He Betrayed the Wrong Wife

I stayed in the hospital for a few days.

Christian didn't call once.

The only call I got was from the CFO, voice careful like he was walking on glass.

"Rory… Christian's side… their spending at the overseas resort is already over ten million. If this keeps going, the company's cash flow is going to snap."

I leaned against my pillow, staring at the gray sky outside the window.

"Let them."

The CFO panicked. "But Rory, the Manhattan port is about to settle the first payment. If we touch that money, we'll default!"

"Do Christian and Ethan know?"

He hesitated. "They said it's fine. They said as long as you're here, you'll handle it."

I gave a soft laugh. "Then default."

I hung up, signed my discharge paperwork, and left.

Today was the seventh anniversary of my mother's death.

And the last day of my promise.

I bought a bouquet of white roses, her favorite, and went to the cemetery on Maple Street.

But when I stopped in front of the familiar headstone… I froze.

The photo on it was a stranger.

And the name carved into the stone was Isabella.

Emma's biological mother.

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

Behind me, I heard Christian and Emma laughing as they approached.

"Rory, you're here early."

Christian pushed Emma carefully, like even a bump in the path might hurt her.

I pointed at the cold stone, my voice shaking.

"Where's my mom?"

Christian frowned, clearly annoyed by my tone.

"Rory, lower your voice. Don't scare Emma."

He shielded Emma behind him, then explained slowly, like he was doing me a favor:

"Emma had a dream a few days ago. She dreamed Isabella said she was cold over there, all alone."

"I had someone look at your mother's plot, it's rare, sunny land. So I had Isabella moved in."

My father followed behind them with his cane, looking completely entitled to it.

"Your mother never liked the sun when she was alive. You were the one who insisted on this spot."

"Now it works out. Give it to Isabella, she got what she wanted."

I looked at the three of them like I was watching the world's most absurd play.

"Then where is my mom?" I asked, each word sharp.

"Her ashes were relocated to the public charity section in the back," Christian said lightly. "Besides, that plot is registered under the Conti Foundation. You're only the user."

"Relax. I arranged everything. Your mother won't be 'homeless.'"

Emma peeked out from behind him, timid as a rabbit.

"Rory, please don't be mad. My mom is your elder too. And now she's the baby's biological grandmother. She's part of the White family, and also part of the Conti family. Taking care of her is just fulfilling your mother's wish."

"Exactly," my father said, tapping his cane against the ground.

"You promised your mother you'd take care of the White and Conti families. Now Isabella is part of White too. You can't play favorites."

They used the promise I'd honored for seven years to force me to swallow this injustice.

I stared at that unfamiliar headstone for a long time… and then I laughed.

I didn't argue anymore.

I turned and walked toward the public section behind the cemetery.

With the caretaker's directions, I found my mother's tiny slot, so small, her name hadn't even been carved yet.

I picked up the cold urn and carried it out.

When I passed them, I didn't stop.

Christian probably thought I'd caved. His tone softened.

"Rory, stop being childish. Come home tonight. We'll have a proper family dinner."

"Emma even brought you a gift."

How generous.

I walked faster, leaving their nauseating voices behind.

Before I left, I changed my last name, back to my mother's: Brown.

Then I placed the completed divorce documents on the nightstand in the master bedroom.

Once I made sure I had nothing left to do with White or Conti, I boarded a flight overseas, holding my mother's ashes in my arms.