At the height of Leon Hartman's poverty, my mother threw him a check for 4 million dollars.
At the lowest point of Leon’s life, my mother threw a check worth 4 million dollars at him.
“Take the money and leave my daughter forever.”
He accepted it without a word, disappearing into New York’s elite circles and rising swiftly to the top of the rich list.
That same year, he transferred all his wealth to my name, leaving himself penniless. He built me an elite legal team—a loyal force that would stand behind me no matter what. He swore to make me the happiest woman alive.
But on our wedding day, he left me waiting twelve long hours. What arrived instead was devastating news—his adopted sister, freshly released from a mental institution, had run over my mother multiple times, killing her instantly.
Along with that news came a letter of apology from the man I loved most.
I held a dagger to my throat.
“Either she goes to jail,” I said coldly, “or I die.”
Leon finished a pack of cigarettes in silence before gently removing the bloodstained dagger from my hand.
Eventually, his adopted sister was sentenced to five years in prison.
Four years into our marriage, I stumbled upon an anonymous post online.
“She’s had four abortions and is pregnant again,” it read. “Another abortion might make her infertile. Should she keep the baby?”
People in the comments were confused, and the poster replied,
“She’s serving a five-year sentence. Pregnancy is her only way to avoid the harsh prison life. If she gets pregnant again, her release will come just in time.”
My heart froze. I called someone I trusted.
“Check if Leon’s adopted sister has really been in prison these past few years.”
——
Three minutes later, I had the answer.
“Leon’s adopted sister, Lila Young, was sentenced to five years, yes. But she was found pregnant soon after entering prison, so…”
My fists clenched until my nails dug deep into my skin, yet I felt no pain.
The voice on the other end trembled.
“Lila has been pregnant several times over the years. Each time she’s about to give birth, she’s forced to abort. They say it’s at Leon’s request… and…”
“That’s enough.” My voice cracked, and I wiped away a tear with cold fingers. “Find out where Lila has been hiding all this time.”
After ending the call, my eyes drifted back to the post.
Someone had commented:
“How many pregnancies has your wife had? You’re not talking about her, are you? We’ve all made mistakes, I get it.”
Another replied,
“Let the other woman keep the baby. It’s your child, after all. She’s had four abortions already—don’t make her suffer for your wife’s sake.”
And just below that, I saw it: “Praised by the author.”
That simple note shattered me.
So this was the man who once promised to love me more than his own life.
I logged out, numb, but accidentally opened another system.
Leon once said, “From now on, the password to our house will only be numbers you know.”
Yet today, no matter how many times I typed the code, the system stayed locked. After ten minutes, it froze entirely.
I sat there motionless, staring at the screen, before typing again. This time, my stiff fingers entered the date Lila was sentenced.
“Ding!”
Unlocked.
What appeared before me were 1,500 photos—all of Lila.
I suddenly understood how many angles one woman’s face could be captured from.
Each photo had a caption.
And just like that, my dear husband showed me the truth I had been too blind to see.
Every year—during Spring Festival, Valentine’s Day, Children’s Day, Christmas, even my birthday—after every sweet vacation we shared, when he claimed to be working overtime…
He had been with her.
I clicked through each image, reading every line beneath it. My eyes burned as I scrolled through four years of their intertwined lives, frame by frame.
Then I found it—a letter Lila had written to Leon three days after her imprisonment.
It was short, just a few words.
