Chapter 3

Over the next few days, I became a master actress.

During the day, I played the worried wife in the hospital, ignoring Julia's "attentiveness," even occasionally "thanking" her for her help.

At night, back in that cold, empty house, I frantically gathered evidence, combing through every trace Edward might have left behind.

That marriage certificate burned against my heart like a branding iron.

Edward's condition stabilized. He was still weak, but could stay awake longer and say simple things.

My "compliance" that day seemed to have given him a false sense of security. His performative urges grew even stronger.

During doctor's rounds, he'd struggle to hold my hand and tell the doctor, "I owe it all to my wife. She's been here day and night." His voice was raspy, his words dripping with sentiment.

When the nurses came to change his meds, he'd point to the fruit Julia brought and tell me, "Helen, have some too. Don't just worry about me. Julia's thoughtful. She got your favorite pears."

I'd nod along, smiling, even pick up a pear and peel it slowly.

Inside, I was laughing. Edward's hypocrisy was truly something else. Playing the devoted husband while plugging his "good apprentice", even using my favorite fruit to dress up her "thoughtfulness."

Julia, meanwhile, seized every chance to cement her "status."

She practically lived in the room now, feeding him, wiping him down, handling bedpans more expertly than a paid nurse. Every time I came, she'd "happen" to be doing the dirtiest work, then look up with a sweaty face and give me a tired, understanding smile.

She'd say, "Mrs. Grant, you're here. Mr. Grant just fell asleep." Or, "Mrs. Grant, the doctor says we need to massage his legs to prevent clots. I'm doing it now."

She'd successfully built an image outside the room of a loyal, hardworking, selfless apprentice.

And since I'd been spending less time at the hospital to deal with work at the factory, word spread fast.

First, the nurses at the station started giving me strange looks and whispering among themselves.

Then, coworkers visiting the hospital started dropping hints.

"Helen, don't push yourself too hard. Running between the factory, home, and hospital is too much for anyone." Mr. Lowe from the technical department said this, but his eyes slid toward Julia, who was wiping Edward's hands.

"Yeah, with Ms. Bennett helping out so devotedly, you can relax a bit." Ms. Smith chimed in, her tone loaded with meaning.

Before I could speak, Julia looked up, her eyes glistening, voice soft. "Mr. Lowe, Ms. Smith, please don't say that. Mrs. Grant is the one who's working the hardest. I just feel better knowing I can help her and Mr. Grant."

Her words sounded like she was defending me, but they actually reinforced the narrative. I was neglectful. She was selfless.

Mr. Lowe and Ms. Smith exchanged a look that said, "Exactly what we thought."

"Would you look at that, such a sweetheart," Ms. Smith said warmly. "Mr. Grant's kindness wasn't wasted on her, that's for sure."

Edward lay in bed, eyes closed, but the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch upward.

I clenched my fingers, keeping a proper smile on my face. "Yes, we're lucky to have Julia. Edward is blessed."

I needed to go back to the factory. A technical improvement project I'd been leading for six months was at a critical stage. I had to sign off and arrange the trial production.

Walking into the familiar office building, coworkers came up one by one to ask about Edward's condition, concern, sympathy, and curiosity all mixed in their eyes.

I responded politely and went straight to the technical department.

My desk was neat. But when I opened the drawer to grab the final draft of the plan, my stomach dropped.

The documents had been moved.

I flipped through them quickly to the core data page. Several key parameters had been altered with a fine pen. Tiny changes, and they were cleverly done.

One wouldn't spot them without cross-checking the original data. But if production went ahead with these numbers, we'd end up with massive batches of defective products. That would be major losses.

Who did this?

My heart raced, a cold dread washing over me.

I forced myself to stay calm and studied the changes closely. The handwriting was unfamiliar, deliberately imitating print. But some of the cursive habits looked familiar.

