Chapter 3

The door burst open.

Richard rushed in, and when he saw the scene, he froze, totally dumbfounded. "Helen, what's going on?"

Doctors and nurses poured in right after, and the room erupted into chaos.

I played the part of a shocked, clueless wife at the right moment.

My face turned very pale, my body shook, and I pointed at Linda, who was almost lifeless, my voice shaky and on the verge of tears. "I-I don't know.

"I said a few words, told her to rest and recover, and then she suddenly started vomiting blood."

My act was flawless.

Who would ever suspect the perfect wife, the one who took care of her husband's mistress and always turned the other cheek, of actually hurting anyone?

Richard looked at me, his eyes full of doubt, like he was trying to see right through me.

He thought he had me all figured out, or so he believed.

He knew how much I'd endured over the past fifty years, so he couldn't believe I'd suddenly lash out.

But what he found harder to accept was that Linda would get so worked up for no reason, to the point of vomiting blood and falling unconscious.

He stared at me, scrutinizing my face for the slightest crack in my composure.

"What did you say to her?" Richard asked, his voice low, with a hint of menace.

I lifted my head and met his eyes, feeling nothing but wounded and wronged inside. "Richard, do you really think I hurt her?

"After fifty years as your wife, is this what you believe? That I'm really that cruel?"

My eyes were rimmed with tears, welling up and about to spill over.

That pitiful look was enough to make any man want to protect me and feel guilty for ever doubting me.

Sure enough, Richard's resolve faltered.

The stern look on his face eased a bit, and his tone softened. "Helen, that's not what I meant. I was so anxious."

Just then, the doctor walked over, his face grim. "Mr. Grant, things aren't looking good. She got way too worked up, and it triggered another brain bleed.

"We need to rush her into emergency care right now.

"You folks should get ready. This could get really bad."

Richard's face went very pale in an instant.

He staggered, nearly losing his balance, like someone had ripped the backbone right out of him.

I reached out and steadied him. "Richard, don't worry. Linda's going to be alright."

My voice was soft, but it was like an anchor in the storm, enough to steady him for the moment.

In the middle of all the chaos, my phone rang.

It was our son, David Grant, calling.

I hit the answer button and put it on speaker. "Mom, Emily and I landed. We're on our way home."

His voice was steady, with that no-nonsense tone that made you want to listen.

He was the youngest and most promising prosecutor in Burwadon, the thing Richard was proudest of in his life.

"Where's Dad? We can't miss his big retirement moment," David added.

When Richard heard David's voice, he jolted, and the panic in his eyes instantly shifted to a mix of emotions.

There was pride, a touch of satisfaction, but above all, a deep, uneasy fear.

I watched his reaction, and I couldn't help but sneer inside.

He was rattled.

He was terrified David might learn about all the women he'd been with over the years.

He was more afraid that everything he was doing now would shatter the image of the great, honorable father he'd built up in David's eyes.

I spoke softly into the phone, "David, your dad's right here with me. We're at the hospital. Linda's sick."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Then David's voice turned icy, carrying that unmistakable prosecutor's interrogation style. "Which Linda are you talking about? What happened to her? Why is Dad with her?"

Each question was like a dagger, piercing right into Richard's heart.

He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.

I let out a soft sigh, my tone full of helplessness and quiet tolerance. "David, don't ask now. We'll talk when you're back. It hasn't been easy for your dad."

With that, I hung up.

I looked at Richard, his face drained of all color, and my heart felt nothing but cold.

If Richard thought all my revenge was only aimed at Linda, he would be wrong.

For fifty years, I had been sharpening three knives all for him.

My son was the first knife, also the quickest and sharpest blade I got.

Now, he was back. It was time to unsheathe this blade.