Chapter 1

Sharon, my husband's mother, had always looked down on me, despising me for being poor and unsophisticated, unworthy of her son.

I thought that if I just worked hard enough, I could eventually earn her approval.

Until I returned from a business trip to find my house had been completely emptied by Sharon.

My home had been sold by my husband, Ethan.

Just as I was sinking into despair, I received a call from my dad:

"Sweetheart, I've got amazing news---your mom and I won the $300 million lottery!"

I hung up the phone and suddenly laughed. I couldn't wait to see Ethan's expression when he realized that for a few hundred thousand dollars, he'd thrown away a wife worth hundreds of millions.

The metal wheels of the high-speed train scraped against the tracks, emitting a long, reassuring rumble.

I dragged my 24-inch suitcase and stood at the familiar door of my home.

After half a month of intense business travel, every part of my body screamed with exhaustion.

But thinking of Ethan, who always smiled so warmly, a wave of comfort rose in my heart.

The commission I'd earned from this project was substantial---enough for us to pay off a full year of mortgage ahead of schedule.

I'd even used my project bonus to buy him that watch he'd been talking about for so long.

Imagining his delighted expression when he saw the gift, all my exhaustion from the journey melted away.

I took out my key, ready to give him a surprise hug.

I inserted the key into the lock.

It wouldn't turn.

Metal scraped against metal with an incompatible, grating sound.

I froze.

What's going on?

I tried again, applying more force. The lock cylinder didn't budge.

A faint unease crept up from my heart like a vine.

I pulled out my phone and called Ethan.

"Hello, the number you have dialed is currently on another call. Please try again later."

The cold mechanical female voice repeated over and over.

On another call?

At this hour, he should be home playing video games.

I called Sharon.

"Hello, the number you have dialed is currently switched off."

The unease instantly magnified, like ink dropped into clear water, rapidly staining my entire heart black.

I leaned against the cold security door, my fingers trembling through my contacts.

Finally, I found the locksmith's number.

Half an hour later, a middle-aged man in blue overalls appeared before me.

"The lock's been changed," the master said after examining the lock cylinder, his tone certain. "You must've pissed someone off. Whoever did this was pretty ruthless."

My heart sank sharply.

Amid the piercing sound of the electric drill, the door I'd walked through every day finally cracked open.

I handed over three hundred dollars, forgot to even say thank you, and impatiently pushed the door open.

Empty.

Everything was empty.

No familiar sofa, no TV cabinet we'd picked out together, no dining table I'd wiped clean every day.

Only a few lonely cardboard boxes sat in the center of the living room, filled with worthless odds and ends.

Sunlight streamed through the curtainless windows, casting large swaths of dust particles on the floor.

This didn't look like a home---it looked like an abandoned warehouse.

I rushed into the bedroom.

Empty.

Our king-size bed had vanished, along with the jewelry box I'd kept in the nightstand.

The closet stood wide open, containing only a few old clothes I'd changed out of before my trip, thrown carelessly in the corner like rags.

I frantically dialed Ethan's number, again and again.

Always that same message: "currently on another call."

I'd been blocked.

This realization poured over me like a bucket of ice water from head to toe.

I tried calling Sharon again.

Switched off.

No. Impossible.

They couldn't have just left like this.

There must be some misunderstanding.

I collapsed onto the cold floor, my body trembling uncontrollably.

Just then, Mrs. Walker from across the hall opened her door and poked her head out.

"Oh my, Emily's back?" Her face wore a complex expression mixing sympathy and gossip. "You're finally home! Your husband and his mom moved out a week ago."

"Moved out?" My voice was as dry as sandpaper.

"Yeah, they were all cheerful about it. Said your husband made it big somewhere and was taking his mom to live the good life in another city!" Mrs. Walker's voice continued. "I asked why you weren't with them, and he said you were busy with work, that he'd go ahead and get everything set up, then come back for you later. You're so lucky, Emily, finding such a successful husband."

Live the good life. Made it big.

Each word was like a knife, stabbing viciously into my chest.

I finally understood.

This wasn't a misunderstanding.

This was a premeditated abandonment.

I'd given everything to this family.

To save money for the mortgage, I hadn't bought myself a single new piece of clothing in three years.

To care for his demanding mother, I'd learned to cook her favorite dishes.

I'd handled all the housework, getting up early and staying up late, serving him and Sharon like they were royalty.

I thought my devotion would earn their genuine care.

Turns out, in their eyes, I was just trash they could discard at any moment.

All my social media accounts, every way to contact them---deleted completely.

I was like someone who'd appeared out of thin air and disappeared the same way.

They'd erased every trace of my existence.

The sky gradually darkened.

Cold darkness swallowed the entire room, and swallowed me too.

"Knock, knock, knock."

A knocking sound.

I numbly lifted my head to see two people in security uniforms standing at the door.

"Excuse me, we received a complaint from the property owner about a suspicious person staying here for an extended period."

One of the young security guards looked at me warily.

"This is my home," I spoke, my voice hoarse beyond recognition.

"Your home? This house was sold a week ago. The new owner asked us to watch the property and not let anyone in."

The older security guard sized me up, his eyes full of suspicion.

"Please leave immediately."

They "escorted" me out of the place I'd once called home, one on each side.

The wheels of my suitcase rolled across the concrete, making hollow, grating sounds.

I stood at the entrance to the residential complex, watching the coming and going of vehicles and pedestrians, feeling humiliated and wretched for the first time.

I'd become a joke.

A homeless joke.