Chapter 1

“Mom, why are my ballet shoes in the trash bag?”

Ten-year-old Lily pulled on my hand, pointing to a oversized black trash bag sitting right in the entryway.

Her voice trembled with quiet confusion.

I looked up, freezing where I stood.

This detached house in the St. John District was bought entirely with my own money—funded by a private trust fund left by my late parents before I got married.

In the hallway, where our family portrait used to hang, was a completely unfamiliar abstract painting.

The roar of an espresso machine hummed from the kitchen, accompanied by bursts of unfamiliar laughter.

“Mark, this bone china cup is exquisite. It pairs wonderfully with today’s light roast.”

A woman in a silk robe strolled gracefully out of the kitchen.

In her hands, she was holding the hand-painted bone china cup left behind by my mother.

Behind her, a little girl about Lily's age was spinning across the hardwood floor—wearing the custom tailored ballet dress I had made specifically for Lily’s upcoming elite private school interview.

That was Vivian. Half a year ago, my husband Mark introduced her as his college junior who was "going through a tough divorce and needed a little emotional support."

“Mom! That’s my ballet dress!” Lily’s small fist tightened around mine, her eyes turning red instantly.

She was a good girl, so she didn't rush over to snatch it back, but her voice quivered as she asked, “Why is that girl wearing my clothes?”

Before I could say a word, familiar footsteps echoed down the stairs from the second floor.

Mark walked down in loungewear, holding a thick stack of documents.

When he saw me standing at the door, his brow furrowed immediately. There wasn't a trace of guilt on his face—only irritation and blame.

“Emma, why are you back at this hour?”

Mark walked over to Vivian, casually taking the cup of coffee from her hands, before turning to scold me.

“Didn't I tell you to take Lily out and stay out longer? Vivian and her daughter just moved in today; they need a quiet environment to settle in.”

I looked at the cardboard boxes cluttering the floor, and my personal belongings piled outside the door like garbage.

I stared at him, my voice so cold and calm that it surprised even me.

“Mark, explain to me why there are strangers moving into my house. And why my daughter’s personal belongings are in the trash bag?”

“What do you mean 'your house'?” Mark’s expression darkened instantly.

“Emma, can you stop bringing up personal property every single time? We’ve been married for eight years!”

“You know how difficult Vivian’s situation is right now. She needs proof of residence in this school district to complete her child's enrollment application!”

Vivian stepped forward right on cue, her eyes welling up with tears.

“Emma, please don’t blame Mark. It’s my fault... I’m just borrowing the school district allocation and the house for a couple of months. As soon as the enrollment paperwork is done, I’ll move out immediately.”

“Did you hear that?” Mark scoffed, slamming the document in his hand onto the dining table.

“I’ve already listed this house under Vivian’s name for a temporary lease guarantee. As my wife, sign this agreement to waive your trust yield and transfer the school district quota.”

The title at the top of the page read: Agreement on Voluntary Waiver of Real Estate Trust Rights and School District Qualification.