Chapter 1
Wendy Mason never imagined that on her own birthday, her son would hand her a chestnut cake—something that could send her into anaphylactic shock strong enough to kill.
As her consciousness blurred, she heard Maxwell Woods’ enraged voice cutting through the haze.
“Arthur Woods! Don’t you know your mother is allergic to chestnuts?”
Her son’s young, innocent voice rang out, crystal clear.
“I know. But I wish Aunt Chloe were my mom.”
“You want that too, don’t you, Dad?”
"Even if I did... "
A suffocating wave crashed over her, drowning out the rest of Maxwell's reply.
The very last thought before she passed out was simple, sharp, and cold: If she woke up, she would no longer be Maxwell's wife, nor Arthur's mother.
After five hours in the emergency room, her life was no longer in danger.
When she finally regained consciousness, every breath burned, her face grotesquely swollen.
She forced her eyes open, instinctively searching for two familiar silhouettes—only to find the room empty.
Her phone lay on the bedside cabinet. She tried to lift her arm, but it was too far. Just as she strained to sit up, a nurse entered to change her IV and quickly stopped her.
"You've just come out of the ER. You can't move around. I'll get it for you."
The nurse handed her the phone and fussed while adjusting the drip.
"Did you not know how serious your allergy is? You must never eat anything with chestnuts again. Luckily you were brought in quickly—otherwise, you wouldn't have made it."
Wendy had no idea how to respond.
Should she say that her son knew about her allergy and deliberately chose chestnut cake for her?
Her gaze drifted to her body, tethered to machines. She forced herself to ask, "Where are they?"
She didn't want to call Maxwell and Arthur her husband and son... not anymore.
The nurse hesitated, then nodded in understanding.
"You mean your husband and son? They dropped you off, paid the fees, and left in a hurry. Said they had something urgent. Call them—find out."
She muttered under her breath, "Can't imagine what's more important than your wife or mother. Heartless."
Only one person could make those two leave so quickly.
Wendy unlocked her phone. The chat with Maxwell was still stuck on her last message—green, unread.
She opened his social feed, and at the very top was Chloe Brooks' latest post:
Thank you to my two gallant heroes for catching a cockroach for me. A home really does need a man around (sneaky smile).
The photo showed Maxwell holding a broom—something utterly mismatched to his usual composed image—pressing down on a cockroach. Little Arthur stood in front of Chloe, arms spread protectively.
The sight of those two familiar figures made her eyes sting. The choking sensation returned.
They had left her—fresh from the brink of death—to catch cockroaches for Chloe.
Her allergy had been caused by Arthur.
Yet neither of them felt the slightest guilt or concern.
Her lips twisted in a bitter smile.
Of course. Arthur would rather she never woke up.
And Maxwell—though he didn't know the details—probably felt the same deep down. He wanted Chloe as his wife.
Men who didn't care for her would never stay by her hospital bed.
She set the phone down, staring at the blinding white light above as memories rose like a tide.
She and Maxwell had grown up in the same compound—a childhood of familiar streets and overlapping lives.
He was brilliant from the start, skipping grades, studying abroad early to prepare for inheriting the family business.
She was quiet, always watching from the sidelines, barely noticeable.
And yet, she fell in love with his dazzling presence as a young girl.
She thought her crush would end when he married someone else.
But when he returned from overseas, he came straight to her and asked if she would marry him.
The shock was so overwhelming she could barely breathe. She said yes instantly.
That was how she became Mrs. Woods.
It wasn't until one drunken night that she learned the truth—about the woman he'd loved while abroad.
The girl had told him: if he proposed ninety-nine times, she would say yes on the hundredth.
He believed her.
From the Alps to the Eiffel Tower, Iceland's black sands to Milan's cathedral—each place marked another proposal.
On graduation day, he staged a grand hundredth proposal, ready to marry her immediately after returning home.
In front of all their friends, she refused.
She said she wasn't ready and asked him to wait three more years.
Maxwell's patience snapped.
He came home and married the nearest eligible woman—her.
When she learned the truth, she didn't mind. She believed love could grow over time.
A year into their marriage, she gave birth to Arthur, and their relationship seemed warmer.
They looked like the perfect family from the outside.
Until a month ago, when Chloe returned.
He forgot those hundred failed proposals and gravitated to her again—attentive, gentle, spending nights away. Even their son followed him to see her.
Wendy had believed that six years of marriage and five years of motherhood meant she still mattered to them.
Today shattered that illusion.
Six years, and she had never warmed Maxwell's heart.
Even the child she had carried and raised didn't see her as his mother.
The door burst open, breaking her thoughts.
A tall man and a small boy stood at the threshold.
Maxwell nudged Arthur forward, his tone stern.
"Go apologize to your mom."
Arthur shuffled to her bedside, voice barely above a whisper.
"Sorry, Mom."
She turned her head away, catching the reluctance in his eyes.
Maxwell's voice followed, steady and low.
"Arthur didn't mean it. He didn't know about your allergy. I've already scolded him—he won't bring you chestnuts again.
There was urgent work at the company. You were still unconscious, so I went to deal with it."
It was midsummer outside, the air heavy with heat.
But Wendy felt colder than midwinter.
Since she'd woken, he hadn't sent her a single message.
And both things he'd said to her now were lies.
Seeing her silence, he frowned.
"Come on—it's your birthday. Don't be upset with a child. We got you a gift. See if you like it. I'll put it on you when you're discharged."
He opened a box to reveal a diamond necklace—clearly something they'd picked up on the way.
She glanced at it.
"I have a gift for you too," she murmured.
He blinked. "It's your birthday. Why are you giving us a gift?"
Arthur looked puzzled too.
Her lips curved in quiet release.
"Courtesy goes both ways. Don't worry—you'll see it in a few days. I'm sure you'll love it."
A signed divorce agreement—just what they both wanted...