Chapter 3

Before leaving, he ordered me not to wear mourning clothes outside—said it looked inauspicious.

He gave me a perfunctory kiss on the forehead.

I ignored his words.

I walked out of the hotel lobby wearing those very clothes, watched by everyone.

At my child's grave, two small headstones stood side by side—everything I had lost.

My first child was only five months along when a car accident caused massive hemorrhaging, and I missed the critical window for treatment at the hospital.

I was in that car.

So was my child.

And so was Winnie Johnson.

When Nathan arrived at the scene, he only had eyes for Winnie.

He rushed over, scooped up that woman, and ran toward the hospital without even glancing at me or our child.

We were left in that freezing car, waiting for rescue that might never come.

My child grew cold in my arms, bit by bit.

On the way to the hospital, the bleeding wouldn't stop.

In the end, we couldn't save the baby.

I pounded on Nathan's chest with all my strength, each blow using every ounce of my power.

I demanded to know why.

Why didn't he save his own flesh and blood?

Why did he only have eyes for that woman?

Nathan frowned and sighed.

"Zoe, don't be jealous over nothing. Winnie and I grew up together. I only see her as a sister."

"The situation was urgent. I heard you and the baby calling for help, so I figured you were both alive and could wait for other rescue. But Winnie was unconscious and silent. She's an only child. I couldn't let her parents lose their only daughter."

I found it laughable.

Simply put, in his heart, my child and I couldn't even compare to an outsider.

He slapped himself while talking, looking pained and remorseful.

Seeing him like that hurt and filled me with hate, but I couldn't bear to scold him anymore.

I didn't even have the strength to blame him.

Nathan comforted me, saying we could have another child to make up for the loss.

I crouched in front of the headstones, talking to my children for a long time.

I had failed to protect them.

By the time the sky began to darken, I dragged my heavy body home.

As soon as I entered the courtyard, I saw a pile of things burning—all my children's belongings: toys, clothes, and the little blankets I had carefully prepared.

Winnie stood to the side, directing servants to throw items from the nursery into the fire one by one, a smug look on her face.

I rushed forward and slapped her hard across the face, my voice trembling with cold fury.

"Who gave you the right to dispose of my children's things without my permission?"

Winnie covered her face, sobbing.

"Nathan asked me to help you move past the grief of losing your child. I did this for your own good."

"Out of sight, out of mind—it'll keep you from dwelling on it."

Looking at her fake, affected expression made my stomach churn.

She threw the birth photos I'd taken of my children into the fire.

The photos were instantly consumed by flames.

"That little thing is dead and gone. I'm helping you with exposure therapy so you don't fall back into severe depression, have a mental breakdown, slit your wrists, and play the victim to get Nathan's sympathy."