The laughter faded, and Garry walked toward me.
There was a flicker of guilt on his face as he pulled me into his arms—just like he used to.
“Jane Ford,” he murmured, “Natasha gave you a chance to live, and she almost died for it. When I found her, she’d lost her memory and only remembered me. The doctor warned me not to trigger her trauma… I had no choice but to go along.”
Garry fetched the first aid kit and gently applied medicine to my wound.
“If you want, we can still be a family. You can stay—as Natasha’s sister. As long as we both know you’re my wife and Seth’s mother, that’s enough.”
“So, you want me to stay here… as your hidden mistress?”
Garry’s face darkened. He was about to say something when a loud crash startled us.
We turned to see Natasha clutching her mouth in shock, staring at Garry holding me. Then she turned and ran out, crying.
Garry’s expression shifted to panic as he rushed after her.
Watching his retreating back, I suddenly remembered—he was always like this.
Even after he and Natasha broke up, they stayed “close friends.” When she called him crying from a bar in the middle of the night, he’d drop everything to go to her.
I bit down my pain and wiped the blood off my forehead.
“Mom!”
Seth came running, throwing himself into my arms. I caught him tightly.
“Mom… I know you’re my mom. But if I don’t call that woman ‘Mom,’ she beats me.”
He looked up, eyes filled with pain, and rolled up his sleeves to show me his arms—crisscrossed with bruises.
My heart clenched painfully.
“Mom, if you don’t listen to them, they’ll keep hitting me!”
Fury surged through me as I took the medicine and began treating his wounds. Just then, Garry returned, carrying Natasha.
Her eyes were red from crying, and her knees were scraped.
“Jane! I told you Natasha can’t be provoked. You need to apologize to her!”
I laughed bitterly. Who, exactly, was provoking whom?
He gently placed her on the couch and then turned to me, pointing furiously.
“Don’t forget—she saved your life! You don’t want to apologize? Fine. Natasha’s been eyeing a designer bag lately. Buy it for her—it’s just one million.”
I froze. Was this a joke?
Natasha sparkled from head to toe in jewels and luxury. Meanwhile, I hadn’t bought myself a single new outfit in years. Every cent I earned went to the family.
Garry never once asked if I was struggling or in pain.
When I joined the secret research institute, I became an experimental subject.
I took drug after drug, enduring endless side effects. My stomach was scorched, and my body was full of needle marks.
I endured the agony silently, hoping to earn enough to make life better for them.
Later, my dedication impressed the lead scientist, and he made me his assistant.
I advanced quickly, and he even offered to make me a permanent researcher.
But I declined—because I still had a family I longed to return to.
And yet, they treated me like nothing more than an ATM.
I turned away, ignoring Garry, focusing on treating my son.
Suddenly, Natasha whimpered sweetly, “Hubby… my leg hurts so much~ Shouldn’t we go to the hospital?”
Without hesitation, Garry ordered the bodyguards to hold me down. He rummaged through the bag I’d brought.
“She got hurt because of you—use your little stash of money to make up for it.”
He pulled out my bank card, grinning. “What’s the password?”
I struggled, teeth clenched, refusing to answer.
“No problem. I’ll make you talk.”
With a nod, he dragged Seth into a room.
Through the closed door, I heard a stick strike, followed by my child’s cries.
Each scream tore through me like a blade.
“Stop! Stop hitting him!” I sobbed. “Garry, that’s your son! How can you be so cruel? I’ll tell you the password—just stop!”
It was our son’s birthday.
Garry froze for a second. Clearly, he didn’t remember.
Of course—he could recall the date he first held Natasha’s hand, but not his own child’s birthday.
“Don’t get involved anymore,” he said coldly. “Just stay home and behave.”
He left. I rushed into the room and found Seth.
I reached out, wanting to take him away—again.
But he recoiled.
Seth turned and ran, ignoring my desperate calls.
I looked at my hand. Something sticky clung to my fingertips.
I touched his arm earlier—what was it?
Looking closer, I frowned.
Was this… paint?
