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There was an old tradition in our town. When a new family home was built, the names of the couple were carved into its cornerstone as a symbol of its owners. However, my husband, David Stone, asked the mason to carve the name of his first love, Helen Quinn, instead. The mason reminded him, "Laura is the one paying for the house." David was wiping red paint off Helen's hands and said casually, "Helen has been widowed for years. She needs a home of her own. "Laura has been my wife for more than twenty years. She already has her place in this family. What's one name going to matter?" In my previous life, I let it go. Later, when the town was redeveloped and our house was taken down, Helen used the name carved into the cornerstone to claim three apartments. My husband and son both testified for her, insisting that she was the true lady of the house. They drove me out of my own home, and I eventually died of illness in a rented room. When I woke up again, the mason was about to start carving. Helen smiled and asked me to hold the ladder for her. I grabbed my bank card and said, "I'm not building this house anymore. Since the two of you are family, you can pay for your own roof."