Chapter 2

Before I could say another word, Sophia Newell walked in with red-rimmed eyes. She threw her arms around Quentin Hayes, her face wet with tears of gratitude.

"You did this for me, Quentin? I never imagined you would go to such lengths for my sake."

The sight of Sophia as a sobbing mess successfully extinguished the fire of Quentin's rage.

His gaze softened, his eyes brimming with a sweetness like honey. Even his voice took on a forced, gentle pitch.

"For you, Sophia, I would do anything."

The moment he turned back to me, however, his expression became vicious. "Can't you see I'm a patient? Get out of here and get me something to eat, now."

I didn't want to go, but I was his wife.

Since we weren't divorced yet, I still had responsibilities.

I didn't know how to cook, but he had ordered me to do it.

I followed my memories back to the house and pulled up a recipe on my phone. I boiled some pasta and brought it back to the hospital.

He reacted by snatching the bowl and hurling it into the trash can.

"Are you doing this on purpose, Eliza? Are you trying to kill me so you can become a widow?"

I blinked at him, processing his words.

That night, I began sharpening a cleaver.

The rhythmic scraping of metal against stone woke Quentin from his sleep.

When he saw the kitchen knife in my hand, his face turned paper-white. He let out a piercing scream and ran out of the room.

A few minutes later, the nurses asked me to leave the premises.

I felt a sense of regret. It was Quentin himself who had suggested I become a widow. I had even looked up the definition of the word.

Being a widow meant the marriage would end.

After being kicked out, I felt disappointed that I couldn't fulfill his request.

Quentin didn't call me for a long time after that, so I focused all my energy on the divorce papers.

Half a month passed before Quentin finally reached out.

"Sophia just graduated and she's a medical intern now. She needs to practice her surgical skills. Bring your mother over so Sophia can use her for practice."

My mother?

I remembered what Grandma Evelyn used to say. She said I was just a girl, a money-losing asset who would eventually be married off.

She told me that once a woman marries, her mother-in-law becomes her only true mother, and she becomes a stranger to her own biological family.

Based on that logic, my only "mother" was Quentin's own mother, Cynthia.

I felt conflicted. "But what if she dies?"

Quentin hissed into the phone, his voice dripping with impatience. "If she dies, she dies. It's her good fortune to be able to help Sophia practice."

I thought about it and asked another question. "What if Mom doesn't agree to it?"

Quentin sounded even more annoyed. "Don't you know how to use drugs? You were so capable of drugging me last time, why can't you do it now?"

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I tapped the screen to stop the recording.

Because I was a bit slow, the lawyer, Miles Rivera, had been very sympathetic toward my situation. He knew I tended to be overly literal and often missed the point, so he worried I wouldn't remember important details. He told me to record every single phone call with Quentin. He said it might help when it came time to split the assets.

I was an obedient person, so I forwarded the recording to Miles immediately.

Since I was still Quentin's wife, I felt I had to follow his instructions.

Grandma always said that as long as you are someone's wife, you have to do what the man says.

However, Uncle Frank, the policeman, had told me that I couldn't break the law.

I thought it over and called Quentin back. "I can't do that. It's against the law."

Quentin groaned in frustration. "Just get your mother over here. I'll handle the rest."