The poor student I had sponsored for years suddenly demanded that I divorce my husband and give him to her. She claimed to be a gambler—if she couldn’t win over Jude Langston, she would die.

Jude couldn’t bear to see her suffer. He tried to persuade me.

"You’re almost 30, and she’s only in her 20s. She still has a long future ahead of her. How can you be so heartless?"

And just like that, he turned around and secretly became her lover.

They whispered sweet words in front of everyone, flirted shamelessly before my eyes. Even my own daughter sided with them, accusing me of being selfish for refusing to divorce.

In the end, I let go. I signed the papers and walked away. That night, I drank with my new boyfriend at a bar, toasting to my newfound freedom.

But Jude wasn’t done with me. He stormed in with our daughter, pointing an accusing finger.

"You abandoned your husband and child!"

I sneered.

"You’re almost 40. My new boyfriend is in his 20s. I guess I just have a thing for young ones."

——

When I returned home, cake in hand, my daughter Cassy ran to the door. But instead of welcoming me, she looked behind me, searching.

"Where’s Aunt Adele? Where’s Dad?" Her face fell. "Why did you come back alone? You’re not welcome here!"

I rubbed my temples, exhaustion washing over me. I had just finished an overnight operation. I had no energy left to explain.

She was only eight, still a child. Normally obedient, but tonight, relentless. She hit and kicked me, her small fists fueled by anger.

"You’re bad! A stinky old woman! You stay with patients all day!" She sobbed, hiccupping through her fury. "I want Aunt Adele! I want Dad!"

Her little hands hurt more than I expected. I inhaled sharply, then wiped away her tears, forcing a gentle voice.

"Cassy, Mommy is saving lives in the hospital. Mommy is an angel in white, not a bad person."

But she only cried louder. I knew she was doing this on purpose. Whenever things didn’t go her way, she punished me like this.

Completely different from her father, who preferred silence.

"You’re lying! If you really save people, why don’t you just let Dad and Aunt Adele be together?" Her voice cracked. "Aunt Adele said she would die if she couldn’t have Dad!"

A memory surfaced. Just days ago, Adele Whitaker—the poor student I had supported for five years—stood before me, pleading.

She had looked at me with desperate eyes.

"I’m a conqueror," she had said. "If I can’t win over Jude, I’ll die. Please… let me have him."

I hadn’t believed her, but now, doubt crept in.

Because once upon a time, Jude had conquered me too.

Back in college, when he was the golden boy—every girl’s dream, the campus heartthrob. And I? Just a medical student buried in books and lab work.

Yet, rain or shine, he waited for me outside the lab every day, ready to walk me to dinner, to tell me stories, to make me laugh.

And today was my birthday. He had promised to pick me up.

But when I stepped out of the hospital, only the cold wind greeted me.

Cassy wouldn't stop crying, begging for her father. So I called him. Again and again.

On the fifth ring, he finally answered.

His voice was lazy, hoarse. "What’s wrong?"

Before I could speak, Cassy grabbed the phone, her voice turning sweet and hopeful.

"Dad! Were you with Aunt Adele today? Can you bring her home next time?"

My face turned pale as I snatched the phone from Cassy’s hands.

"Cassy, what nonsense are you talking about?"

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Dad said I’m a child, and children don’t talk nonsense!"

With that, she spun on her heel and ran off—knocking over the cake I had just set on the table.

The cream smeared across the floor, a sticky, ruined mess.

I stared at it for a moment, the remnants of my daughter’s anger splattered before me, and exhaled a long, tired sigh.

I didn’t understand. Ever since Adele entered our lives, Cassy had changed. My once sweet, sensible daughter had become volatile, lashing out at me in ways she never had before.

I picked up the phone again. "Look at your daughter," I said to Jude.

But he remained unmoved.

"Corinne, this isn’t how you should handle a child. At her age, you need to be patient."

Patient?

Had I not been patient enough?

Did patience mean sacrificing myself—divorcing my husband, stepping aside, letting another woman play mother to my own child?

Jude, Montclaire University professor of literature, always spoke with the air of someone who believed he knew better than everyone else.

Maybe in books, he was wise. But in real life, he was clueless.

I was too exhausted to argue.

I turned around and asked him why he hadn’t picked me up from work today.

A long silence stretched between us before he finally spoke.

"Corinne, you’ve walked that road so many times. You’re not a child who needs someone to pick you up." His tone was indifferent, almost dismissive. "At your age, are you still afraid to go home alone?"

Then, as if it were an afterthought, he added, "I have a seminar here. You should sleep first—I won’t be coming home tonight."

Just as he finished speaking, a faint but sharp moan echoed from his side of the call—hurriedly muffled, but unmistakable.

The sound pierced through me like a needle to my eardrum.

We are all adults. No matter how naive I wanted to be, I wasn’t stupid.

I knew exactly what that sound was.

My heart plummeted.

Tonight, after an exhausting shift, my daughter had scolded me.

My husband had forgotten my birthday.

And now, he was sleeping with another woman.

I stood frozen, staring at the ruined cake on the floor, its cream smeared into a mess—just like the wreckage of my life.

