Chapter 1

During a live television interview, my husband announced that he had already finalized the division of his entire estate.

The host teased that he must have left a massive fortune for his wife and son.

He smiled gently and gave a soft denial.

“I only left them enough to cover basic living expenses.”

“The rest of my assets will go entirely to my adopted daughter.”

“It was a promise I made to her mother at her grave. I swore to ensure her daughter would live a life without a single worry.”

My hands froze over the dinner I was preparing for the kids. I whipped around to stare at the television screen.

The man on screen spoke endlessly about his late first love.

Then the host spoke up again.

“Does your wife know about this?”

He paused for a brief second, though his smile never wavered.

“She won’t object.”

“She’s treated my adopted daughter well all these years. Honestly, she’s better than any nanny I could hire.”

I untied my apron and walked out of the kitchen. I picked up my son, who was busy picking up toys for our adopted daughter, and carried him back to his room.

Six years. I had endured enough.

Since neither of us was getting a single cent, anyone who wanted to be his unpaid maid could take my place.

1

The interview was split into two segments, and the second took place right in our living room.

When Garrett brought the crew home, I had just tucked my son into bed.

Ignoring me completely, he took off his winter coat, shook off the cold, and scooped up his adopted daughter, Rory.

He playfully pinched her chubby cheeks.

“Did Mommy pick on you today?”

That was his daily routine.

I used to think it was just harmless teasing, but today, the words tasted like pure venom.

He was terrified that the moment he looked away, I would mistreat the child of his late soulmate, Vivian.

“You’re such a devoted father, Mr. Whitfield,” the host praised.

“I’m sure Ms. Shaw is smiling down from heaven, seeing you love her only daughter as your own.”

“If tragedy hadn’t struck… the two of you would have been the ultimate power couple.”

Garrett’s eyes softened with nostalgia as a wistful smile played on his lips.

I stood by the hallway and cleared my throat twice.

The entire living room went dead silent.

The host realized too late that those remarks were completely inappropriate in front of the actual wife.

“Mrs. Whitfield…”

“Sabrina, did you wash Rory’s school uniform for tomorrow?”

Garrett cut the host off, barking orders at me out of pure habit.

“I don’t trust the maid with her clothes. You need to hand-wash them yourself.”

Accustomed to this routine, Rory waddled over and dumped her pile of dirty clothes straight into my arms.

Garrett urged, “What are you waiting for? Go wash them.”

Every gaze in the room bore into me―judgmental, dismissive, and full of scorn.

In that moment, I felt no different from a stray dog kicked to the curb.

In Garrett’s eyes, I had never been his wife. I was just a convenient live-in servant who was easier to boss around than hired help.

I lowered my head in bitter humiliation, a wave of heartache choking my throat.

I took a deep breath and let my fingers loosen.

The dirty laundry tumbled to the floor.

“I’m not washing them, Garrett.”

“I am your wife, not your maid.”

His brow furrowed deeply, and he threw me a frigid glance.

“Sabrina, what’s gotten into you?”

“I watched your interview today.”

My fingernails dug deep into my palms as I forced myself to meet his eyes.

“You gave all our marital assets to another woman’s child.”

“By what right?”

Garrett’s gaze turned razor-sharp, and his tone dropped to sub-zero temperatures.

“What do you mean, another woman’s child?”

He quickly cupped his hands over Rory’s ears.

“Rory is my daughter.”

“Sabrina, when I brought her home five years ago, I gave you a choice! You chose to stay and raise her yourself!”

Looking at this man, a chill ran down my spine.

Five years ago, when I was in the final days of my pregnancy, he disappeared for seven straight days and nights.

Because I couldn’t reach him, the extreme stress triggered my labor, and our son was born two weeks premature.

Garrett only showed up long after I had given birth.

I let out a breath of relief back then, eager to place our newborn boy in his arms.

Instead, he shoved a swaddled infant into my face before I could even speak.

“Vivian passed away during labor. She entrusted her baby to me.”

“From now on, this little girl is our adopted daughter.”

My face had turned completely pale. As I struggled to push myself upright, Garrett delivered his ultimatum.

“If you can’t accept this, we can get a divorce.”

“I’ll wire you child support on time every month, but don’t expect a single dime more.”

That was the choice he gave me back then.

Swallow the disgust and raise his soulmate’s orphan, or walk away with a premature infant with nothing to my name.

I refused to accept that injustice.

I had been married to him for five years and nearly died giving birth to our child. Why should my son and I walk away with nothing?

So I endured it.

Yet five years had passed, and he had never shown an ounce of warmth toward me or our son.

All his devotion and love had died along with Vivian.

The only tenderness he had left was reserved exclusively for Vivian’s child.

Suddenly, I realized that all my years of sacrifice were just a pathetic joke to him.

Ten years of love had completely evaporated under his endless distrust and accusations.

I looked at him with absolute calm.

“Now, I want to choose again.”

“This time, I choose to take my son and walk away.”