The Ex-Husband Who Begged Too Late
On our wedding anniversary night, my husband Vincent once again abandoned me for his “precious sister” Victoria. As I trembled with excitement to tell him the good news that “I was pregnant,” I received a text message asking me to meet at the Glass Greenhouse. In the darkness, a sharp blade pierced my abdomen. I lost my child and the ability to ever become a mother again. Before losing consciousness, I heard Victoria’s triumphant laughter. But Vincent wouldn’t believe me. He preferred to think it was my hallucination rather than doubt his “pure and innocent” dear sister. When I asked to see that text message, he claimed he had “accidentally deleted it.” I signed the divorce papers, walking away with nothing. He thought I was bluffing, until he found only the “Eternal Heart” diamond ring left on the hospital bed. A year later, he finally uncovered the truth—Victoria wasn’t his biological sister at all; everything had been a deception. He settled all scores and knelt on the streets of Zurich, begging me to return. But it was too late. I had already built a new career and found love in Milan, while he could only rot alone in his empty mansion, clutching that faded Pregnancy Test in the Crematorium he had ignited himself. Vincent, I helped you settle the score with your “sister,” but the debt you owe me—my child and all those years of tears—you can never repay in this lifetime.