A notification lit up my phone screen.

"Happy Birthday!"

It was from the bank.

I let out a hollow laugh. The only birthday greeting I had received.

Mechanically, I cleaned up the mess, then sank onto the sofa, my body weighed down with exhaustion.

Out of habit, I opened my Instagram feed.

And then I saw it.

Adele’s latest post.

A woman’s slender shoulders leaning against a man’s broad chest—his face intentionally cropped out.

Three live photos. Different locations.

The bathroom. The kitchen. The bedroom.

The caption: "99% progress in the strategy."

My breath caught. My fingers trembled as I clicked on the images.

The moment they loaded, the accompanying sound played—one I could barely stomach.

A man’s heavy, desperate panting.

It was like a bolt of lightning striking my last shred of rationality.

I knew that voice.

I had spent years by Jude’s side—how could I not recognize it?

And when I looked closer, my stomach twisted.

There, on his collarbone, was a distinct dent—one that had never faded since the day he got injured saving me.

The second image was of Adele’s manicured fingers, hooked around his collar, her nails glinting under the light.

My breath turned shallow.

The man who had always been reserved, almost restrained with me, was now utterly unrestrained with someone else.

My hands shook as I zoomed in, desperately searching for proof that it wasn’t him.

But hope was short-lived.

Because on Adele’s finger, I spotted a ring.

A ring that looked painfully familiar.

A few days ago, I had stumbled upon it in Jude’s study drawer.

I had assumed it was a surprise for me—a birthday gift he was waiting to give.

I had spent days looking forward to it, imagining the moment he’d slip it onto my finger.

But now, that ring was on another woman’s hand.

I had been a fool.

A fool who had clung to memories of the past, to the version of him that once worked extra shifts as a deliveryman just to buy me a diamond ring.

I still remember the way he smiled when he handed me the gift box, the joy in his eyes.

"Corinne, I will give you even better things in the future."

His sincerity was so overwhelming that I fell in love with him all over again.

On our wedding night, he held me close, his voice sincere and raw: "If I can't conquer you, I will die." "Corinne, I'm so glad you've taken control of my life. Because I love you."

But that night, I woke up in the middle of a dream.

The wind outside had blown the window open, and the curtains swayed wildly.

"Jude?"

Only silence answered me—an empty, echoing void.

I hated that feeling of loneliness.

In the past, Jude would hold me tight at moments like this, whispering that it was the feeling of home.

I had grown up with parents who had been separated since I was young. The love I received was nothing more than a monthly allowance and obligatory greetings. It was Jude’s presence that had filled my life with light.

He once told me I didn’t have to be so independent, that he could be my support.

Ten years have passed. A lot had changed.

The cold wind had blown too long, and now, dizziness and fever gripped me.

I prepared breakfast for my daughter, who had just had tonsil surgery and could only eat light foods.

But she cried, lying on the floor, demanding fried meatballs from Adele.

I let her cry.

Then, I sent a message to Jude—no matter where he was, I couldn’t ignore my daughter.

He didn’t reply.

So, I took my daughter to the nursery.

After I had settled everything, I was caught off guard when the first patient to walk into my office was none other than Adele.

And Jude was right behind her.

The other colleagues in the office, unaware of the situation, began to tease him.

"Professor Langston is here to see Dr. Corinne? That's enviable."

"Breakfast for Dr. Corinne too? This display of affection in the hospital? I can’t stand it!"

But they didn’t know the truth.

Jude wasn’t there for me. He came with Adele.

He smiled but didn’t say a word, creating space between me and her. He didn’t want to explain anything.

Adele pulled the suit jacket from Jude’s shoulders and draped it over herself.

When she looked at me, her gaze was full of provocation.

"Dr. Langston, can you help me?"

"My boyfriend was too rough with me yesterday, and I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable now."

She knocked on the table when she saw that I remained calm.

"Dr. Langston, do you know why he’s like this with me and not with other women?"

"Does he love me so much that he’s this wild with me?"

She smirked, clearly enjoying every moment of this.

"I heard it was his wife’s birthday yesterday. He didn’t even go home. He said it wasn’t a big deal to celebrate a birthday in your thirties."

Adele kept speaking, her words cutting deeper with every sentence, all while observing my reaction.

But the truth was, my fever hadn’t subsided until this morning. I was weak, barely holding myself together.

I didn’t have the energy to respond to her meaningless words.

After finishing the prescription, I looked up and met her gaze with a calm, measured expression.

"Ms. Whitaker," I said coolly. "This is my professional time. Please leave personal matters out of this."

My voice was steady, but there was an undeniable edge to it.

"Otherwise, I’ll start thinking you’re just being childish."

I gestured toward the door. "Now, go get your medicine. Don’t waste the next patient’s time."

Adele’s smirk faltered, her face flushing with irritation.

She had come here expecting to see me unravel, to watch me break under her words. Instead, she was the one being dismissed.

Her lips curled in frustration.

"What kind of doctor are you, kicking me out like this?" she snapped, her voice rising.

"You really think I won’t file a complaint against you?"