Chapter 1

1

My mother was on the brink of death after a car accident caused a ruptured heart.

Arthur Thorne was the most prominent cardiac surgeon in Chicago.

I called him frantically from dusk until dawn.

Finally, the call was answered.

But it wasn't him. It was his protégée and former flame, Rosie Miller.

"Mrs. Thorne, my mentor is occupied. Is there something I can help you with? You can tell me."

I looked at my mother, who had already fallen into an eternal sleep in the morgue.

"It's nothing major," I said. "Just a divorce."

......

After an entire night of emergency efforts, my mother still passed away.

The doctor who had been busy for over ten hours looked at me with a trace of guilt in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, we couldn't save her. If Professor Thorne had been here, the chances would have been much higher."

The Professor Thorne he mentioned was my husband.

I stared at the dozens of missed calls to Arthur on my phone.

A massive sense of loss consumed me.

But my current situation didn't allow me to break down.

I began to handle my mother's funeral arrangements like a hollow shell that had lost its soul.

My father had passed away early.

My mother and I had faced all the ups and downs of life together.

I still remembered what Arthur said when he proposed to me.

"Evelyn, marry me. I'll shield you from all the storms in the future."

I felt like a piece of driftwood that had finally found a safe harbor.

So, when my mother was in trouble, he was the first person I contacted.

In the industry, Arthur was known as "The King of Hearts."

No matter how complex the surgery, his presence always offered an extra ray of hope.

I had seen the countless thank-you plaques in his office.

I had seen families kneeling in gratitude outside the operating rooms.

I thought if he was so kind to strangers, he would surely help me.

Since the victim was my mother, I believed he would drop everything to save me.

But as my calls were hung up one after another, my heart sank to the bottom of the abyss.

I had always been independent during our eight years of marriage.

The one time I tried to rely on him, I ended up with a wound that would never heal.

My mother had treated Arthur like her own son while she was alive.

I held her cold hand and hesitated for a long time.

Finally, I dialed that number one last time.

My mother's funeral was tomorrow.

I wanted her to leave this world in peace.

I had already lost all hope, but this time, the call actually went through.

I suddenly became nervous, not knowing what to say first.

But the person on the other end didn't give me time to think.

"Mrs. Thorne, Arthur is in the shower. Is there anything urgent? If so, just tell me."

It was Rosie Miller again.

Her tone carried a hint of laziness, as if she had just woken up.

A sudden wave of heat surged through my body.

In that freezing basement level, my palms actually broke out in a cold sweat.

I suppressed the urge to explode.

"It's not a big deal," I told the yawning Rosie. "Tell him I agree to the divorce he's been dreaming of."

After hanging up, I saw Rosie's latest post on social media.

"Adults don't make choices. I love my late-night wine and my morning coffee."

The photo showed the back of a man.

I knew that silhouette all too well.

It was the very "harbor" that had once promised me a lifetime of stability.