Chapter 2

The familiar voice exploded above my head. I mechanically turned around.

The moment our eyes met, Ethan froze.

I'd thought about going crazy, demanding to know why.

But I had to consider my daughter's feelings.

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

I stood up, lowered my head, grabbed my daughter, and fled.

That dark gaze followed me like a shadow, accompanied by Charlotte's coquettish voice.

"Come on, forgive me just this once."

"She's our son's classmate's mom. Pretty pitiful—her daughter's sick and her husband doesn't even care."

When I got home, I locked myself in my room and cried for a long time.

The doorbell rang in the evening. It was Ethan.

"Mister, why are you here?"

My daughter was curious.

He frowned, seeming uncomfortable.

I forced back my heartache and sent my daughter to her room to do homework.

Once only the two of us remained in the living room, I finally had a chance to really look at him.

He'd gotten thinner. He'd changed too.

He didn't drink the hawthorn tea I brought him, even though he used to love it.

I couldn't hold back anymore. I beat his chest with my fists, crying my heart out.

"Why did you lie to me? You made our daughter into an illegitimate child!"

"Do you have any idea how landlords kept kicking us out, how much contempt I endured with our daughter?"

Back then I'd look for work during the day and sleep at the bank at night.

On my first day of work, my finger got pierced by a machine.

I didn't cry. I just gently pulled my finger out and sat there in a daze.

I kept telling myself to be strong, that everything would be fine when he came back.

Now he was back, but as someone else's husband.

Ethan let me vent without saying a word.

He just kept glancing at his phone.

When I was too tired to hit him anymore, he helped me sit down, then quickly stepped back several paces.

With a complicated expression, he pulled out a bank card.

"Vivian, I'm sorry. From now on I'll deposit child support in this card regularly."

"Just one condition—please don't hurt Charlotte. She's innocent."

I threw the bank card at his face like a madwoman.

"She's innocent—so I'm not? Our daughter's not?"

"I treated you as my husband. What did you treat me as? What did you treat our daughter as? Take your dirty money and get out!"

His eyes turned red. Words came to his lips but he swallowed them back.

After taking a phone call, he turned and left.

He left in such a hurry that he trampled the flowers I'd planted in the yard.

Those were flowers he and I had planted together seven years ago.

"Come back! Explain yourself!"

I wiped away my tears and chased after him.

My daughter suddenly came out of her room, her face deathly pale, gasping for breath.

Panicked, I picked up my daughter and screamed at his retreating back.

"Ethan Chase! Our daughter's having an asthma attack! Come back!"

He acted like he hadn't heard. Without any hesitation, he got in his car and left.

I had no more tears left. No voice left to cry.

I held my daughter and rushed to the roadside, flagging down a taxi to the hospital.

"There are no beds available? Doctor, please, my daughter really can't wait."

My daughter couldn't breathe. She was starting to lose consciousness.

Just like the past seven years, I numbly knelt and begged.

But this time my daughter's condition was extremely critical.

The doctor told me expressionlessly to try another hospital.

Just then, Charlotte appeared.

"Vivian Adams?"

She happened to be at this hospital waiting to give birth.

After learning the situation, she immediately had Ethan help arrange for my daughter to be admitted.

I felt a complicated mix of emotions.

"Thank you..."

"Don't mention it. Your husband's not around, so it's only right we help you. Right, honey?"

She kindly pulled me close and wiped the tears from my face.

Ethan uncomfortably turned his head and pulled their son away.

"Charlotte, I'll take our son home first and bring back some toiletries for you."

The boy refused to leave.

"Dad, I don't want to go. I want to stay and wait for my classmate."

Ethan instinctively glanced in my direction and warned the boy in a low voice.

"Don't play with trashy people. They'll be a bad influence on you!"

He dragged the child away against his will.

I trembled with rage.

I wanted so badly to ask him why he said that about my daughter.

They were both his children—why treat them so differently?

But thinking of Charlotte's kindness, I hesitated.