By the second year of our marriage, long-sleeved, high-collared pajamas had become my only outfit at home.
Because the moment I so much as changed into a camisole, my husband's adopted sister always managed to appear right in front of me.
"Wow, Lillian, so bold! Walking around the house in something that revealing—are you trying to make my brother a laughingstock?"
And my husband didn't just stay silent. He looked at me with undisguised disgust.
Once, I slipped in the bathroom and bruised my knee.
At dinner that night, Claire Finch covered her mouth with a coy little laugh and implied I'd been out doing God knows what with God knows who.
I swallowed it. I let it go. Every single time.
Until the night of the family dinner.
She stared at the mosquito bite on my neck, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
"I mean, it's one thing that she can't give the family an heir. But running around attracting all that attention? I just wonder who left that little red mark on her."
The relatives' eyes ping-ponged between me and my husband, their contempt barely concealed.
Months of humiliation surged up inside me, and I couldn't hold it back anymore.
I grabbed the cup of tea in front of me and hurled it straight into her face.
But the next second, Daniel Sanchez slapped me across the face in front of everyone.
A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out his voice calling me shameless. My mind went blank.
That night, I threw the divorce papers on the table and never looked back.
……
I pressed my hand to my cheek, looking up in disbelief.
Claire was already hiding behind Daniel.
The smug little smile at the corner of her mouth flickered and vanished in an instant.
Then, just like that, her expression crumpled into the picture of wounded innocence, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Daniel turned to face the table full of relatives. His voice was ice.
"A family embarrassment. My apologies."
One sentence. That was all it took to pin every ounce of blame on me.
I became the ungrateful wife who'd ruined the family gathering.
I stared at this man I had loved for twenty years.
From childhood sweethearts to husband and wife—I had believed we would be each other's anchor for life.
But now, for the sake of an outsider, he hadn't left me a shred of dignity.
Absurd. Pathetic.
The relatives' scornful gazes bore into me. Claire's triumphant eyes didn't even bother to hide it anymore.
I couldn't stay another second.
I gripped the edge of the table and staggered to my feet, then turned and stumbled out of the dining hall.
In the foyer of the Sanchez estate, there was a massive floor-length mirror.
The woman staring back at me had tangled hair and one cheek swollen high and red. She looked wrecked.
I went back to the bedroom and locked the door.
On the nightstand, a jade pendant lay quietly.
It was a birthday gift from Daniel.
He'd said: "Lillian, when I'm not by your side, let this keep you safe for me."
Back in middle school, a group of girls in my class used to pick on me constantly.
They tore up my homework. They smeared glue on my chair.
One day I'd had enough and fought back.
The teacher didn't bother asking why. She only punished me—made me write a formal apology.
That afternoon, Daniel kicked open the back door of our classroom and walked straight up to the ringleader.
He was tall for his age, and his eyes were cold.
"Apologize."
The girl went white. "S-sorry," she stammered.
Daniel didn't even look at her. His gaze swept across the entire class.
"If anyone touches Lillian Henson again, an apology won't be enough."
"Remember—Lillian is mine. Try me."
Then he took my hand and walked me out of the classroom.
Those words still echoed in my ears. But the swollen face in the mirror reminded me that everything had changed.
A dull ache pressed against my chest.
The red cord of the pendant bit into my palm.
I had believed Daniel and I would walk through this life together, side by side, until the very end.
I was used to following him wherever he went. He played basketball; I handed him water.
