Chapter 1

It was 11 p.m., and I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. After three years of marriage, it had become a routine for me to wake up every night to massage Rayford Wallace's legs.

"Honey, let me give you a massage so your legs don't cramp," I said, sitting up and getting ready to head to the guest room.

Since we got married, Rayford had always slept in the guest room, saying he was afraid of bumping into me when he turned over. I'd never questioned it and was always touched by his thoughtfulness.

"No need, I'm fine tonight," his voice came from the guest room, sounding a little flustered.

I frowned. He'd never turned down a massage before. I pushed open the door to the guest room, only to find the bed covered in rumpled blankets, but no sign of Rayford.

My heart skipped a beat. I searched the room, even checked the bathroom, but there was no one there. Was something wrong?

I grabbed my phone, ready to call the police, when I heard a faint noise from the balcony. I followed the sound, and through the gap in the glass door, I saw a shocking sight...

*****

Rayford was standing on the balcony, without a wheelchair or crutches, standing tall and pacing back and forth while talking on the phone.

"Sarah, don't worry, she hasn't suspected anything. I've been playing the part well at home—she takes care of me so attentively every day…"

My hand trembled uncontrollably, nearly dropping my phone. Rayford could walk? Had he been pretending to be disabled for the past three years?

"She's such a fool. She believes everything I say. Once I get the inheritance after this trip, we can be together."

Each word felt like a knife to my heart. Three years—three whole years. I had woken up at 6 a.m. every day to make him rehab meals, massaged his legs late into the night, turned down countless promotion opportunities, skipped hanging out with friends… And it had all been part of a carefully crafted lie.

I silently retreated to my room, sitting on the bed, my mind completely blank. Before we got married, Rayford had been in a car accident, and the doctors told me he had lost sensation in his lower body and would need long-term rehab. Without hesitation, I quit my job to take care of him.

As I looked back, his "recovery" had progressed so quickly. From needing me to carry him to the bathroom at first, to eventually moving around in a wheelchair—I even celebrated those milestones for him.

It turned out it wasn't recovery at all—it was just him getting better at pretending.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the guest room opened softly, and Rayford returned, "sitting" in his wheelchair. He wore that familiar, gentle smile. "Cynthia, why aren't you asleep yet?"

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. Should I ask him why he could walk? Or question why he'd lied to me for all these years?

"I just got up to grab some water and saw the light on in your room, so I thought you might not be feeling well," he said, taking my hand in his. "Having trouble sleeping again?"

His hand was warm and strong, just like it had been so many times over the past three years. But now, I felt a cold shiver run through me.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking about going with you to the rehab center tomorrow." I forced a smile. "Dr. Cook said you've been making great progress. Maybe you'll be able to stand up again soon."

Rayford's eyes flickered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "Yeah, it's all thanks to your care. Cynthia, these past three years have really been tough on you."

His heartfelt words stirred up a deep, inexplicable sadness in me. Was even his gratitude a lie?

"I'll go get your medicine ready for tomorrow." I stood up to leave, but he grabbed my wrist.

"Cynthia, could you cancel tomorrow's rehab session? There's an important video meeting at work, and I need to attend it from home."

I hesitated for a moment. "Okay, I'll call Dr. Cook."

As I stepped out of the room, I leaned against the wall, unable to stop the tears from flowing. Three years of sincere care, and this is how I was repaid—with betrayal.

What he didn't know was that there was nothing I hated more than being deceived, especially by the person I trusted the most.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual and prepared the "rehab breakfast"—oatmeal, boiled eggs, and seasonal vegetables. This was the special menu the nutritionist had put together for Rayford.

But today, while frying the eggs, I deliberately turned the heat up a bit, letting the bottom of the eggs get slightly burnt. After all, what did it matter to someone who could walk? All this effort seemed pointless now.

"Good morning, honey." Rayford wheeled into the kitchen, "sitting" in his wheelchair. As usual, he gently wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. "This breakfast smells amazing."

I turned to face him. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

Rayford blinked. "What?"

"It's nothing," I replied. "I was just thinking... fools must be the happiest people because they don't know anything." I turned off the stove and brought the breakfast to the table.

Throughout the meal, Rayford seemed distracted, occasionally checking his phone. I knew he was waiting for news from Sarah Mack.

"Honey, how are your legs today? Want me to give you a massage?" I asked, making a point of it.

"No need, I'm feeling good today," he answered quickly. "By the way, the video meeting might run long, so you don't have to wait for me for lunch."

I nodded, already making plans in my head. Since he had an "important meeting" today, it was the perfect chance for me to do something.

For one, I could visit the rehab center and talk to Cary Cook. I could also call my best friend, Brittney Bell.

Most importantly, I needed to figure out exactly when Rayford had started being able to walk.