I suddenly remembered. Edward sometimes guided Michael through blueprints, and that kid wrote with those same cursive habits. Plus, Michael had been hanging around the technical office a lot lately under the pretext of "learning."

I took the document straight to Mr. Lewis, the department head.

"Mr. Lewis, the final numbers on this plan seem a bit off. I think we need to double-check them against the original records." I kept my voice as normal as possible.

Mr. Lewis took the document, adjusted his glasses, and was about to examine it when the office door burst open.

Edward was being wheeled in by Julia. Michael followed behind, looking like a humble student.

"Mr. Lewis, Helen. I couldn't stay in bed. Had to come see how things are going." Edward's voice was weak, but his eyes fixed on the document in my hand.

He added, "Is that the improvement plan? Michael's been studying it in his spare time. He even came up with some ideas of his own. Young people have such drive."

Michael stepped forward with barely concealed pride. "Ms. Grant, Mr. Lewis, I compared it with foreign literature and thought we could be bolder with the fatigue resistance coefficient. So I made some adjustments to the data model."

He was talking about the exact parameter that had been altered.

I almost laughed. Was he taking credit for a forgery?

I spread the document flat, pointing at the changed sections, staring straight at Michael. "Michael, when you say 'adjustments,' do you mean altering an official final document without verification or team discussion?"

Michael's face flushed red. He stammered, "I... I was just making notes."

"Notes?" My voice went cold. "This is a final draft that affects production line safety! Every parameter change requires strict approval procedures. What you call 'notes,' if no one caught it and it went to production—do you know what the consequences would be?"

Julia immediately stepped forward, shielding Michael, her eyes red again. "Mrs. Grant, please don't be upset. Michael's still young. He doesn't know the rules. He just wants to improve. He got carried away. He didn't mean any harm."

"Young? He's eighteen. An adult. And a soon-to-be university engineering student. He can't even follow basic procedures?" I shot back without mercy.

Edward's face darkened. He coughed twice and cut in. "That's enough, Helen. Don't be so harsh."

He turned to me, his tone carrying a "conciliatory" command. "Young people with ideas are good, even if their approach is off. As elders, we should guide them. Michael just wants to contribute to the factory. A small mistake. Just fix it. No need to blow it up and discourage the youth."

He turned to Mr. Lewis, speaking weightily. "Mr. Lewis, we need to give young people chances. Be more tolerant. I think Michael has real potential."

Mr. Lewis looked from me to Edward, visibly torn. He eventually let out an awkward laugh. "Well, young people do need opportunities, and Helen's just being thorough about work. How about this? We'll double-check all the data against the originals to be absolutely sure."

I watched Edward's smug, moralizing face, Julia and Michael's act, and Mr. Lewis trying to smooth things over. The fire in my chest was almost unbearable.

But I changed course.

A head-on fight wasn't the right time. Edward had deep roots in the factory. This alone wouldn't touch him. It would only tip them off.

I took a deep breath and let the anger drain from my face, replacing it with a "pleased" smile. "Edward's right. It seems Michael has really been 'committed.'"

I turned to Michael, my tone "warm". "Since you have such ideas, why don't you take primary responsibility for following through on this plan's trial production? Mr. Lewis, what do you think? Give young people more weight. They grow faster."

Michael froze, clearly not expecting this.

Julia's eyes flickered with wariness.

Edward, however, looked visibly relieved, a proud smile crossing his face. "Helen, I'm so glad you feel that way. Michael, thank Ms. Grant for this opportunity. Work hard. Don't let us down."

Michael snapped out of it, beaming, nodding eagerly. "Thank you, Ms. Grant. Thank you, Mr. Lewis. I won't let you down."

Mr. Lewis had no choice but to go along.

I watched this father and son basking in their "triumph," laughing inside.

I gave Michael this "opportunity." The higher he rose, the harder he'd fall.

I wanted to see if he, with his parents' help, could actually handle this hot potato.

I couldn't wait to see Julia's face when she saw her precious son humiliate himself, and his father along with him.