anna said smoothly, leaning forward slightly. "She has this system for family meal planning that's actually quite impressive. I guess it is because she is a stay-at-home mom, so she has all the time to make amazing dishes” She took a bite of the Beef Wellington I’d spent hours preparing, her eyes meeting mine. “Yummy.”

The words were a slap, painting me as both competent and pathetic, a housewife with nothing better to do.

Anna dominated every question that followed. When Mrs. Brown asked about motherhood, Anna spun tales of “helping” Ethan with Amber, as if I weren’t his mother. When the conversation turned to managing a household, she mentioned systems she’d suggested, improvements she’d made, each word erasing me a little more. By the time dessert was served, I felt like a ghost at my own table, my presence reduced to a shadow beside her radiance.

As soon as Mr. Brown and his wife made to leave, I fled to the master bedroom, the only place in this house that still felt like mine. I splashed water on my face, trying to cool the heat of humiliation, the headache throbbing in time with my pulse. I gripped the sink, willing the nausea to pass, when the door creaked open behind me.

I walked back into the bedroom and found Anna reclining on my matrimonial bed like she belonged there, her dress fanned out against the white duvet. My stomach churned, the violation of her presence in this sacred space igniting a fury I didn’t know I had left.

“Anna, what are you doing?” My voice trembled with shock and anger.

She tilted her head, her smile lazy, unapologetic. “Since when is it a crime to come in here? Ethan doesn’t mind.” She stretched, her fingers brushing the pillows where I slept.

My hands clenched, the headache spiking as I fought to keep my voice steady. “What do you want, Anna?”

She stood up, surveying the room, ran a finger along my dresser, pausing to adjust a perfume bottle that didn’t need adjusting. “Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just came to remind you of your place in this house,”

I inhaled sharply, my throat tightening. “Why are you doing this? Haven’t you done enough?”

Anna smirked, her tone dripping with pity. “Oh, come on. You’re miserable here, everyone can see it. I’m just doing you a favor by telling you what everyone already knows. Ethan’s heart…” she stepped closer, her voice dropping…“was never yours to begin with.”

Her words pierced deeper than I wanted to admit. I opened my mouth to respond, but she suddenly stiffened, her gaze darting past me toward the staircase.

I heard footsteps approaching the bedroom, and in an instant, Anna’s expression changed, fear flashing across her face like a practiced performance. She stumbled backward, collapsing to the carpet with a soft cry.

“Anna!” I exclaimed, startled.

She pressed a trembling hand to her cheek, eyes wide and glassy. “I won’t do it again,” she whimpered, her voice breaking just loud enough to carry down the hallway. “I won’t talk to Mrs. Brown anymore, please don’t hit me…”

I froze, realization dawning a second too late.

Ethan appeared in the doorway, his face a storm of confusion and fury. “What the hell is going on here?”

Anna flinched, curling in on herself like a wounded bird. “It was my fault,” she whispered shakily. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t be angry at her…”

My mouth fell open. “Anna... what are you doing? This is not what happened!” I stepped forward, panic flooding my chest. “She came in here…she started this!”

Ethan’s expression hardened, disbelief etched deep into his features. “Cynthia, what is wrong with you?”

“She’s lying!” I said, my voice breaking. “I didn’t touch her. She…”

“Enough!” Ethan’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you want to cause another scene? We still have guests downstairs. Do you ever stop embarrassing this family?”

The words stung sharper than a slap. I felt the tears rise, but I swallowed them down.

Anna looked up at him with perfect fragility. “It’s okay, Ethan,” she whispered. “It was just a misunderstanding. She didn’t mean it.”

She’d turned the whole situation on its head, painting me as the aggressor.

Ethan turned to me, eyes cold. “Apologize to her.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Apologize.”

My pride screamed no, but the humiliation of another confrontation in front of the guests waiting downstairs pinned me in place. “Ethan, I didn’t…”

“Now, Cynthia.”

I could feel Anna’s gaze on me, smug, triumphant, and waiting for the kill.

My voice came out hollow, barely audible. “I’m sorry,” I said.

Anna’s lips curved faintly, the act complete. “It’s alright,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “I forgive you.”

Ethan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Good. I don’t want to hear about this again.” He helped Anna to her feet, his arm instinctively steadying her as he led her out of the room.

I stood there, numb and wondering if this is how I am going to continue living my life.

This is Anna's old trick—once, twice, countless times. She frames me, and he believes her. Once again, I feel utterly alone, but never as intensely as I do now.

#4